The Whispering Night (28 page)

The thought of Chateroy
under siege was growing increasingly disturbing.  Garren suddenly felt a strong
sense of urgency. He turned from Fergus.

“I must go and see what
they’ve done to my father.”

“Garren,” Fergus took a
step after him. “I wish you wouldn’t. It is a trap.”

“Be that as it may, my
father would not be in trouble were it not for me.”

Fergus watched him until
he was nearly out of the gatehouse. “Garren, there’s something else. Another message
from the de Rosa brother that saved my hide. He said that if I speak it, you
will know the truth.”

“What?”

“I am sorry, my friend.
So sorry.”

Garren came to a halt.
“For what? Fergus, I don’t have time for this.”

It was odd how the
expression on Fergus’ face had changed. Garren had never seen such a look,
something between wisdom and sorrow. It was an expression that cut through
Garren like a knife.

“For this,” he
whispered. “La lealtà alla morte. Onorare soprattutto.”

The sledgehammer hit.
Garren was confused and suspicious. Had Fergus been an agent for William,
Garren would have known long ago.  Or perhaps he wouldn’t; there were those in
service that even Garren didn’t know about.  Something wasn’t right and his
guts churned with dread.  It occurred to him that the probing Fergus had been
doing was for a definitive reason, an overshadowing motive that Garren was
slowly coming to understand. Something told him not to respond.

“What does that mean?”

“Your phrase, my
friend.”

“The last I recall, I
don’t speak Italian.”

“You are obligated to
respond.”

“Fergus, what are you
talking about?”

Fergus gazed at him
without saying a word. Then, he smiled weakly. “Nothing,” he said. “Forget
about it. In fact, it is best you do not respond.”

“Why not?”

“Because… well, because
‘tis best, that’s all. I do not want to know that you know what I know.”

Garren could have done
of two things at that moment; he could have continued his ignorant charade, or
he could have let his guard down.  He had known Fergus far too well and long to
let it go.

“What in the hell are
you talking about, Fergus?” he rumbled.

Fergus shrugged weakly.
“Nothing, my friend. Nothing at all. ‘Tis simply… stay away from Chepstow, and
stay away from Chateroy. Stay here, with your wife. ‘Tis the best place for
you.”

Garren felt as if he
were walking the edge of a cliff, unwilling to look down, but being
inexplicably drawn towards the danger. “I cannot stay here,” he said, wanting
off the subject, unbalanced by the entire conversation. “My only concern,
beyond my father, is that Derica is protected in my absence.”

Fergus nodded. “I will
protect her with my life. You know that.”

“I know that,” Garren
said. “But it shan’t be for long. I shall return as soon as I can.”

“Christ, I hope not,”
Fergus muttered.

“What’s that you say?”

“Nothing,” Fergus said
quickly. “And if you do not return, Garren? What then?”

Garren forgot about the
past few moments of conversation, Fergus’ oddly murmured words. He looked at
Fergus as his oldest, closest friend. “Then I will trust you to take care of
her, for all time. Will you do this for me?”

“Without question.”

Garren left without
another word.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He thundered in at dusk
of the second day. Even from a distance away, Garren could see that the
ambiance of Chepstow had changed. A heavy blanket of smoke hung over the castle
and he knew that could only mean one thing; either Chepstow was under siege or
there was an army in residence.

Fortunately for him, it
was the lesser of the possibilities. Many of the men at arms recognized him as
he pounded into the bailey, as they were loyal to the Marshall and had fought
under Garren’s command many a time.  Somewhat perplexed as to the purpose of
the amassing army, he tried to appear as if their presence was nothing new to
him as he stowed his horse and made his way, somewhat wearily, into the keep. 
He was increasingly apprehensive of what he would find.

It was busier than usual
inside. Commanders and noblemen that he recognized greeted him.  Garren had to
admit it was good to see the familiar faces. The Marshall was found in a sea of
officers, clustered two deep around his table in the solar. There were plans on
the table, and a map. When the old blue eyes lifted at the movement in the
doorway, Garren saw the wave of surprise, then a flash of anger, then massive
relief.

“Garren,” William pushed
his way between armored men in his haste to get to him. “Thank God, you have
come.”

Garren accepted the
outstretched hand, unusual for the old man. He wasn’t the warm kind. It was a
gesture that put him on his guard.

“My lord,” he was
suddenly torn between the guilt of what he’d done and the gladness of seeing
him again. “I came as soon as I was able.”

The Marshall’s pale eyes
glittered at him, reprovingly, suspiciously. “Of course,” he took Garren by the
elbow. “Come with me. I would speak with you privately a moment.”

That was not an unusual
occurrence, and the men in the solar let them go without a thought. William
pulled Garren into the adjoining room, a small chamber used by the servants,
and closed the door. When he faced Garren again, the warmth was gone from his
face and Garren felt the chill.

“Now,” William grumbled.
“I give you two minutes to satisfactorily explain to me what has happened over
the past few weeks.”

“My lord?”

“If you play me for a
fool, so help me, I shall run you through myself. You know exactly what I mean,
le Mon.”

“I married Derica de
Rosa.”

“You eloped with her!”

“I did.”

“To what purpose?”

“Because you ordered me
to.”

The Marshall was losing
his patience. “Aye, I did. But under specific conditions and damn you for
ignoring them. You, my friend, have violated my commands and have created a
shambles out of your mission.”

Garren wouldn’t back
down. “You ordered me to marry Derica de Rosa, my lord. I have done that. The
circumstances on how it was done are not of issue.”

The old man lost his
patience then. “It is the issue. Are you living at Framlingham with your wife
and her family?”

“No.”

“Do you have any contact
with Bertram de Rosa and his horde?”

“No.”

“Then how can you
possibly tell me that you are still within the guidelines of your mission? Your
mission was to spy on them, Garren, nothing more or less. What information can
you give me? Has all of my careful planning for you been in vain?”

“There are two thousand
Teutonic mercenaries amassing north of Nottingham as we speak. The next few
days with see two thousand more French.  It is my guess that they plan to
stranglehold England about the middle of the country and cut off the north from
the south.”

The Marshall stared at
him. “Why do you think there is an army amassed in the bailey, Garren? I
already know this.”

Garren didn’t flinch,
though he felt as if he’d been struck. He felt like a fool. “Chateroy is under
siege by the de Rosas because of what I have done.”

That news gave the
Marshall pause. “How do you know this?”

“I have my trusted
sources. I must go and help my father.”

William stared at Garren
a moment longer before letting out a long, heavy sigh. Scratching his white
head, he leaned back against a small table, pondering his course of action from
this point.  His anger had abated for the most part, though he was still
rightfully upset. Mostly, he was disappointed.

“You realize that I have
been quite angry with you.”

Garren’s guard came down
somewhat. He could feel the disillusionment in the Marshall’s voice and it hurt
him.  He had worked so hard to achieve the trust he had with William, though it
was not completely lost, it had been damaged.

“Who told you?’

“It does not matter. I
suppose what matters is that you have come back to face me as a man should. I
expected nothing less.”

“And I would never show
such disrespect by not facing you.”

“Then you admit your
mistake.”

“It was not a mistake.”

William cast him a long
look. “You failed.”

“I did not.”

“I am not going to argue
technicalities, Garren.”

“And I am not going to
admit that marrying a woman I am deeply in love with was a mistake. I have done
what I have done, for reasons you do not agree with. Rather than arguing about
it, I am here to tell you what I have done and ask that I be given leave of
Richard’s service to be with my wife.”

William’s jaw dropped.
“You’re serious?”

“Never more so.”

The fury returned to
William’s veins. He rose from his seated position, stiffly. “I have no
intention of allowing my greatest emissary leave, in any circumstance. You were
born, bred and trained to serve me, le Mon, and that is exactly what you shall
do. Your marriage and personal feelings are secondary to the needs of our king
at this moment. I need you now, more than ever. Is that clear?”

Garren stood his ground.
“You have many capable commanders, my lord. I am inconsequential.”

“You are my hammer.”

For the first time since
Garren had been a knight, he felt a surge of anger at a direct command. Never
mind that it was coming from William Marshall; anyone who would keep him from
his wife would be dealt with.

“Find another hammer, my
lord. I am going back to my wife.”

He spun on his heel,
uncharacteristically defiant. He hadn’t made it three steps when the Marshall
spoke.

“Do you know Fergus de
Edwin?”

Garren paused, massive
confusion filling him. “Should I?”

William Marshall had
achieved his position in life for a very good reason. He could be a cold and
calculating when he needed to be. This was one of those moments. He knew even
before the words spilled from his lips that the mood between him and Garren
would change forever.

“I am the last person
you need be evasive with.”

“I am not being
evasive.”

“Then you will tell me
that you know of him, for I know that you do.”

“I do.”

“Then I will tell you
something else, Garren.”

Garren couldn’t help it;
his eyes narrowed. “By all means, my lord. Tell me something else.”

It was a tone that
William had never heard from Garren before, threatening and deadly. But it did
not deter him. “You will ride from Chepstow at the head of my army,” he said
quietly. “You will ride north to Nottingham and meet the mercenary army in
battle. You will lead the armies of Richard to victory. Richard’s reign is
everything; you and I are nothing. Merely expendable figures in this great
chess match of Life. And along with you and me as pawns, there are many other
players. Your wife, for one. Fergus for another.”

Garren hated the horror
creeping into his veins. It was all he could do to keep his hands from wrapping
around the Marshall’s throat.

“What in the hell does
that mean?”

“It means that Fergus de
Edwin works for me. He has always worked for me. He befriended you on my orders
and has been assigned to watch you since he was quite young. He has been my
eyes on you, though I never truly believed you needed watching until recent
events. It means that, even now, Fergus has orders. I assume he is at
Cilgarren, is he not?”

Garren knew that all of
the color had drained from his face. “How do you know this?”

“How do you suppose?
Fergus suggested the place, and I agreed.” The Marshall’s gaze grew hard. “As
you disobeyed me, I was one step ahead of you. Always one step ahead, Garren.”

Something snapped inside
Garren and he pushed forward, coming to within an inch of William’s face. The
expression on his face was sheer murder.

“If she is touched, I
will kill you myself.”

The Marshall wasn’t the
least bit intimidated. “She will be fine providing you do as you are told. And
what you are told is to ride north at the head of my army. Any premature return
to Cilgarren, any glimpse of you within the next six months in return for your
wife, and Fergus has orders to kill her. She’ll be dead before you can stop
him. This is something you have forced me to do, Garren. As you love your wife,
I love England more. I would do anything to protect and serve her, including
blackmailing you.”

Garren was struggling
not to show his emotion, so much so that his lips were white. Suddenly,
everything he had ever believed about his life was a masquerade. People he had
trusted and loved did not trust him. He had been betrayed.