The Whispering Night (31 page)

“What does that mean?”

Fergus’ manner softened.
“She carries your son, Garren. The child has turned her into a whirlwind of
emotion.”

Garren felt as if all of
the wind had been knocked from him. A gambit of emotions raced over his
features, delight and terror and everything in between.

“She is with child?” he
gasped.

“Aye.”

“Truly?”

“I would not lie about
this, my friend.”

“And she is well?”

Fergus was careful with
his reply. “The child made her full of health, if that is what you mean.
Otherwise, she drove us all mad with her raging and crying and smiles. We never
knew what to expect from her.” He watched Garren’s eyes positively light with
the news, a brief respite of joy from the horror that was about to follow.
“When she found out about your whereabouts, she was upset, of course, but we
did not believe overly so.  We had seen her in a worse state. But… Garren, as
closely as we can deduce, she must have thrown herself into the river in her
grief.  I swear that we never believed she would be capable of such a thing.
The last we saw of her, she was standing on the hill overlooking the river, the
hill where the wild lentils grow. You know the one. One moment she was there,
the next she was gone.”

Garren stared at him. It
was an expression Fergus had never seen before. All of the color drained from
Garren’s face and Fergus found himself helping the man to sit so that he would
not collapse. For the all-powerful Garren le Mon to collapse like a weakling
was unthinkable. But Fergus could see the man cracking, right before his eyes.

“Perhaps she may have
even slipped,” Fergus tried to soften the blow now that the hammer had fallen.
“She was close to the edge, as she always is, and we found tracks in the soft
earth that had dragging movement to them. She was probably gone hours by the
time we realized she was missing and we searched for days, Garren. I swear to
you, we didn’t sleep for several days or nights for search of her. We left no
stone unturned.”

Garren closed his eyes,
falling forward to rest his head in his hands.  “God, tell me this is a
nightmare.”

“I wish I could.”

“You didn’t find her?”

“Nay, my friend, we did
not.”

“No blood or… body?”

“We found nothing,
Garren. She is simply,” he shrugged helplessly, “gone.”

Garren’s head remained
in his hands for several long moments. When he finally lifted his face, there
were tears in his eyes.

“Just like Bryndalyn,”
he muttered. “Oh… God, tell me she didn’t do what that woman did….”

A light of recognition
came to Fergus’ eye. “You know of Bryndalyn and Owain?” He knew the story, too,
and horror suddenly swept him. “Just like the tale. Bryndalyn threw herself
into the river when.…”

A look from Garren made
the words die in his throat. “Your father told us about it when we first went
to Cilgarren,” Garren mumbled. “She was so saddened by it, but I never imagined
she would follow in the shadow of the legend. It never occurred to me that my
not returning immediately would… Christ, that story was in her mind, ever
lingering, planting the seed of despair that made her go mad when I did not
come back as I would sworn to. How long has she been missing?”

“It has been nearly
three weeks,” Fergus said. “I looked for her as long as I dared before riding
to Chepstow. They told me of the battles north and I came searching for you.”

Garren’s teeth abruptly
clenched. “I know of your mission. The Marshall told me. Fergus, I swear to
Almighty God, if you have done something to her and are trying to throw me off
your scent, I shall….”

Fergus shook his head
emphatically. “Do you truly believe I could harm a hair on her beautiful head?
Garren, you are closer to me than a brother. “Tis true, years ago, the Marshall
asked that I watch you, and as a fearful lad, I did as I was told. But as we
grew older and our friendship blossomed, I put the Marshall’s priorities behind
yours. I would never betray you, not even for our country.  I do not blame you
if you never trust me again, but I assure you, my loyalty is and always has
been with you.  Haven’t I proven that time and time again?” He could see that
he wasn’t making much of an impact. “If I truly wanted to harm her, I could
have done it on that chaotic odyssey from Framlingham to the abbey. I could
have easily turned her back over to her family, but I didn’t.  Does that not
account for anything?”

Garren couldn’t decide
whether to kill him at that point or not. He decided against it, mostly because
what Fergus said made sense. “Then why didn’t you ever tell me who you were?”

“Why didn’t you ever
tell me?”

There was a tense
silence as Garren pondered the obvious. He probably shouldn’t have trusted
Fergus, but years of experience and instinct took hold and the bond that had
been established ages ago could not be broken. However, all of that was
secondary to what had happened to Derica. Garren stood up, struggling to gain
control; there was only one thought on his mind and he would kill Fergus if he
tried to stop him. If Fergus were sincerely committed to their friendship, now
would be the supreme test of that bond.

“I must go and search
for her,” Garren said.

“What of the Marshall?
Surely he will not….”

Garren cast him a glare
so deadly that Fergus swallowed the remainder of his words.

“This is where William
Marshall and I come to an end,” Garren growled. “I was foolish and weak to have
let it come this far, but I did. I am going to find my wife and not all of the
armies in England can stop me.”

“But.…”

“You are either with me
or against me, Fergus. If you are against me, I will kill you where you stand.”

“I am with you, of course. 
What can I do?”

Garren had a clear
picture of what must happen. “We will go to the battlefield,” he said in a low
voice. “We will find a body; anybody that is near my size. If it is
recognizable, then we will make it so that it cannot be identified.  Onto this
corpse will go my armor, my clothing, my weapon…. “

Fergus’ eyes gleamed.
“We will make it as though you were killed in battle.”

“This man will be me. To
the Marshall, I shall be dead.”

“And then you can search
for Derica without fear of reprisal.”

“As much as I do not
relish defacing a man who has given his life in battle, there are times when
sacrifice is necessary. He will have died for two just causes this night.”

Garren and Fergus
blended into the night, like wraiths, completing their gruesome work with
silence and efficiency. By morning, they were far from the battlefield as word
of Garren le Mon’s death spread like wildfire.  When Hoyt de Rosa awoke to the
news, he wept.

***

She didn’t know how long
she had been awake.  She realized she was staring at the ceiling, a dense
mixture of rushes and straw, woven tightly to create a barrier against the
elements. When she tried to move, her entire body ached as if she had been
pummeled.  It was her groan of pain that stirred the others.

“Are ye awake?’

It was a soft female
voice. Derica blinked her eyes, rolling her head with much effort to find
herself gazing into a pair of pale blue eyes.  She blinked again, disoriented,
wondering why her head hurt so much.

“Who… where am I?” she
rasped.

The woman smiled,
reaching for a wooden pitcher. She poured something into a cup. “Here,” she
helped Derica lift her head. “Drink.”

It was water, cool and
clear. Derica took a sip, then gulped until she almost choked. When the
coughing died down, she saw that the woman’s face had been joined by two
smaller ones.  Derica gazed into children’s eyes.

“Hello,” she said
softly.

The children, a boy and
girl perhaps three and four years, respectively, giggled and did not reply.
They were dark-eyed, dark haired little ones. They looked at their mother, who
continued to smile.

“How do ye feel?” the
woman asked.

Derica thought a moment.
“I am not sure,” she finally said. “What happened? Where am I?”

“Ye are in my house,”
the woman replied. “We found you.”

“Found me?”

The woman nodded. “Aye.
On the river bank.  Ye were nearly dead when we came upon ye. How did ye get
there?”

Derica tried to recall.
“I do not remember.” She put her hand to her head, wincing when she brushed the
large lump on her forehead. “How long was I unconscious?”

“A few days,” the woman
replied. “Do ye remember where ye came from?”

“I… not really. A
castle, I think.”

“Ye’re a lady, then.”

“I… I do not know.”

“I am sure ye are, by
the look of ye. But ye canna remember what castle ye came from?”

“Nay.”

The woman didn’t ask any
more questions.  Derica’s mind was shrouded in a foggy mist; it was alarming to
realize that, until this very moment, she couldn’t recall much of anything. Her
memories were an enormous blur for the moment.

“Where is this place?”
she looked around the small, neat hut. “What village is this?”

“It is called
Rhos-hill,” the woman said. “Do ye recognize the place?”

“Nay,” Derica shook her
head. “What is your name?”

“Mair,” she said. “My
children, Sian and Aneirin.”

Derica smiled weakly at
the children, who were still hiding behind their mother. It was apparent that
Mair was waiting for Derica to introduce herself. A wisp of a name sprang to
mind, familiar yet not. It hung there, like an unvoiced thought. Derica spoke
it, not even sure if it was true.

“Bryndalyn,” she
whispered. “I… I think that is my name. But I am not… sure. I cannot seem to
recall much of anything at the moment.”

Mair put a sympathetic
hand on her forehead. “Do not be troubled,” she said. “Sleep, now. There will
be time later for recollection.”

Derica didn’t
particularly want to sleep, but she remained on her pallet.  When she shifted
to get more comfortable, sharp pains echoed through her lower torso. She gasped
softly, putting her hand against her lower abdomen to rub away the pain. Mair
saw what she was doing.

“I am sorry,” she
murmured. “The child did not survive.”

Though Derica could
remember little else, she had remembered the child. She touched her belly,
feeling it soft where once she had known it to be rounded and firm. Tears
instantly sprang to her eyes.

“No,” she whispered.
“Please… no.”

Mair stroked her
forehead again. “’Twas a blessing, my lady.”

Derica sniffled. “Why
would you say that?”

“I meant no harm. When
we found ye, I would think that someone had beat you and thrown you in the
river. Mayhap your husband. Any man that would beat his pregnant wife… ‘tis a
blessing, I say, not to bring a child into a world such as that.”

Derica’s tears were
fading in lieu of her shock. “Why would you think someone has beaten me?”

“Because you are bruised
all over your body. Someone thrashed you soundly, I would say. Do you not
recall any of this?”

She didn’t. But within
the mists of her mind, she couldn’t honestly recall if anyone had taken a hand
to her, ever. Bits and pieces of a large castle and men who loved her came to
mind, but she couldn’t recall the names. Just faces.  She closed her eyes and
silent tears fell again.

“There, there,” Mair
said softly. “Sleep now, sweetheart. All will be well again.”

When she turned away to
prepare some manner of sleeping drink for Derica, the little boy with the black
hair and dark eyes moved in to be a closer look. He had a sweet little face,
his striking eyes gazing curiously at Derica. A tiny hand lifted and he resumed
stroking Derica’s head where his mother had left off.  Derica sobbed deeply at
the gentleness of his gesture, the longing for her own son that she would never
know.

***

He was too old to be
attending battle, but he was doing so nonetheless. The Marshall had never missed
a battle; he was an old soldier, and they knew little else. If there was war
waging, most especially his war, his presence was required.

Newark Castle was a
small structure in a strategic location. William had arrived a few days ago to
await word on the fate of Lincoln Castle and plot his next move.  Two days ago
had seen him receive word of victory in one breath and the loss of Garren le
Mon in the next.

 He had wept privately
at the news, though he refused to feel guilt. Garren was a warrior and the
vocation went hand in hand with death. Garren had known what his fate could be
the first day he drew a sword. He had lived longer than most. Still, his
passing had been a horrible blow, both personally and professionally.