The Whispering Night (25 page)

Emyl looked at Garren;
he didn’t know what more he could say. The entire circumstance was sickening. 
Garren stood there a long while, watching David grieve over his brother. 
Finally, he sheathed his sword.

“Your brother did not
have to die,” he said quietly. “You should have determined my motives before
attacking us.”

David wiped his eyes.
“My delay might have given you the upper hand had you been intent on killing
us.”

“Are you a knight?”

“No.”

By now, Offa was on his
feet and walking unsteadily towards his nephews. “My sister married a common
man. There was no opportunity for the boys to foster in a proper house. I have
schooled them the best I can.”

Garren took a few steps,
retrieved David’s old sword, and extended it to the man.

“You have done an
admirable job,” he said. “I am impressed with David’s skill and strength.”

Offa knelt beside his
other nephew, putting a tender hand on the lad’s head. “Guy will never know his
potential,” he whispered ironically. “He could have been great.”

Garren glanced at his
wife, seeing the sorrowful expression on her face.  He was feeling guilty when
he knew he should not. “An unfortunate happening.” He came as close to an
apology as he could.

“Unfortunate indeed,”
Offa stroked the dark hair. “It was my fault. I am a foolish old man. Foolish
and stupid. The boys fought against me in their training and I most always
allowed them to win, giving them a sense of confidence. It was Guy’s undoing.”

Emyl sighed heavily,
making his way to the man he had once known. His gaze moved between the dead
lad and the uncle.

“You did as you felt
best, even as you moved to defend your home,” he tried to comfort him. “You did
not know our intentions were peaceful. But Garren is correct; you could have
determined them first. ‘Twould be best to teach David that lesson today. A
costly lesson though it might be.”

Offa nodded his head
silently. Emyl stood over him, knowing there was nothing more he could say.
Observing the scene, Derica slipped her wet hand into her husband’s.

“We should help him bury
his nephew,” she said softly.

Garren gazed down at
her, her sweet face pinched pink with cold and wet.  She did not understand the
warring ways, the event that one did not usually bury his enemy, but he knew
this was a different case.  In spite of himself, he was beginning to feel very
guilty about the whole thing.   The Garren of old never knew the meaning of the
word.

“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 Marshall 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 Marshall 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
Marshall 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 Marshall 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 as 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 Marshall. 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.