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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Would you please bring me a selection of fabric while you are in town?” she asked. “I want to make some more garments for Aneirin’s child.”

  Garren struggled not to roll his eyes at her. “Sweetheart, you have already made that child a massive wardrobe and he is not even born yet,” he said, then relented when he saw the look on her face. He threw up his hands and turned away from her. “Oh, very well; I know he is our first grandchild. Surely the Christ Child was not so anticipated or revered as Aneirin’s first child.”

  Derica watched him go, knowing he felt the same way about Aneirin’s first baby as she did. They were both so excited they could barely stand it. Aneirin had been married to a fine knight for seven years, childless until this past year when she discovered that she was pregnant. Derica thought that Garren was perhaps more excited about it than Aneirin was although he pretended otherwise. It was a wonderful addition to their already wonderful world.

  The sound of distant horses suddenly interrupted her thoughts. In fact, Garren came to a halt, turning towards the wide-open portcullis as the sounds of hooves grew louder. The portcullis of the castle was almost never closed, and that was usually only at night. Beaucaire had been at peace for four years since the Count of Toulouse had captured it, putting Garren in charge of the garrison.

  Garren had served the Count since fleeing England some twenty three years earlier, having come to the Count with his father’s reference. Although Chateroy hadn’t been destroyed those years ago by the de Rosas, it had been heavily damaged and Garren’s father was thankful it hadn’t been razed altogether. He also understood, clearly, why Garren needed to leave England. So the Count accepted Garren into his service based on former service from Sir Allan le Mon of Anglecynn and Ceri. The Count never asked why Garren had left England and Garren had never offered. For over twenty years, it had been the perfect arrangement.

  Therefore, Garren wasn’t particularly concerned with the sounds of approaching hooves but he did order his soldiers on the wall to lower the first of the double-portcullises about half-way. That was so men on horses couldn’t suddenly storm in and rush the bailey without getting their heads cut off. He approached the open gate as the sounds grew louder. Behind him, the four le Mon brothers were already moving to arm themselves; as trained knights, like their father, they were always prepared.

  As Garren wait for the horsemen to make an appearance, Lily suddenly ran to her father before Derica could stop her, grasping her father’s hand tightly and smiling up into his concerned face. Although Garren knew he should send her back with her mother and sister into the keep, he relented when he beheld her lovely face, going so far as to wink at her and squeeze her hand. Happy, Lily pressed herself against her father, half-hidden behind his massive bulk, as three riders suddenly appeared at the half-lowered portcullis.

  The riders immediately came to a halt; to go any further would mean getting knocked off their horses by the half-lowered iron grate. The horses danced about nervously as the riders eventually dismounted. One man handed his reins to the man next to him and ducked underneath the lowered portcullis.

  “Stop,” Garren boomed. “Come no further before you announce yourself.”

  The armored man came to a halt. After a long, tense pause, he finally off his helm. Garren’s eyes nearly popped from his skull in astonishment as he recognized the face.

  “Fergus!” he hissed.

  Fergus de Edwin flashed his toothy grin; he was older, perhaps thinner, but there was no mistaking the bright blue eyes or graying blond hair.

  “I see that I have come to the right place,” he said. “You are as ugly as ever, Garren.”

  “And you are still as stupid.”

  It was their traditional greeting, much missed and much revered. Garren was already making his way towards Fergus, who met him somewhere near the raise second portcullis. In lieu of an extended verbal greeting, Garren simply threw his arms around the man. Fergus returned the gesture and they hugged each other to reaffirm old bonds. The affection, the friendship, was still there and as strong as it had ever been. Words, at the moment, were fairly useless.

  “I do not even know where to start,” Garren said as he pulled back, gazing into Fergus’ face with complete, utter amazement. “How on earth did you find me?”

  Fergus clapped Garren on the side of the face. “Your father told me,” he said, catching a glimpse of a pretty young girl half-hidden behind Garren. His focus turned to her, startled. “And who is this pretty faerie princess? Is she magic, perhaps?”

  He was looking at Lily as he spoke. Lily flushed bright red and shook her head, pressing her face into her father’s side. Fergus watched her a moment longer before returning his focus to Garren.

  “Surely she must belong to you,” he said softly.

  Garren grinned, lifting his arm so he could get a glimpse of Lily with her face buried in his torso.

  “She does,” he said. “This is the Lady Lily le Mon. And the rest of the group behind me also belongs to me. I believe you know my wife.”

  Fergus hadn’t noticed Derica standing on the steps with a lovely young woman beside her. As their eyes met, Derica smiled broadly and descended the stone stairs into the bailey, coming upon Fergus and doing just as her husband had; she hugged him fiercely. Fergus seemed a bit overwhelmed at everything, studying the faces of the young men and women looking back at him. He gestured to the group.

  “All yours?” he asked Garren and Derica, incredulous.

  Garren nodded, glancing over his shoulder at his children. “All ours; Weston, Davin, Austin, Sian and Roselyn. You remember Sian, of course.”

  Fergus thought back through the years to that dark-haired little boy from Pembroke. “I do.”

  “His sister is married and about to have her first child.”

  Fergus shook his head in amazement. “Quite a brood, I must say,” he was still in disbelief. “And they are all grown. Has it been so long between us, Garren?”

  Garren nodded slowly, so very glad to see the man. “It has been too long,” he murmured, his expression growing intense. “Tell me why you have come.”

  Fergus took a deep breath; he was still amazed with Garren and Derica and all of their children. He could not believe how much time had passed. But he focused on Garren’s question, on the reason for his visit. It was important.

  “I come bearing news, Garren,” he lowered his voice. “Much has happened recently.”

  “Recently?” Garren’s brow furrowed. “What has happened?”

  Fergus clapped a hand on Garren’s enormous shoulder. “The Marshal passed away not long ago,” he replied. “His son is now the new Earl of Pembroke.”

  Garren felt a flash of sadness for the man he had once served. He nodded in acceptance, acknowledgement. “I will pray for him,” he said softly. “But never did I doubt my decision to leave his service and, consequently England, was the correct one. I could not have lived in peace had I stayed.”

  Fergus sighed faintly, scratching his forehead, eyeing the little girl now peeking out from behind her father.

  “He knew where you were, you know,” he muttered.

  “Who?”

  “The Marshal. He knew where you had gone almost the moment you left. Had he truly been out for vengeance, he could have done it long ago. I would not be too bitter towards him if I were you.”

  Garren’s brow furrowed. “How did he know?”

  Fergus lifted his eyebrows. “Do not forget that de Poyer and I knew you were alive, as did my father. The Marshal came to Pembroke shortly after you fled England and, after a night and day of drinking, my father told the Marshal everything. So he knew from nearly the beginning.”

  Garren’s eyebrows lifted. “And he never sought to find me? Not ever?”

  Fergus shook his head slowly. “All he ever said to me about you was that he hoped you were finally happy, wherever you were. No more than that.”

  Garren looked at Derica, who gazed back at him with wide-eye
s. All of these years he thought he had been hiding from William Marshal when the truth was that the Marshal knew where he was the entire time. Upon reflection, it didn’t surprise him. The Marshal made it a habit of knowing everything. He turned back to Fergus.

  “So why have you come?” he asked. “Surely not to tell me of the Marshal’s passing. It is of no consequence to me, truly. My life is here at Beaucaire and I have no intention of leaving.”

  Fergus wriggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But I have not come for that reason alone. I have also come to tell you that your father passed away last month. You are now the new baron of Anglecynn and Ceri. Chateroy Castle is now yours.”

  Garren stared at him a long moment, feeling Derica’s hand on his arm comfortingly. “My father passed away?”

  “Aye. I am sorry, Garren. I know you loved him.”

  Garren nodded faintly, saddened by the fact that his father would never get to see his strong grandsons or beautiful granddaughters. But he had known that the moment he fled English soil. Still, it was a sad moment.

  Fergus could see the sorrow in his expression but he continued. “There is more,” he said softly. “I have brought with me documents from the Marshal. He told me to give them to you should I ever see you, so I suppose now is the time. Do you recall that he granted your wife lands and title upon your death at the Battle of Lincoln?”

  Garren nodded vaguely, not particularly remembering the details. “What of it?”

  Fergus’ bright blue eyes began to gleam. “He never took them back, you know. Once he gave them to Derica, they became hers forever. She is a very wealthy heiress of the Buckton Marcher lordship that stretches from Hopton Castle on the east, Adforton to the south, Craven Arms to the north, and includes four towns, two fiefdoms, and about five thousand vassals. She also has possession of Clun Castle, four hundred soldiers and ten thousand gold marks. William Marshal the Younger is holding all of this for your return, should you ever decide to return.”

  Garren and Derica stared at him with big eyes before turning to each other, a thousand unspoken words between them. Garren finally shook his head and turned to Fergus, confused and bordering on irritation.

  “So you come to France to tell me of my father’s death, the Marshal’s death, and of vast wealth awaiting my wife and I should we return to England?” he reiterated. “Fergus, you could have done yourself a favor, remained in England, and simply sent me a missive. All of this does not change the way I feel about my life; I have been deliriously happy for the past twenty three years and have no intention of returning to England.”

  Before Fergus could reply, Derica put her hand on her husband’s arm.

  “But your family home is now yours, Garren,” she said quietly. “Do you not want your sons to return to Chateroy to continue the le Mon legacy? Surely you do not want it to die out with you.”

  Garren looked at her; Derica had only grown more beautiful with the years, her lovely face hardly lined and her green eyes just as bright. She was literally his heart and soul. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

  “Are you not happy here?” he asked softly. “Must we uproot our family because of old ties and old memories?”

  She smiled at him, wrapping her arms around him and Lily, was still pressed against her father.

  “Of course I am,” she said. “But Chateroy is your legacy and has been in your family for two hundred years. You do not want to see it end with you. As for the rest, well… perhaps it will make a fine gift to our children, don’t you think? We can divide up the Buckton lordship among them and they will have lands upon which to build their own legacies.”

  Garren didn’t look entirely sure but he respected his wife’s opinion. Still, there was much to talk about. In just a few short minutes, his life had changed dramatically and he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it.

  Lost in thought, he failed to notice that the two other men who had accompanied Fergus had dismounted their horses. Lily had somehow unhinged herself from her father and had wandered over to them, gazing up at them with her bottomless blue eyes. The two men looked down at the little girl, inspecting her as she was inspecting them.

  Lily was not usually so bold with strangers, which made her behavior odd. But she didn’t seem particularly wary of these strangers for some reason. She stared up at them curiously.

  “Who are you?” she finally asked.

  The men in armor were big, one bigger than the other. The larger of the pair stiffly knelt down in front of Lily, almost eye-level with her. Then he removed his helm.

  Hoyt de Rosa’s tired old face gazed at Lily as if she was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth. The old eyes were soft with emotion.

  “My name is Hoyt,” he said in his soft, deep voice. “Who are you?”

  Hearing Hoyt’s voice brought a gasp from Derica, followed by instant tears when she saw him. But Lily ignored her mother, instead, focused on the very old man in front of her.

  “I am Lily Elspeth de Rosa le Mon,” she said her name very quickly and fluidly. “Why are you here?”

  “I am your mother’s uncle,” Hoyt replied. “You are very pretty, Lily. You look a good deal like your mother when she was young.”

  Lily eyed him a moment, finally pointing to the other young lady who was standing slightly behind her mother.

  “That is my sister, Roselyn,” she said. “She is awaiting her betrothed today but my brothers have said he is probably not coming because he is probably marrying someone else.”

  “What?” Hoyt roared softly, rising to his feet as he gazed at the very beautiful Roselyn. “How is this possible? Your sister is too beautiful to be jilted. Who is this bridegroom that would shame my grand niece?”

  Although he was big and scary, Lily didn’t sense bad from the man. In fact, she rather liked him. She slipped her hand into his massive gauntlet and continued to study him curiously. When he looked down at her, she smiled. Next to Hoyt, the last helmed man lifted his visor, revealing his face to the world.

  “No man will shame my granddaughter so,” Bertram de Rosa said softly. “Lily, you will tell me his name so that I may champion your sister.”

  Derica went from soft tears to great sobs as she rushed to her father, throwing herself into his arms. Bertram, very old and very tired, hugged his daughter tightly.

  “Da,” she wept. “How… how…?”

  She couldn’t finish and Bertram didn’t let her; he held her back at arm’s length, holding her sweet face in his hands and drinking in the sight of her. Although his eyesight was failing him and he was nearly crippled, he still felt the need to come and see to his daughter after all of these years. The past twenty three years had not caused him to forget her. He had missed her every day.

  “Every night I prayed for your happiness and safety,” he murmured, watching tears spill down her cheeks. “Every day, I would wonder where you were and if you were happy. I see that God has answered my prayers; you are as happy as you are beautiful, and I am thankful.”

  Derica kissed her father’s cheeks, struggling to still her tears. “But how did you know where to find me?” she looked between Hoyt and Fergus and her husband. “I do not understand how.”

  Bertram smiled wearily, putting his arm around her shoulder and leaning heavily on her. Derica could see as well as feel how exhausted her father was and it concerned her, overshadowing her joy. Everything aside, he was an old man who had traveled a very long way.

  “Hoyt told me,” Bertram said quietly. “He discovered your whereabouts through your husband’s friend, Fergus.”

  Derica knew the greater implications of Hoyt’s, and Fergus’, loyalties but she said nothing, Perhaps her father didn’t know their connection; perhaps he did. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter any longer. Loyalties or politics could not trump family and friendship bonds.

  “And so you came with Fergus and Hoyt to see me?” she asked softly.

  Bertram nodded. “When I caught
Hoyt sneaking out in the middle of the night nearly a month ago, I demanded to know where he was going. After much discussion, he finally confessed. I knew I had to come. I know there was much dissention the last we saw each other, Derica… I was hoping that with time you have forgiven a selfish old man.”

  Derica shook her head emphatically. “Of course I have,” she assured him. “I am so happy you have come. You have, in fact, come at a most opportune time. As Lily told you, Roselyn is expecting her betrothed any moment. She will be more than pleased to have her grandfather attend her wedding.”

  By this time, the boys had begun to gather around the emotional group near the portcullis and Derica took the time to introduce her and Garren’s sons. It was apparent that the boys were of de Rosa stock and Bertram was deeply touched to be greeted by grandsons he never knew he had. Roselyn even gave him a kiss on the cheek, causing the old man to get misty-eyed. Derica watched it all with tears in her eyes, never imagining it was something she would ever witness. Family, and life, had come full circle.

  But she could see the sheer exhaustion in her father as he spoke with his grandchildren and she was determined to get him inside to rest. She took his elbow gently, firmly.

  “Come along, now,” she urged her father towards the gray-stoned resident hall. “There is all the time in the world to become acquainted later. Right now, I want you to rest and recover. It has been a long trip for all of you.”

  Bertram resisted. “I am more interested in meeting my granddaughter’s betrothed,” he said, sounding very much like the Bertram de Rosa of old. “Who is this man? What of his family and loyalties?”

  Derica looked at Garren, shaking her head ironically. “Do you remember the last time my father met a bridegroom?”

  Garren lifted an eyebrow. “I do indeed.”

  “The situation could get ugly.”

  Garren merely shook his head and snorted, having a difficult time believing the irony of history repeating itself. Roselyn was at his side, grasping his big hand tightly.