He suspected it would be dawn before Fergus arrived, if he was even still at Longton. Having not slept in well over two days, Garren stripped off his armor and fell down on the bed of his rented room. The straw inside the mattress was damp and old, but he didn’t care. He was beyond exhausted and asleep before he realized it.
As a knight, his life depended upon his reflexes. Knights were notorious for sleeping lightly. But the sun was up and there was someone in his room before he was fully oriented. His sword was near his hand and the blade came up. He heard it clang against metal, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a yelp. Rolling off the opposite side of the bed in a flash, he saw a man with bright blue eyes standing on the other side, rubbing his left arm.
A bolt of relief ran through Garren and he lowered the sword. “Christ,” he muttered. “Fergus, you idiot….”
Fergus stood there, still rubbing his arm. “Did you have to try and cut my head off?” he complained. “You send for me and this is the welcome I receive? Even from you, that is cold.”
Garren tossed the sword on the bed and wearily scratched his head. “What did you expect, sneaking into my room? I will wager that you were standing over me trying to decide how best to smother me as I slept.”
Fergus broke into a wide grin. Garren did the same. The men embraced each other as one would a brother.
“You’re as ugly as ever, Garren.”
“And you’re still as stupid as I remember.” Garren rubbed the sleep out of one eye and indicated the only chair in the room. “Please, sit. So you’re still at Longton, after all?”
Fergus took the chair as Garren lowered himself back onto the bed. Fergus was a nice looking man with brilliant blue eyes and dark blond hair. His teeth protruded slightly and his skin was rough from sun and cold. He shrugged to Garren’s assertion.
“De Lacy is fond of me and pays me well,” he said. “I have no reason to leave yet. And you? Last I heard, you were wandering somewhere between Dover and Hastings.”
“I still am.”
“So why are you in Herefordshire?”
“Up until yesterday, I was to marry a local heiress.”
Fergus’ eyebrows lifted; he liked money. “Is that so? What did you do to make her break the betrothal?”
Fergus snickered at Garren’s expense. Garren grinned at his friend’s sense of humor. “It wasn’t her, but her father. Seems he didn’t take too kindly to me, after all.”
“Do tell.”
Garren’s smile faded and the conversation took a serious turn. He explained everything, from the beginning. Fergus had no knowledge, nor had he ever, of Garren’s true vocation, so the details about the Marshal were left out. For all Fergus knew, Garren’s father had negotiated a marriage contract, which was broken when the de Rosa’s concocted some foolish story about Garren being a spy for the king. Garren made sure to point out, without much embellishment, how suspicious the clan was and how protective they were of Derica.
Fergus was grim. “So you want revenge for them breaking the contract?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I want her.”
Fergus didn’t quite understand. “You want her? But why? Lady Derica without the inheritance is hardly worth the trouble.”
“You don’t understand, Fergus. I am in love with her.”
Fergus looked shocked. “I see,” he muttered. “Are you sure, Garren?”
“I am.”
“Perhaps it was something you ate. It made you ill and affected your thoughts. Perhaps you simply think you are in love with her.”
Garren grinned. “I am fairly certain that it is not my imagination.”
“A spell, then. She cast a spell to bewitch you.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
“But love,” Fergus stood up. “Garren, you of all people cannot succumb to something that makes the strongest of men weak and ineffectual. Love has destroyed more lives and kingdoms throughout the ages than can be counted. Are you not terrified?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then let me help you,” Fergus grasped his arm. “Let me beat it out of you. I shall not let this destroy you, Garren, I promise.”
Garren laughed as his friend tried to jerk him off the bed. “You can’t beat it out of me. But if you don’t let go of me, you’re going to get a beating of your own.”
“I am trying to help you. Do not resist me, you fool.”
“Fergus, trust me. This isn’t something that can be bashed away with a fist or reversed with magic charms. It is something deep inside that can never be erased.”
Fergus let go of him. “Something has indeed happened to you, my friend. The Garren le Mon I have known all of these years would never speak like that.”
“The Garren le Mon you knew no longer exists,” Garren said quietly. “This is serious. I need your help.”
Fergus cast him a long look as he reclaimed his chair. “I see. So you sent for me not to socialize and become disgustingly drunk as we remember old times, but to put me into service.”
“Aye.”
He signed with exaggeration. “Very well. What will you have me do?”
“Go to Framlingham and abduct Derica for me.”
“And then can we get disgustingly drunk?”
“I shall buy you your own winery.”
Fergus grinned. “For my own winery, I would abduct the Queen herself.” He sobered, his manner serious for the first time since his arrival. Things like abductions, raids and sieges didn’t bother him in the least; he’d done worse. But the true motive behind the request plagued him. “Are you sure, Garren? This isn’t just some manner of infatuation, is it?”
Garren shook his head. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he muttered to himself. He focused on his friend. “No, this is not an infatuation. I want this woman to be my wife because I love her and her family is not going to stop me. How much clearer can I make this?”
Fergus didn’t have an overly suspicious mind, nor was he a deep thinker. He more often than not simply accepted what was said.
“If that is your desire, my friend, then I shall ride to Framlingham today for your ladylove.” He scratched his head. “You do have a plan, don’t you? What do I do with her once I have her?”
“You worry about getting her out of the castle. When you do, ride for Yaxley Nene Abbey and deliver her to Sister Mary Felicitas. Beyond that, there is nothing you need concern yourself over. I shall pay you, handsomely.”
“I am not worried over the money,” Fergus said. “I would do this for nothing at all, simply because we are friends. But there is one thing that concerns me.”
“What’s that?”
“If her family is as protective as you say, then you are going to need help keeping her. Even if I manage to get her out of Framlingham, I am willing to wager that the hounds will track us and follow.”
“That is why you are taking her to the abbey.”
“But she can’t stay there forever, and neither can you. Eventually, you are going to leave with, I suspect, her family in pursuit. What then?”
“That part of my plan is a little less clear. I shall know more when I return to Chepstow and discuss options with my liege.”
“What for?”
“The Marshal controls several bastions along the Marches. I shall request transfer to one of the remote ones, easily defended. I shall keep her there with me until her family grows weary and returns home. The Marches are a long way from Norfolk and, do not forget, her father serves the Earl of Norfolk. He cannot be gone overlong on a siege using the earl’s resources.”
“Unless the earl gives his blessing and sends more reinforcements to aid him. Then, you will have a battle that will basically pit the Earl of Norfolk against the Marshal of England over a reason that has absolutely nothing to do with either of them. Do you want to risk that now when tensions are already so high between Richard and John’s supporters?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then I would suggest that you take her someplace remote, with no soldiers, no connections whatsoever. Just the two of you. Wait until the situation cools. As it stands now, running to a fortified castle is basically inviting her family to follow and bring on a full-scale war. It is a tease.”
Garren thought on his words carefully; Fergus may have been flighty and scatter brained at times, but he had the heart and soul of a true warrior. In battle, the man was invaluable, which was why an undertaking of abduction didn’t faze him in the least. He would have battled through fire if Garren asked him to.
“I appreciate your point of view,” Garren said after a moment. “But the de Rosa’s are powerful. It will be imperative that Derica and I have ample protection against their onslaught, which I have no doubt will come. My hope and inclination is that, after a time, the de Rosas will tire of any siege they may undertake and give up. Furthermore, with Derica and I married, the Church will undoubtedly support our position. Were the de Rosas able to retrieve her, however remote, the fact remains that she would still be a married woman.”
Fergus shrugged. “Anything is possible. But if you are trying to avoid being tracked and thereby avoid the entire siege scenario, then surely keeping a low profile is best.”
“I cannot disagree.”
“Do you want a battle, Garren?”
“To teach those bastards a lesson, perhaps. But that would certainly not be in Derica’s best interest.”
“Nor yours. People tend to die in battle.”
The men fell silent a moment, pondering the immediate future. “Your family is from Wales, Fergus?” Garren ventured.
“Aye.”
“Then if I were to maintain a low profile, as you suggest, perhaps….”
Fergus was already thinking ahead of him. “A half a day’s ride from the village where I was born lies an abandoned castle,” he said, excitement in his tone. “When I was a lad, it was fairly intact but neglected. Story has it that Rhys, a Prince of Dyfed, built Cilgarren Castle for his new bride, but that he abandoned it shortly after her death. So there it sits, massive and unused. My father could direct you to this castle. It would be a perfect hiding place for you.”
“You’re sure? An entire fortress completely unused?”
“In all of the years my family has lived there, they have never seen it inhabited except for immediately after its completion. Legend has it that the place is haunted, and the princes of Dyfed will not go near it. And, being that nearby castles like Cardigan and Carmarthen are far more threatening, the English have no desire to claim it at this time. They have got their hands full with manned castles much less unmanned ones.”
Garren felt better than he had in some time. A plan, a place. With Fergus to help him, he was positive the outcome would be favorable. Now to the get man to Framlingham and claim the prize. He suddenly snorted, softly.
“Cilgarren,” he muttered. “It is fate that I go there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the castle bears my name.”
Fergus grinned. “Indeed it does,” he agreed. “Perhaps in the years to come, people will forget the ‘Cil’ altogether and simply call it Garren’s Castle.”
Garren nodded vaguely, his mind mulling over Fergus’ advice. “Your clear thoughts and suggestions are much appreciated, my friend,” he said. “Strange thing about Love; it muddles your head like fog. I have not been able to think objectively about any of this. I needed you more than I realized.”
“My offer still stands to beat it out of you.”
Garren laughed softly. “I think when you meet Derica, You will change your mind.”
Fergus stroked his chin. “Is that so? Then perhaps I will abduct her for myself.”
Garren cast him his best intimidating glance. “You will rue the day you were born, I assure you.”
“Very well. That threat, coming from you, is enough to cause me to reconsider. I shall stay the course and then you shall name your first born son after me.”
“Fair enough.”
“Then let us make this so, my friend. Time waits for no man.”
Fergus’ confidence reassured Garren. But deep down, he was anxious for something that would be completely out of his hands until the moment Derica appeared at Yaxley. Until then, all he could do was wait and ignore the nameless fears that attempted to seduce him. So many things could go wrong and thinking such thoughts would surely drive him mad. All he wanted to do was see Derica again, and truly hold her for the first time. If he thought about it, he’d never done anything more than kiss her hand. The longing to touch her, hold her, experience her, was almost more than he could bear.
He didn’t like waiting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a lazy day. The sun gave muted warmth, accompanied by the rising humidity that came with summer. It was early in the year to experience the moist heat, but it was present nonetheless. Perhaps it was an indication of the unbearable summer to come.
Derica lay on a day couch, fan in her hand. Her chamber was warm and damp. Every so often, the fan would wave back and forth and then collapse against her breast. The bright green eyes were half-lidded, with thought and boredom, staring into the room as if her mind had been spirited away somehow. Ever since that dreadful day, nearly a week ago, that she had made the bargain for Garren’s life it was as if something had left her. The spirit that was normally present had vanished. Those who knew her well were unsure if it would ever return.
Aglette had long since hidden away the yellow wedding gown that she had worked on so diligently for all those months. She thought about burning it simply to erase the memories, but she wasn’t sure that would be wise. She was currently working on a summer gown for her lady, a pale blue garment made of light fabric. They had purchased the material last year at a fair in Bury St. Edmunds. Yards of it had lain in Derica’s chest, disregarded, until Aglette rediscovered it. She thought that a new gown was something her mistress might need at this time. Anything to brighten the dark days they were all suffering through.
Derica wouldn’t see anyone but Uncle Hoyt and her brother Daniel. They were the only two members of the family who didn’t represent Garren’s departure. Her Uncle Hoyt had spent a good deal of time with her, brushing her hair, stroking her back, talking to her about things like goddesses and flowers. Any mention of anything remotely romantic would send Derica into fits, so Hoyt avoided the mythological love stories he was so fond of. Cuchulain and the other Celts who had fought so hard for love and kingdom were put aside in favor of discussions on roses and lavender. It was all Derica could tolerate. Hoyt hurt for her, but deep down, he could not truly understand what she was going through. None of them did.
Daniel’s visits could be particularly brittle because he almost always carried a message from the rest of the family. As the brother who stayed the furthest away from any manner of politics or family squabbles, he had been coerced into playing peacemaker. He would bring her meals to her and sit with her while she picked at the food, discussing things like the weather and the quality of the spring foals.
Unlike her emotional outburst in the vault of Framlingham from the week prior, she had reverted back to her normal character of controlling her emotions, only now it was darkly so. There was no emotion in her face whatsoever. She mostly lay upon her day couch, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring everything around her. She had no use for her family at the moment, those people who had ruined her life.
Aglette had stuck to her with the faithfulness of an old dog. She had known Derica her entire life and had never seen her so miserable. It was difficult to comprehend that she was making herself ill over a man she had known less than a full week. Aglette had seen suitors come to Framlingham for weeks on end and Derica had never so much as said more than two words to them. Garren le Mon, clearly, had been different. They all knew that now.
So the little maid sewed the blue dress and chattered, even though she knew she would receive no answe
r. Eventually, she gave up chattering all together and simple sewed. In fact, the pretty blue dress was almost done save hemming the length. Perhaps now was a good time to focus her mistress on something other than her misery.
“There we are,” Aglette stood from her stool and held the dress up. “What do you think of this, my lady? Beautiful, is it not?”
Derica didn’t respond, though the fan lifted and waved back and forth a few times. Aglette tried not to become discouraged.
“My lady,” she said, more firmly. “I will need for you to try this on so that I may hem the bottom. Will you do that, please?”
Derica continued to fan herself. Aglette was about to try again when Derica’s head moved, very slowly, towards the dress. The green eyes that focused on it were lifeless.
“The sleeves are sheer.”
“Aye, they are,” Aglette was thrilled that she was getting a response. “In the warmth of summer, it will make it much cooler for you.”
“But everyone will see the scar on my arm.”
Aglette hadn’t thought of that. “Not much, my lady. Not unless they look closely.”
“It is healing quite nicely. Garren did a remarkable job tending it.”
“Aye, he did.”
The fan stopped. “Where do you suppose he went, Aglette?”
Aglette lowered the dress. This was as much conversation as she had gotten out of Derica in a week and she wanted to tread carefully. “I do not know. Perhaps back to Chateroy.”
Derica clasped the fan against her breast and sat up. Her shoulders and forehead glistened in the moist weather. “Do you suppose… if I had Uncle Hoyt write to him, that he would write back?”
“I do not know, my lady. But you can certainly try.”
“Father would not permit it, I am sure.”
“Then perhaps we could sneak a missive out somehow.”
Derica fell back against the couch once more, closing her eyes in anguish. “He said he would not forget me. But I shall wager that he has. What would he want to remember about this horrid place and the horrible way he was treated?”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 37
