The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “That may be. But I do not have to be a part of it. The only reason they will not allow Garren and I to wed is because someone told them that he was a spy for William Marshal. They will not tell me who; therefore, I say they are wrong. They are wrong to destroy my happiness based on their prejudice.” She caught Fergus staring at her when she had finished her little speech. “Why do you look at me so?”

  “Because the peasants were right; you are a spitfire.”

  She made a face at him, quickly gone. “Am I wrong?”

  “I am not sure there is any right or wrong in matters of the heart.”

  After a moment longer, Derica turned away from the only home she had ever known. She refused to dwell on the regrets she might have; all that mattered was that soon, she would be with Garren. Fergus had her by the elbow, helping her walk through the heavy grass, when they suddenly heard the thunder of hooves.

  Fergus immediately pulled her down, as if they could hide behind the thin green stalks. His hawkish gaze caught sight of a host of chargers at the gates of Framlingham and they could hear shouting in the distance. The men-at-arms were mobilizing. He knew immediately what had happened.

  “Run.”

  He grabbed Derica’s arm and pulled her along with him, the both of them flying through the trees and into the bramble.

  “They’ve discovered me!” Derica gasped as they tore through the grass.

  Fergus didn’t answer her; he knew their luck had been too perfect. If they guarded the lady as much as Garren had told him, then they had lived on God’s good graces for all of this time they had not been discovered. He had taken the chance, quickly, and now he wasn’t at all sure that had been wise. All he could think of was getting to his horse and on to Yaxley Nene Abbey before they were stopped.

  He prayed that God’s good graces lasted just a bit longer.

  “You are pacing is like the roll of wagon wheels, Over and over again, never ending, never….”

  “I get your meaning. I shall sit if it will stop your complaining.”

  Gabrielle suppressed a smile, listening to her brother’s grumpy mood, and knowing he had a very good reason for being anxious. She was simply trying to eliminate some of the tension.

  “You should have gone on to Wales, as Fergus suggested,” she said, her hands feeling at the sewing in her lap. In spite of her complete blindness, she sewed extremely well by touch. “To come back here, simply to wait, will drive you mad.”

  Garren glanced over at her; it was sunset, on the seventh day since he had left Framlingham. He’d left Fergus five days ago with the intention of riding to William Marshal to inform him of the change in his mission. But a day into that journey, he had turned back for the abbey; he wasn’t so sure the Marshal would allow him to return for Derica. The man was driven and forceful, and Garren was his vassal. Whatever the Marshal ordered, he was obliged to follow, and he could not risk an order that took him far away from Yaxley and far away from Derica. So he had decided to return to the abbey and wait for Fergus to bring her. He wasn’t sure how long that would take, but after four days of waiting, he was beginning to show distinct signs of impatience. All he wanted to do was hold a woman he had never held before.

  “I would say the nuns have been quite accommodating to have me here,” he said. “They’ve not tried to remove me once.”

  Gabrielle grunted. “That is because you sit with me and cause no problems. But they still force you to sleep outside at night.”

  “It is not been bad.”

  Gabrielle fixed a couple of stitches, running her fingers over her work as if she was playing a harp. “Tell me again of this castle where you plan to take her, Garren. The place where kings used to live.”

  He settled back in the old chair, crossing his massive arms. He was without his armor this day, as the nuns refused to let him wear it, or bring any weapons, deep inside the abbey. All of his protection was by the front door. He felt a bit naked without it, but he also felt very free.

  “It is called Cilgarren,” he tilted his head back, closing his eyes wearily. “As I told you, it was built for the princes of Dyfed. But the wife of the first prince died and now the place is supposedly haunted. Fergus tells me that it has been vacant for years.”

  “Is it big?”

  “I am told it is massive.”

  “Cilgarren,” Gabrielle repeated softly. “So you intend to take her there?”

  “I do,” he muttered. “Do you know that I have never even kissed her?”

  “Who?

  “Derica.”

  No matter how Gabrielle had tried, for days, to speak of other things, the conversation always came back to the lady.

  “ ’Tis well and good that you haven’t,” she chided gently. “You are not married to her yet.”

  “But we are betrothed.”

  “Of no matter. You have no rights to her until you are properly wed.”

  Garren opened his eyes and stood up. His pacing started anew. “My entire life, I have lived by the sword and the code of Chivalry. I have been in the service of the most powerful man in England and have done some things during that service that I am perhaps not so proud of. But I have always been confident in my decisions. I can truthfully say there is nothing I look back upon that I regret, knowing that I made the right choice at that point in time.” He stopped pacing and looked at his sightless sister. “But I cannot know for sure that what I do now is the right thing. To love a woman so much, to be consumed with her to the point of madness. I cannot know for certain that the choices I have made over the past several days have been the right ones, with surely more choices to come. How do I know that in a month or a year she will not come to hate me for taking her away from her family and forcing her to marry me?”

  “You cannot know,” Gabrielle said quietly. “Be good to her, treat her well, and love her. That is all you can do.”

  Garren was having a tough bout with indecision at the moment. His anxiety was getting the better of him. He sat down again, next to his sister, and patted her hand.

  “I am sure that I am driving you mad with my incessant whimpering,” he said. “I thank you for your patience and advice.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “I envy you. You have such a wonderful future ahead of you, with happiness and children, married to a woman that you love. How many people in this world are fortunate enough to experience that?”

  “I feel extremely humbled,” he admitted. “Never did I imagine my life would take the turn it is apparently taking and my happiness would be complete but for one thing.”

  “What?”

  “I still must face the Marshal with what I have done.”

  Gabrielle didn’t say anything for the moment. “Perhaps you should not,” she murmured. “Perhaps you should simply take Derica to Wales and stay there for the rest of your lives.”

  Garren smiled ironically. “As much as I would like to, I cannot. I am a knight and I am sworn to serve my king above all. I must confess all to the Marshal and pray I have not caused over-much damage to Richard’s cause. There are other agents, of course, other men who can infiltrate and uncover information, but the Marshal had high hopes for my mission. I am, after all, the best he has.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault your mission failed. Someone told the de Rosas who you are.”

  “I know. But I am making somewhat of a mess of it by abducting the Bertram de Rosa’s daughter.”

  Gabrielle shrugged; she couldn’t disagree. “So you plan to continue working for the Marshal and Richard’s cause even after you wed her?”

  “Eventually, after the de Rosa’s have cooled and I can safely travel England again without the threat of them on my tail seeking vengeance.”

  “What of your wife, then?”

  “What of her?”

  “She doesn’t know that it is true.”

  “What’s true?”

  “That you are an agent for her father’s most hated enemy.”

  Garren inhaled deeply, regretf
ully. “I will have to tell her and pray she can forgive me.”

  The conversation died after that. Gabrielle was left to wonder what would happen to her brother if his ladylove did not forgive him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Derica had never been out of the walls of Framlingham without her brother, father and uncles riding close escort. On those occasions, which had been rare, she had looked at it as something of a grand adventure.

  But her harrowing ride with Fergus de Edwin was no grand adventure. It had been terrifying. Fergus had ridden north for the rest of the day to elude the search parties from Framlingham; when nightfall came, he had dared not risk putting her up at an inn and, instead, made camp in a small vale outside the village of Thetford. Although he tried to make it as comfortable as possible for her, it was nonetheless cold and damp and he would not light a fire for fear that the search parties might see the smoke. Derica was cold and wet, wrapped in her new gown and Fergus’ old peasant cloak, and tried not to let her misery show.

  Fergus built a little shelter for her to keep the damp off and she had slept fitfully. For warmth’s sake, he lay close to give her some of his body heat and in the morning they had made jokes about not telling Garren of their improper proximity. Derica was kidding, but Fergus was mostly serious. He’d seen Garren in battle too many times not to fear the man greatly, especially where a woman was concerned.

  It was slow going once they turned west for Yaxley. Fergus estimated it would take them at least three days to reach the abbey. They stayed to the untraveled roads and footpaths, and Fergus slipped into a small town on the second day to buy bread and cheese for the lady. So far, she hadn’t complained, but he knew she was cold and hungry and uncomfortable. He felt very badly about it.

  The second day blended into the third and, even though their travel had been slower than he had estimated due to the fact that they had swung far to the north, they had nonetheless made good time. The closer they drew to the abbey, however, the more relieved Fergus was becoming. It was certainly no offense to the lady that he was eager to drop her off and return to Longton; he simply didn’t like feeling of being hunted.

  On the afternoon of the third day they stopped at a stream that transected a small, lush valley. There were trees about, offering shelter and shade from the sun that had decided to appear. In truth, it was pleasant and they needed the rest. Derica immediately took her slippers off and waded out into the stream, hooting at the freezing water. Fergus watered the horse, grinning at her, trying to keep his eyes averted from tantalizing flashes of ankle.

  “Fergus,” Derica called to him as she hopped onto a slick rock.

  “My lady?”

  “Tell me something.”

  “Anything, my lady.”

  “You have known Garren a long time, have you not?”

  “Since we were squires.”

  “Tell me what he was like back then.”

  Fergus let the horse graze. “He was a somewhat small boy, very quiet, very sharp. He never needed to be given an order twice.”

  Derica hiked her skirt higher as she stepped from the rock back into the water. “Garren was small?” she giggled. “I cannot imagine that. He is absolutely enormous.”

  “That happened very quickly,” Fergus said. “Because he was small and quiet, some of the other squires used to taunt him. But the moment he entered youth and his voice deepened, it was as if he woke up one morning a head taller than even the knights. From working with the sword and other weapons, his arms and shoulders grew enormous. Woe betides those who had teased him when he was small.”

  “He punished them?”

  Fergus smiled at the memories. “In very subtle ways. They never knew they had been punished until it was all over. But he made sure each and every one had their day.”

  “But he is not a vengeful or wicked man.”

  Fergus looked over at her; she was standing in the stream, the filtered sunlight glistening off her hair. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  “No, my lady,” he said quietly. “He is not a vengeful or wicked man. In fact, Garren is one of the few men I know that will be honorable ’til the death. He is what every knight hopes to be but seldom is. I have nothing but respect and admiration for him.”

  Derica smiled, thinking of Garren, her heart swelling with happiness and longing. “I hope to find that out for myself.”

  “As you shall. You are a most fortunately woman, Lady Derica.”

  She knew that. Gathering her skirts closer, she timidly picked her way out of the stream.

  “Then we should not keep him waiting any longer,” she said. “The sooner we get to Yaxley, the better.”

  Her foot slipped on the bank before the last word was out of her mouth. With a whoop, she tumbled into the chilly water, landing flat on her backside. Horrified, Fergus dropped the horse’s reins and rushed to help her, but she just lay there and laughed.

  “Are you all right?” Fergus asked. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Derica shook her head. “Of course not. But I am as wet as a mud hen.”

  Her laughter was infectious. Fergus was smiling as he reached down and pulled her out of the water. “I can see that,” he picked up the edges of her gown and tried to wring some water out of it. “You don’t have a change of clothes, my lady. I am sorry….”

  She cut him off. “Don’t be silly. I shall dry if you spur the horse fast so that the wind swishes through the material like a storm.” She made wide, sweeping motions with her arms and they both laughed.

  “I shall do my best to create the tempest.”

  “Good.” Pulling away from him, Derica found her slippers and, drying her feet off on the dry portions of the cloak, put them off. “Come along, Fergus. I want to get to the abbey before dark.”

  “Aye, my lady,” he shook his head, thinking she was very adept at giving orders and knowing that Garren would have his hands full with her. He was about to help her onto the charger when shouts in the distance caught his attention.

  They both froze, ears peaked, listening with the trepidation of the mouse awaiting the cat. The shouts came again and Fergus didn’t wait to interpret them.

  He tossed her up onto the horse and mounted in front of her. Spurring the charger through the trees, he struggled through the stream and rocks in an attempt to wipe clear their trail. Behind, Derica clung to him fearfully.

  “They’ve found us,” she hissed.

  Fergus nodded to the obvious. “They must have undoubtedly heard your scream when you fell in the water.”

  “Sweet Lord,” she murmured. “I am so sorry, Fergus. I didn’t know….”

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Create that tempest I promised.”

  Fergus reined the steed out of the stream and into the forest. The horse began to thunder through the bramble, plowing a path and leaving a host of broken branches in its wake. It was an obvious trail to follow, one plowed with furious speed.

  “We’re close to the abbey, perhaps a few miles,” Fergus said after several moments. “I am going to leave you there and then try to lead the search party away. Perhaps they will follow my trail and bypass the abbey all together.”

  “You’re going to be a decoy?”

  “I did not come all of this way simply to have them grab you before you can enter the abbey walls.”

  Small branches were whipping her in the face; the green of the trees whizzed by her head as the horse galloped through. She held on tightly, praying that they would reach the abbey before her family caught wind of their trail. She was sickened to think they had come this far, this carefully, only to be discovered at the last possible moment.

  Closing her eyes, she could see Garren’s face and she prayed, harder than she had ever prayed in her life, that she would see him again. It was with certainty, she knew, that if her family caught up to her she would be sequestered the rest of her life. She couldn’t bear to think of what the
y would do to Fergus.

  Derica couldn’t hear anymore shouting but she wasn’t convinced that her father wasn’t right behind her. Fergus thundered across a meadow and skirted what looked and smelled like a bog. Derica kept her face buried in his back, holding on tightly, trusting that he would get them safely to the abbey. She lost track of time as they raced along, through the trees and, at one point, across a farmer’s field. But suddenly, they emerged onto a road and Fergus let the horse have his head.

  Rocks pelted Derica’s legs and feet. The wet part of her dress lay across the back of the charger, sticking to the horse. Abruptly, the horse slowed and began to lope in a strange, sloppy gait. Fergus looked about the animal in a panic before pulling it to a sharp halt. He leapt off the horse.

  Derica’s gown, unhemmed and long, had wounds its way around the horse’s back legs. Fergus unwound the dress and pulled Derica off the animal.

  “Listen to me,” he made sure she was looking him in the eye before pointing over to his right. “The abbey is through those trees and down a small hill. If you cut through, it will keep you off the road while I lead them on a wild goose chase. When you get to the abbey, you are to ask for Sister Mary Felicitas. Do you understand?”

  Derica nodded, the fear in her eyes momentarily replaced by gratitude. “Fergus, I cannot possibly express my thanks adequately. What you have done is….”

  “Is nothing more than Garren would not do for me.” Fergus smiled at her, briefly. “It was a pleasure, my lady. I wish you and Garren all of the happiness in the world. He is an extremely lucky man. Now, off with you and don’t look back.”

  Impulsively, he kissed her on the forehead and mounted the steed. With the charger hurling down the road, Derica tore into the trees as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.

  Nine days. Nine long, miserable days.

  Garren knew that, in the grand scheme of things, nine days was a trifle. He would trust Fergus and his judgment completely as to the right time to whisk Derica from Framlingham, so it was quite possible that he was looking at weeks. It was a depressing thought. He didn’t know if he could take it.