The Whispering Night (11 page)

Derica held up a hand to
him, a gesture to be silent. She was not prepared to speak to any of them at
the moment, not even the eldest brother who seemed to go against the grain of
the de Rosa personality traits. Now, she simply wanted to get away from all of
those who had turned her once-happy future into a nightmare in a matter of
hours.

When enough time had
passed, she wandered from the vault and into the sunshine. Garren had long
since passed through the gates. She stood there, in the middle of Framlingham’s
massive ward, watching the green countryside beyond the gates as if expecting
him to reappear any moment. She was beyond tears, beyond exhaustion, and every
fiber of her being cried for the future she would never have.

          It was
difficult to comprehend what this short week in her life had brought to her. 
Nothing seemed worth the living any longer.

CHAPTER SIX

Yaxley Nene Abbey

Leicestershire

As a child, the place
had always frightened him. A dark structure, made from dark stone and covered
with dark ivy, it always appeared like something out of a religious nightmare.
He had come here with his father on a yearly pilgrimage when very young. Even
at his advanced age, he came still on that pilgrimage, now more from a sense of
wanting than a sense of duty.

Tonight, it was a
different sort of pilgrimage. It was important that he come because he could
think of nowhere else to go. He had been riding for an indeterminate number of
hours and his charger, the great red beast with the pale eyes, was exhausted. 
There was a wall around the abbey and a gated opening that reminded Garren of
the gate to hell; sharp spikes jutted up from the iron grate like fanged teeth.
Garren shuddered involuntarily as he passed through, as he had since he had
been a child.  It was as though the gate had eaten him alive with all of those
sharp teeth.

The moon had disappeared
by the time he arrived. Dawn was near. Garren left the charger grazing on the
grass near the wall as he approached the great oak door that kept the secular
world from the women inside.  He rapped on the door, heavily, and waited.

A pale face wrapped in
white appeared. Garren announced himself and the tiny nun allowed him entrance.
Garren knew what was expected of him and he stopped just inside the door and
planted his big feet, unmoving. He was not permitted to go anywhere inside the
structure unless the nuns indicated. Right now it was a waiting game, and his
patience, fed by exhaustion, was brittle.

Yet he knew he would be
waiting awhile, so he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the musty scent
that reminded him of his days as young boy. The carefree days of his youth came
back to his weary mind in bits and pieces, remembering the father who doted on
him, the mother who died when he was so young that he could barely remember
her. He remembered a pet goat he had when he was perhaps three or four years,
the one who had butted him and trampled him until he grew big enough to outrun
it. His eyes opened, and he found himself smiling about that idiotic goat. He
had named it Henry, after the king, much to the amusement of his father.

Revelry took his mind
off his wait. He remembered having to leave the goat to foster at Sandhurst
Castle, more crushed about leaving the animal than his father. He remembered
some of the other pages teasing him because he used to cry in his sleep for the
goat. His memories began to drift towards his days as a squire, when he outgrew
the boys who teased him and turned into their worst fear. He smiled wearily at
that memory, too, until soft footsteps roused him from his daydreams.

The small nun in the
white garments returned. She didn’t say a word, but she motioned for Garren to
follow. He did so, listening to his heavy boots echo off the walls as they
entered a darkened corridor.  Two doors down, there was a room; the nun
indicated for him to enter, which he did.

The chamber was
completely dark but for a small taper burning on a well-scrubbed table. As he
eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a figure seated near the wall.

“Garren?”

He knew the voice very
well. Dropping the saddlebags he had slung over one massive shoulder, he went
to the silhouette and dropped to one knee.

“’Tis me,” he said. “I
am sorry it is so early.”

The figure moved into
the light; an older woman with fine features surrounded folds of white
material.  “You needn’t apologize, little brother. Early morning or midnight, I
care not.  I am most thankful for your presence.”

She smiled, her hands
reaching for Garren. He smiled in return, kissing her hands before embracing
her. The former Lady Gabrielle le Mon, or now more correct Sister Mary
Felicitas, put her arms around her younger brother’s neck.

“Garren,” she gasped,
patting his shoulders. “You grow larger by the year. Have you found a wife to
feed you well, then?”

He shook his head even
though she could not see him. Gabrielle had been blind since birth, committed
to Yaxley Nene Abbey at eleven years of age, months after her brother, and only
sibling, was born.  Though they were far apart in age and had never lived under
the same roof, the yearly pilgrimages to Yaxley had seen them form a bond that
ran strangely deep. Garren adored her.

“No wife,” he said. “Not
yet, at any rate. But let’s not talk about me. I want to know about you; how
have you been?”

“Well, little brother,”
she held his hands in her warm, tiny ones. “And you?”

“Well enough,” he said.
“I have been quite busy, but I have written to you some.”

Gabrielle lit up.
“Diaries!” she exclaimed softly. “You know how much I look forward to your
visits when you read to me the chronicle of your life. How long has it been? At
least a year since you were last here. I am sure so much has happened since
then.”

“Much indeed.”

Garren left her long
enough to retrieve small rolls of vellum from his saddlebags. His sister was
the only outsider, other than his father, who knew his true role in the scheme
of Richard’s cause. He knew his secret was safe with her and made it a point to
write letters to her, chronicling the adventures that his life sometimes took.
It was dangerous writing should it fall into the wrong hands, but he never left
any identifying marks on the parchment other than a name here and there.
Certainly nothing traceable. Settling his bulk beside her, he unrolled a spool
of yellowed parchment.

“I am not sure where to
start,” he said. “I spent some time in London, but there is not much to say
about that other than a grand feast I attended where a woman wore jewelry she
said was smelted for the gods. She had this necklace in the shape of a vulture
and many colored stones to adorn it. She also wore solid gold rings in the
shape of bugs.”

“Bugs?”

“Strange, is it not? But
she said ancient kings used to wear these adornments and she was quite proud to
show them off.”

“Garren?”

“Aye?”

“What is wrong?”

He paused in his
chatter. “What do you mean?”

Gabrielle took his hand
again. “I know you well, my baby brother. Something is troubling you. I can
hear it in your voice.”

“I am not sure what you
mean.”

“I am not a fool. When
you come to me before dawn, when your voice trembles and you talk too much,
something is wrong. What is it?”

Garren felt a huge sense
of depression sweep him. He had indeed come for a reason, not simply to see his
sister. She knew that, and he felt doubly guilty. He set the vellum down.

“It is that obvious?”

“Tell me.”

He felt as if he was at
confession. He had truly meant not to delve into the problems in his life
immediately, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Gabrielle was soothing,
comforting, and wise. Before he knew it, everything from the past week was
spilling out and he could hear the anguish in his voice as he spoke. It
frightened him. Gabrielle held his hand and never said a word. By the time he
was finished, exhaustion claimed him and he leaned back against the wall,
positive he would never rise again.

“It would seem that much
has happened, little brother,” Gabrielle said softly.

Garren snorted at the
irony of it. “I can face any battle with confidence. Give me a sword and I
shall emerge the victor. But give me emotion, give me a woman whom I am
undeniably attracted to, and I fall apart like a weakling. My heart hurts and I
cannot repair it; my anger knows no bounds, yet it is directionless. I have no
one to blame, yet everyone to blame. I feel as if I am in everlasting
damnation, in love with a woman I should have never loved in the first place.”

Gabrielle didn’t say
anything for a moment. “And your Lady Derica,” she murmured. “Does she feel the
same for you?”

“I see it in her eyes
every time she looks at me.”

Gabrielle nodded
silently. Garren prayed that she was thinking through the situation far more
logically than he could at the moment. “Then I suppose the question is, what do
you want?” she said.” To marry her? Have you thought on the consequences of
that action, my dear?”

“I want to marry her,
yes,” Garren said quietly. “I want to get her out of Framlingham and take her
some place safe.”

“Where would that be?”

“I do not know. I cannot
go to Chateroy, as it is the first place they would look. Father must not know
anything of my actions.”

“For his own safety, I
agree,” Gabrielle said.  “But what will happen to her if you take her from her
family and marry her? Do you intend to continue in the Marshall’s service? You
know as well as I that your service takes you all over England and beyond.  Do
you expect your bride to stay alone, hiding from her family the rest of her
life, while you go about your duty?”

Garren removed his helm
and ran his fingers through his short hair. “I will resign my service to the
Marshall,” he muttered. “I would rather be with Derica, hiding from her family
until the end of our days, than be away from her for one more minute. I serve a
king who has not spent a day of his reign in England. I fight and fight for a
man who is not even here to know that we are all fighting for him. He battles
the infidels in the Holy Land while we battle for his very life as a monarch at
home. Am I tired of it? No. But I have seen something, felt something, I never
thought I would see or feel, and although I love my king, I want to love Derica
more.”

“Truly now, Garren?”

“Truly.”

Gabrielle was
thoughtful. “I have never known you to speak of any woman, much less one you
wish to marry. Are you sure this is not an infatuation, quick to flame, quick
to pass? The thoughts you voice would surely end your illustrious career.”

“Well I know it,” he
said. “And, no, I am sure this is not an infatuation. I felt something
different for Derica from nearly the moment I met her, something I have not
felt before.”

“Feelings enough to
incur the Marshall’s wrath?”

Garren sighed heavily,
gazing up at the dark ceiling. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, soft
gray light coming through the lancet window.

“I begged him not to
send me on this mission,” he murmured. “God, I begged and pleaded until I could
say no more and, still, he sent me. I would love to blame William for this
mess, but I cannot.  The fault is my own.”

Gabrielle smiled. “Do
you believe in the Will of God, Garren?”

“I do.”

“Then you surely must
know that this was planned for you a long time ago. You begged and pleaded with
the Marshall not to send you on this mission, but still he sent you. You knew
from the moment you met the lady that there was something different about her
and in the matter of a week, you have found yourself hopelessly entangled in
something that men only dream of. Perhaps this was meant to happen, all of it.
Perhaps you were indeed sent on a mission, simply not the one you had planned
for.”

Garren was interested in
what she was saying. “What do you mean?”

“Precisely that. You
stated that your mission was to infiltrate the de Rosas in the hope of
discovering the movements of Prince John’s rebellion. What if… what if your
true mission was to simply marry Derica de Rosa and, as a result, perhaps
affect Richard’s opposition in a way you never dreamed possible.”

“I do not understand.”

“Nor do I at the moment.
Sometimes we cannot see God’s Wisdom until well after the fact.”

She had a point. Garren
mulled her words, watching the room turn shades of gray and white as the sun
continued to rise. There was fog outside, shrouding the countryside, dampening
his mood.  Finally, he pushed himself from the wall and rose wearily.
Gabrielle’s sightless eyes tracked him.

“What are you going to
do?” she asked.

He lifted his arms in a
helpless gesture. “The only plan I can come up with is storming the castle and
spiriting her away, which is not particularly wise. I am too tired to think
right now.” He looked at his sister. “Tell me; what would you do?”