“As you wish, my lady,” he said softly.
He helped Offa and David dig the grave. By the time the sun settled, the rain had let up somewhat. Still, it was the end of a very long day, and a very long trip. As he fell asleep beside his wife later that night in the shadows of the old great hall, he felt a sense of peace for the first time in days. But he knew that would be short-lived.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I thought I should inform you. I doubted He is had the opportunity yet.”
William Marshal sat at his great desk, listening to the words. Many times over the years he had heard news, good or bad, from this exact spot. Tonight, the news was not encouraging. He felt disappointment deep in his gut.
The old man sighed, scratching the chin with a day’s growth of white stubble. He tried to remain calm. He should have seen this coming, and in a sense he had. He had tried to discourage a man who had never known the joys of love from exploring the temptation of it. He thought he’d been firm enough, candid enough. But apparently his words had been in vain. Of all the men in the world to succumb to insubordination, he never thought he would live to see the day it would be Garren le Mon.
“So he married her.” It was more of a statement.
“Aye, my lord.”
“Against Bertram’s wishes?”
“Aye.”
The scratching of the stubble turned into rubbing the forehead. “Do you know where he and his bride have gone?”
Next to the desk, Hoyt de Rosa shook his head. “Nay,” he mumbled. “Last I saw, they were leaving the inn at Kettering. I did not ask where they were going, and he did not offer. The point is that you should know that my brothers were informed that Garren is a spy. His cover was destroyed and he was lucky to have escaped Framlingham with his life.”
“But he married your niece without her father’s permission.”
“He did. But that was secondary to my brothers discovering his true identity.”
“Somehow I believe the two are related. Is it possible that he told her of his true identity and she told her father?”
“Not at all, my lord,” Hoyt insisted. “I can assure you that Derica knew nothing of his mission. In defense of Garren, I will say this; he accomplished what he set forth to do. He posed as a suitor for Derica. He performed superbly. The only complication, which was not his fault, was that my brothers were told that he was a spy. His only choice was to flee. They would have killed him had he not.”
“Then who told them he was an agent?”
“A spy for Prince John, a man I have seen at Framlingham on more than one occasion. He apparently recognized Garren and told my brother of his suspicions.”
“Why was the man at Framlingham?”
“Informing my brother of all I just told you. Garren’s recognition was incidental.”
The Marshal absorbed the words. It was a true accounting of what had happened, more than likely. But the fact remained that his most prized agent was missing.
“Garren, Garren,” the Marshal muttered regretfully. After a moment, he shook his head, trying to shake off the shock of it. “Very well: I shall accept your explanation for now. But I must speak with Garren. Unless he has fled from the service of the king completely, I expect him to show himself and explain his actions. If there was ever a time I need Garren, it is now.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“For it seems now that we have a greater problem.”
“We do.”
“Several thousand Teutonic and Irish mercenaries at Nottingham and Bolton.”
“Aye.”
“And two thousand more French due next week.”
“That is true.”
“And you said you told Garren this?”
“I did.”
The Marshal shook his head faintly. “I cannot believe he would abandon Richard in his hour of need.”
“You know his character better than I.”
“I thought I did,” William murmured. He gazed across the room, to the lancet window where the cold night swirled beyond. “But a woman has been known to do strange things to a man’s sense of duty.”
Hoyt couldn’t argue. He’d seen the looks between Garren and Derica, but he was afraid to voice his opinion. He could only pray that Garren would do what was right.
“Garren?”
Garren looked up from the small piece of vellum he was writing on. Derica was smiling back at him, a large bundle of vegetation in her arms. Before he could answer her, she shook her head at him.
“You did not hear a word I said,” she set the bundle down on the table, next to his writing. “I asked if you would move aside so that I may set this down.”
He smiled, rather sheepishly, and moved the vellum well clear of her burden. “I am sorry. I was writing to my sister.”
Derica knew that. Over the past week, they had worked hard to settle in to Cilgarren and she could not fault her husband a bit of quiet time. Offa and his nephew had become gracious hosts, working alongside Garren and Emyl to make the great hall livable for the lady’s sake. The table had been restored and everyone had a dark corner of the room to sleep in. Garren had eventually told them of their reasons for being there; it was only fair should the de Rosas show up. Instead of being upset by it, Offa had seemed strangely excited as if he would once again be provided the chance to prove himself a warrior.
“And just what are you saying in your missive?” Derica nodded at the vellum. “Complaining about me, were you?”
He laughed softly. “Absolutely. You are too sweet, too wonderful and too generous for your own good. What a burden you are.”
“Then it is your misfortune to have been foolish enough to marry me.” She grinned, peeling back the cloth of the bundle she had been carrying. “While you were loafing about, I went hunting. I found wild lentils growing on the slope above the river. Someone must have planted them there some time ago, when this castle was lived-in, because the hill is covered with them. And see what else? Blackberries. Lots of them.”
He plucked one out of her pile and popped it in his mouth. “Delicious.” Snatching her around the waist, he kissed her cheek. “As are you.”
She let him kiss her a few times, affection that quickly grew into passion. As he nibbled her neck, she put her hands on his chest in a half-hearted attempt to stop him.
“Not now, Garren,” she muttered. “Someone might come in.”
“Let them,” he growled, but she somehow found the strength to dislodge him and he sighed with mock frustration. “You are a cold wench.”
She ignored him, focusing on the harvest before her. “I am afraid that I am not much of a cook, as you have no doubt discovered. Other than supervising the kitchens, father would never let me learn the craft. He was afraid the knives would cut me or the fire would burn me, or I would somehow get hurt. So all I can do is hunt for food, and not much more. At least I feel as if I am contributing something that way.”
Garren put a hand on her shoulder. “No worries, sweetheart. I learned to do for myself at a young age, as you no doubt have discovered.”
It was her turn to smile sheepishly. “So you can cook whatever I gather.”
“Precisely.”
“Will you at least go with me to forage?”
“I think I can spare the time.”
They carefully divided up the lentils from the berries before heading out again. It had stopped raining a few days hence, but the ground was still wet and soft, and the moats were filled to brimming. Garren carried the cloth she used to bundle up whatever she gathered, keeping the conversation light as they made their way over to the north tower next to the kitchen. The cooks of Cilgarren had apparently planted their gardens on the steep slope above the river, knowing that it would be relatively safe from invasion from the river below.
Garren had hold of his wife’s skirt as she scavenged about, fearful she would lose her footing in the damp soil and plunge into the water far below. But she was quite surefooted, chattering a
s she collected more lentils and found a few wild turnips. He remained mostly silent, listening to her talk, watching the dull sunlight glisten off of her hair and wondering how he was going to tear himself away from her long enough to conduct his business with the Marshal. No doubt, William was wondering what had become of him by now. Time was not his friend in this matter. As reluctant as he was to leave her, he knew equally as much that he had to.
Emyl took the duty and cooked a nice lentil stew that night. The lentils, turnips and a few old carrots from Offa had made a tasty feast. After sup, Derica dozed by the fire as the men rolled a pair of die across the floor. Garren wasn’t much for gambling, but Emyl had insisted and now Garren owned nearly everything his three comrades had.
“Now that you are so wealthy, do you think we could go into the town and buy some flour?” Derica had been listening to her husband win. “I have a fancy for bread.”
The men looked up from their game. “I think that could be arranged,” Garren said. “But it would be wiser to send Emyl into town. He would be far less noticeable to your family should they happen to be in the area.”
Odd how days had passed and she hadn’t thought of her fanatical family. But thoughts of them suddenly filled her mind and she was unsettled again. How people who had professed to love her could wish such unhappiness for her by wanting to destroy the man she loved was beyond her comprehension.
“Do you think they’ve managed to track us here?” she asked.
Garren shrugged. “ ’Tis hard to say. We’re far away from Framlingham, but if they’ve a true desire to track us, there is no telling how far they’ll go. ’Tis best to be safe right now and stay where we are.”
“We’ll go,” David passed a nervous glance at Derica. “If there is any news of visitors in town, we’ll discover it.”
Garren tried to keep the smile from his lips. Over the past few days, David had shown a noticeable interest in Derica and seemed absolutely terrified by it. Garren could hardly blame him. The young man had spent years in isolation and suddenly there was a beautiful young woman in his midst. Derica wasn’t oblivious, but she had been polite about it.
“My thanks,” Garren said. “But in case there are, make no provocative move. Return to the castle immediately and I shall decide a course of action.”
David nodded his dark head. “We’ll defend you, have no doubt.”
“I don’t. Your loyalty is appreciated.”
David didn’t say any more. He was uncomfortable saying what he had, afraid he’d sounded like a fool. Offa slapped his nephew on the shoulder. “You needn’t worry, my lady. Even if they make it to the castle, we know many places to hide and avenues of escape. They’ll never get you.”
Derica smiled in thanks. “I hope we’re not too much of a burden.”
“Not at all. David and I crave the excitement.”
“But your life was so quiet before we came.”
Offa snorted. “It was dull. At least now we have something to look forward to.”
“A battle?”
The old man’s eyes lit up, memories of glory from long ago filling his mind. “Indeed. Fine adventures of bloody battles!”
Derica looked at her husband and they smiled at each other. After a few more moments of languishing before the fire, she forced herself to stand. “I believe I shall go to bed.” She stretched her shapely body. “Good eve to you, my lords.”
The men responded politely. David stole a quick glance but just as quickly turned away. Garren excused himself and followed his wife up the narrow steps the led into the minstrel’s gallery above the hall. He’d fashioned a large screen out of wood and rushes, hiding them from the view down below. A pallet of more rushes and bedding from Emyl’s humble home lay upon the floor, comfortable enough for the two of them. Garren felt bad that he had nothing to offer her other than borrowed goods and the bare minimum of comfort. She deserved so much more. As his wife lay down, he tucked the worn coverlets in around her.
“Someday, we’ll have a massive castle and the finest bedding money can buy,” he said softly. “You will only touch satins and silks, I swear it.”
She smiled. “I have had that. It matters naught if you are not with me to share it.”
“So you prefer rushes that scratch and poke?”
“As long as they scratch and poke you, too.”
He sat there a moment, gazing down at her, torn between tremendous joy and tremendous sorrow. He could not delay the inevitable; the longer he put it off, the harder it would be.
It was quiet in the gallery. He tucked the covers in tighter around her, trying to think of the correct words, when she interrupted his thoughts.
“I have something to tell you,” she said softly.
“You do? What?”
“You’re going to be leaving soon.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I am?”
“Aye,” she nodded. “You must attend William Marshal. He needs to know all that has gone on at Framlingham during the past few weeks.”
“Hmmm,” he looked at her with interest. “You are correct, madam. The security of this country is at stake. When must I leave?”
“I would think tomorrow,” she said as if issuing orders. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you return.”
He nodded, a warm twinkle in his eye. “I cannot tell you how much is pains me that I must go alone. I wish I could take you with me.”
“I am safe here,” Derica was trying to be brave. “I have Emyl and Offa and David to protect me.”
An eyebrow lifted. “Mind that David keeps a respectful distance. I would hate to have to kill him.”
“David is afraid of me. I swear that if I winked at him, he’d faint.”
“I have spent my life being suspicious of the motives of others. Though he seems harmless enough, I cannot discount his thoughts should I not be here as a thwarting presence.”
“I am my own thwarting presence. I have thwarted many an amorous suitor in my time.”
He grinned. “But not me.”
She returned his smile. “Nay, not you. You were the only man who lowered himself from the roof into my boudoir. With such dedication, how could I discourage you?”
His smile faded as he gazed into her eyes. “Christ, I am going to miss you. I am so sorry that I must leave, even for a short time.”
The longing in his voice squeezed her heart, making it difficult to be brave. “How long do you think you shall be away?”
He ran a finger down her cheek, onto her shoulder. “ ’Tis difficult to say. Perhaps ten days, perhaps twenty.”
“Twenty days,” she breathed. “Why can I not go with you if you are to be away that long?”
“Because I shall travel much more quickly without you. Furthermore, there are threats on the road I have no desire to expose you to. Bandits and murderers, to name a few. I would rather know you were here, safe, waiting impatiently for me to return.”
She knew he was right, but that didn’t help the tugging in her chest. When he pulled her up and took her in his arms, it only increased the ache. Derica held him tightly, afraid to let him go.
“Promise you will return,” she whispered.
His fingers were in her hair, his mouth against her forehead. “I swear it.”
She kissed him once, twice. “Do you realize that since we were reunited at the abbey, we have never been apart? It will be strange not waking up to you every morning. It has become a part of me, like breathing.”
“I know,” he said. “But after this temporary separation, I shall never leave you again. Ever.”
She was quiet a moment. “But what if William Marshal insists you continue in his service?”
“I have been in his service for many years. I have dedicated my entire life to the king. It is time that I dedicate myself to my own life now and he will have to understand that.”
“What if he doesn’t’?”
“He has no choice.”
She sighed, hearing his determination. Bu
t she also knew that he had a strong sense of duty to Richard. A man who would chose to be a spy for the king would have nothing else. She wondered if his love for her would outweigh his sense of duty if he were pressured to make a choice.
“Whatever happens, my love,” she ran her fingers through his hair. “This night belongs to us.”
He couldn’t think of a reply other than to make love to her.
The next morning dawned dismal. Rain was coming down in sheets, creating a blurry white landscape. Emyl had loaded Garren’s charger and had it waiting outside the outer wall. Both bridges were still in a state of disrepair and the horse could not be brought any closer.
A fire burned in the crumbling hearth in the great hall, sending smoke to the ceiling and escaping from gaps in the roof. Garren and Derica had eaten a cozy meal near the fire, greedily soaking up the last few moments they would have together until he returned. They kept the conversation positive, talking of trivial things, unwilling to face the fact that time was drawing short.
Derica was in control of her emotions until Emyl came with Garren’s armor and began helping him dress. She sat atop the old table, huddled in the woolens that the nuns had given her as she watched her husband transform from a strong, sweet man into a terrifying vision of a knight. She well remembered the first time she ever saw him, in her father’s solar. Although he had worn his armor, he had not been allowed his weapons inside the castle; even so, he had been an impressive sight. Having lived in a household full of knights, she had long gotten over being impressed by a bold man in a steel suit. But watching Garren as he adjusted his breastplate, she felt giddy and warm as she hadn’t felt in years.
Garren noticed her watching him and his eyes twinkled. “Why do you look so?”
She blinked at him, puzzled. “How do I look?”
“Like you are day dreaming.”
She grinned. “I am, in a way. Tell me something; why is it that you do not have horns jutting from the armor on your shoulders? Uncle Hoyt used to.”
He snorted. “Because I do not need them. Men with spikes on their armor aren’t merely looking to defend or attack honorably; they are seeking to maim and destroy.”
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