Garren held her so tightly that he swore he heard bones cracking. He was only aware of her soft body in his arms, her hot breath in his ear. He couldn’t seem to hold her tightly enough, closely enough, feeling her hair tickle his face. It was like heaven. Before he realized it, he was kissing her cheeks, her nose, her eyes now wet with tears. All the while, Derica gasped, something between a laugh and a sob.
“Nay,” he breathed in between heated kisses. “I am not dead. And neither are you.”
Derica laughed joyously, meeting his feverish kisses with delight. Her hands were on his stubbled face as he literally kissed every pore on her face. He didn’t seem to want to do anything other than kiss her. But as the initial shock of delirium began to fade, Derica wanted answers.
“What happened?” she asked in between furious kisses. “Why did the Marshal send me a missive telling me of your death? Fergus said that he was mistaken. How could he make a mistake like that?”
Garren sighed, his kisses slowing considerably. It occurred to him that they were on the wall walk, not the best place to be in the midst of a battle. He stopped kissing her long enough to look around, noticing the nearby turret and taking Derica along with him as he made haste for it.
His arms were around her as they entered the cool shelter of the tower. His hands moved to her face, touching her reverently as if to confirm that she was indeed real. He still couldn’t believe it. But the question hung in the air between them, the massive implications becoming reality. He didn’t even know where to start.
“What else did Fergus tell you?” he asked softly.
Derica shook her head, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Not much more,” she told him. “He simply said that the Marshal was mistaken about your death. But how can this be?”
Garren thought on that question, taking her hands between his own and kissing them reverently.
“I told you that nothing could keep me from you,” he murmured. “Not the Marshal nor your father nor even death. I meant it. Fergus came to me when I was on the battlefield at Lincoln to tell me that you had disappeared from Cilgarren. At that moment, there was nothing more important on earth than finding you and I was determined to do so. Dead or alive, I would find you. But I knew the Marshal would not let me go so easily so I faked my own death so that I would be free to return to Wales to search for you. I had no idea that the Marshal would find you before I would, sending you missives of my death.”
Derica stared at him, shocked by the story. “So the Marshal still believes you are dead?”
He nodded slowly. “If he finds out that I faked my death, then my death might not be such a mistake after all. He will not be pleased.”
Derica clutched at him. “What are you going to do?”
He kissed her fingers again, still gripped between his two enormous palms. “Truthfully, I had not thought on it. My only focus has been to reclaim you. Now that I have you, I suppose I must make plans for our future.”
“What future?”
His blue eyes glimmered. “A glorious one now that you and I are together again. What does it matter with kings and princes? The only thing that matters is you. Trust that I will do what is necessary to build a fine legacy for our son.” His gaze drifted over her slender body. “I must say, you do not appear to be with child.”
Derica’s soft expression faded somewhat, realizing that Fergus, or someone, must have told him that she had been pregnant. She sighed softly, putting a tender hand to his cheek. “I am not,” she murmured. “Not any longer.”
His brow flickered with confusion. “But Fergus said….”
She cut him off gently. “It was not meant to be. The fall into the river saw to that.” She saw his expression wash with sorrow and she turned the tables on him, kissing his big hands instead. “Do you know how I ended up at Pembroke?”
He nodded, distressed, and she pressed him. “Did Fergus tell you?”
“He did.”
“Then you know that I slipped from the hill at Cilgarren and into the river. I was found by a woman and her two children. They nursed me back to health.” She smiled timidly at him. “There will be more children, my love. Do not grieve for the one lost. It simply was not meant to be, not this time.”
He nodded reluctantly, pulling her back into his embrace once again. For several moments, he fell silent, rocking her gently against him and relishing the feel of her in his arms once more. He felt extremely blessed for her life yet sorrowful for the one she lost. Still, they were together and that was the only thing of import now. He murmured prayers of thanks as he stood there and held her.
Outside of the tower, the sounds of battle were growing. Men were shouting and arrows were slinging over the walls. Garren’s gaze moved to the portion of the wall walk he could see, watching the battle grow more intense.
Derica noted where his focus lay and she, too, gazed out of the tower, watching the activity upon it. Then she looked up at her husband, his handsome profile as he watched the action. She could tell that he was anxious, pensive, torn. Now that they had found each other, bigger issues loomed.
“What will we do now?” she asked softly. “My father is here to retrieve me. Keller is doing all he can to protect us.”
Garren looked at her. “De Poyer is a good man,” he said. “I have known him for years. He would have made a good husband for you.”
She could see the mirth in his eyes and she shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “Perhaps. But I would rather have you.”
His smile broke through and he kissed her tenderly. “How fortunate for me,” he murmured against her lips. “In answer to your question, however, I do not know what we are going to do right now. But I can do one of two things; I can return to the Marshal and beg his forgiveness, or we can leave England entirely and start a new life somewhere else.”
She gazed at him seriously. “You said the Marshal would kill you if he found out you faked your death.”
“It is entirely possible. But an honorable man would hone up to his actions. They were, after all, in pursuit of a noble cause and I have always considered myself a man of honor.”
She fell silent, pondering the greater implications. “I would be honest when I say that I do not want to risk it,” she whispered. “I would rather have you alive, Garren. Is your honor worth more than your life with me?”
He took a long, pensive breath. “Nay,” he murmured. “I do believe that I have demonstrated that. I have destroyed everything I have ever worked for but it matters not. I am nothing without you.”
“Then we will flee England?”
He looked at her, seeing the light of hope in her eyes. He knew, as he lived and breathed, that he could not return to the Marshal to tell him why he had faked his death. He was fairly certain the Marshal would never trust him again and he could no longer continue as an agent for the king. All of that was destroyed the moment they dressed that old, rotted corpse in his battle armor at Lincoln. Garren realized, as he gazed into Derica’s eyes, that a whole new life was before him, something richer and more wonderful than he could ever imagine. He was very eager to know it.
“Aye,” he whispered. “We will leave and never look back.”
Derica threw her arms around his neck, holding him close against her and praying they were making the correct choice. All she knew was that he was alive and they were together, forever, whatever may come. He had given up everything he had ever worked for because of her. She would spend the rest of her life making sure he did not regret it.
As night fell on another brutal and bloody day, the de Rosa army camped at a safe distance around the walls of Pembroke with the exception of the area of the swampy marsh that surrounded the water gate on the northeast side of the castle. There was no way to cover that area without getting too close to the castle and too close to the archer’s range. Bertram saw no reason to cover the old, mossy iron grate that sat half-buried in the water, instead choosing to focus his attention on the south and west sides. The decisio
n would cost him.
By the cover of darkness as the sliver moon barely illuminated the velvet expanse of sky, Garren, Derica, Aneirin and Sian escaped in the chest-deep water that filled the swamp. Garren carried both children in his arms and his wife was tethered to him with a rope that Keller had tied about the two of them. Fortunately, Aneirin and Sian were good swimmers and when Garren told them to hold their breath, they did. Into the river they went, through the dark and murky water to safety on the other side.
Keller watched the four heads cross the ghostly gray river in the dead of night, more sorrow in his heart than he could comprehend. But seeing the joy in Derica’s face, and seeing the love in Garren’s, told him that he was doing the right thing. Heartbreaking or not, it was the correct thing to do.
Bertram de Rosa laid siege to Pembroke for four more days before finally giving up and going home.
He knew he would never see his daughter again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Beaucaire Castle
Languedoc, Southern France
1220 A.D.
The day was bright, warm and beautiful. Just a few miles from the Mediterranean Sea, Beaucaire was normally bright, warm and beautiful, something that Derica loved about her adopted home. Norfolk had been such a cold, wet place that the balmy warmth of the Languegoc region of France was something she had taken to immediately. She adored the climate.
Gazing up into the blue, blue sky, she was startled when two out of her four sons came barreling out of the stable yard astride new Belgian chargers that their father had recently purchased for them. Derica moved out of the way as her eldest son, Weston, came too close to her, wrestling with a big blond beast that was unwilling to be tamed. When the horse began to buck, she leapt up onto the flight of stone steps that led into Beaucaire’s resident hall.
“West,” she scolded. “If that horse throws you, I’ll not lift a finger to help. Do you hear me? Break your neck and I’ll not weep for you, not one tear.”
Weston le Mon smiled at his mother; an extremely handsome man with his father’s good looks and his mother’s bright green eyes, he continued to happily wrestle with the animal.
“Not to worry, sweetheart,” he told his mother. “I will not keep this animal, although I would dearly like to. I plan to give him to Rose’s betrothed as a wedding gift.”
“Ha!”
The shout came from the gaping entry into the gray-stoned resident hall of Beaucaire. Stunningly beautiful at seventeen years of age and awaiting the arrival of her betrothed, Roselyn le Mon scowled menacingly at her brother.
“You will do no such thing, Weston le Mon,” she gathered her skirts and took the stairs angrily. “I’ll not be made a widow before I even become a bride.”
As Weston laughed softly at his sister, his younger brother by fourteen months came up beside him on an equally fired-up war horse. Davin le Mon, the only sibling with dark hair in a family of light-haired people, grinned at his sister.
“You worry overly, love,” he told her. “Your new husband will be thrilled with this gift. ’Tis exactly what a new bridegroom wants – a wild horse to tame.”
The brothers laughed lewdly but Roselyn was on to their game. “He shall be thrilled until the beast bucks him off and kills him,” she shook a finger at the brothers. “No tricks, you two; do you hear me? No chasing this one off. I think I should like to marry him.”
The brothers passed wry expressions at each other, preparing to respond until they were distracted by a yell from the stable yards. Their youngest brother suddenly came shooting out of the yard astride a massive white horse, struggling to control the beast. As the family watched with a mixture of horror and bemusement, Austin le Mon let the horse take him on a couple of wild circles around the bailey of Beaucaire until finally managing to pull the horse to a halt.
The biggest of the four le Mon brothers, Austin was the mirror image of their father in his youth. He finally brought the horse to a stop, wiping his brow to the laughter of his brothers.
“I thought I was a dead man,” he breathed, slapping the big white neck affectionately. “He shall make a wonderful wedding gift for Roselyn’s beau, don’t you think?”
“No!” Roselyn threw her hands up. “No wild horses!”
“But…,” Austin began.
“I say not!” Roselyn turned to Derica, grasping her mother by the arm. “Please, Mother; tell them to leave my betrothed alone. No wild horses, no swords that are weighted with lead, and no wine that has been mixed with pepper so that he will cry for days. Please make them stop!”
Derica looked at her boys, the exact image of her own brothers in spirit and demeanor. Daniel, Donat and Dixon would have been proud. She had grown up with this kind of madness, never dreaming she would also breed it. Weston, Davin and Austin were loving, strong and powerful, but with a wild streak in them that would test God’s patience.
“Your sister has requested you not chase her intended away,” she lifted an eyebrow at the handsome faces. “You will kindly obey her wishes or my punishment shall be swift. Do we, in any way, misunderstand one another?”
Davin was the first to shake his head. “Nay, Mother,” he assured her. “We understand perfectly.”
Weston and Austin nodded sincerely but there wasn’t a bit of truth to it. Derica lifted the other eyebrow at her boys to reinforce her request just as Austin’s white stallion reared up and dumped him onto the dirt of the bailey. The horse ran off as Weston and Davin laughed uproariously.
“Austin, I find you in this position far too often,” Garren suddenly emerged from the resident hall, pulling on his massive leather gloves as he descended the stairs. He had missed the bucking stallion. “One would think with your size and strength, you would be able to best your brothers when they toss you around.”
Austin picked himself up, brushing off his bum. “It wasn’t my brothers,” he lifted his hand in the direction of the open portcullis. “It was the horse.”
“The new one I just purchased for you?”
“Aye, Da.”
Garren came to a halt next to his wife and daughter, still fumbling with his gloves. He lifted a threatening eyebrow at his youngest son.
“Then what are you doing still standing here?” he asked. “Go get that animal. It cost a small fortune.”
As Weston and Davin snorted, Austin turned for the stable yard, making a face at his brothers. Davin made one in return, Austin rushed him, and soon the two of them were rolling around in the dirt throwing punches. Derica rolled her eyes and looked at her husband, suddenly noticing a little body standing behind him. She motioned to the tiny figure.
“I did not see you, sweetheart,” Derica said. “Come to me.”
Twelve year old Lily le Mon went to her mother, allowing herself to be cuddled. As the youngest child in the family, she was sweet and spoiled. If her mother wasn’t cuddling her, her father was In fact, Garren was rarely without his little shadow. Lily was as beautiful as a new spring morning with her blond hair and big blue eyes. While Roselyn had a lush, seductive beauty, Lily looked like a sweet little poppet. At twelve years of age, she should have left to foster long ago but her parents couldn’t bear to part with her, so she remained at Beaucaire.
As Derica hugged her youngest, a tall, black-haired young man suddenly emerged from the resident. He, too, was pulling on his leather gloves, much like Garren had been. In fact, their actions were almost identical. Sian le Mon had grown up idolizing the big, blond knight, so much so that he was very nearly the spitting image of him in action and mindset. As the eldest of the le Mon brothers, he acted more like Garren than any of his brothers did. Even if he wasn’t Garren’s son by blood, he was certainly his son by spirit and nature.
“We should get going before the day grows any deeper,” he said to his father as he came down the stairs. “The shops in town will be closing early for Vespers.”
“Where are you going?” Derica wanted to know.
Sian leaned over, kissed he
r cheek, and continued down the steps to the bailey. “Into town,” he replied. “The tavern keeper at the Pig and the Fife said that he received a massive shipment of St. Cloven ale all the way from England. Father and I are going to buy as much as we can for Roselyn’s wedding feast.”
“If the groom ever gets here,” Davin was picking himself out of the dirt as Austin struggled to his knees. “Maybe he is not even coming. Maybe he has decided to marry someone else.”
Roselyn’s big green eyes welled up. “Dada,” she sniffed. “Tell them to stop being so hateful.”
Garren stopped messing with his gloves and eyed his middle son. “Enough, Davy,” he ordered quietly. “Upset your sister again and I shall take it out on your hide.”
He didn’t mean it but the threat was enough to silence Davin as he rose to his feet. Austin stood up next to him, weaving unsteadily in the wake of a righteous punch to the head from his brother.
“She was hateful to us first,” Austin pointed out. “She told us that her new husband would fight us if we did not ply her with gifts every day for the next year.”
Derica fought off a grin, as did Garren. He pointed a thick finger at his sons. “That is because you have much to make up for,” he said sternly. “You three have harassed your sister since the day she was born. ’Tis a wonder I didn’t throw you all to the wolves with all of the havoc you have wrought.”
Roselyn stood next to her father, nodding vehemently. “Putting honey in my bed,” she sneered. “And saffron in rosewater so it turned my teeth yellow. And…!”
Garren put his hand on her copper-blond head to silence her. “And probably more that I do not even know about so, if I were you, I would listen to her. Be kind to your sister on the event of her wedding. And if you go anywhere near her marriage bed, you shall rue the day you were born. Is that understood?”
Roselyn stuck her tongue out at her brothers for good measure; with her father’s support, she was brave enough to antagonize them. As she continued to make faces at them, Derica grasped her husband by the arm when he turned to walk away.
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 58
