The Whispering Night (43 page)

Keller watched the four
heads cross the ghostly gray river in the dead of night, more sorrow in his
heart than he could comprehend. But seeing the joy in Derica’s face, and seeing
the love in Garren’s, told him that he was doing the right thing.   
Heartbreaking or not, it was the correct thing to do.

Bertram de Rosa laid
siege to Pembroke for four more days before finally giving up and going home.

          He knew he
would never see his daughter again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Beaucaire Castle

Languedoc, Southern France

1220 A.D
.

The day was bright, warm
and beautiful.  Just a few miles from the Mediterranean Sea, Beaucaire was
normally bright, warm and beautiful, something that Derica loved about her
adopted home.  Norfolk had been such a cold, wet place that the balmy warmth of
the Languegoc region of France was something she had taken to immediately. She
adored the climate.

Gazing up into the blue,
blue sky, she was startled when two out of her four sons came barreling out of
the stable yard astride new Belgian chargers that their father had recently
purchased for them.   Derica moved out of the way as her eldest son, Weston,
came too close to her, wrestling with a big blond beast that was unwilling to
be tamed.   When the horse began to buck, she leapt up onto the flight of stone
steps that led into Beaucaire’s resident hall.

“West,” she scolded. “If
that horse throws you, I’ll not lift a finger to help. Do you hear me? Break
your neck and I’ll not weep for you, not one tear.”

Weston le Mon smiled at
his mother; an extremely handsome man with his father’s good looks and his
mother’s bright green eyes, he continued to happily wrestle with the animal.

“Not to worry,
sweetheart,” he told his mother. “I will not keep this animal, although I would
dearly like to. I plan to give him to Rose’s betrothed as a wedding gift.”

“Ha!”

The shout came from the
gaping entry into the gray-stoned resident hall of Beaucaire.  Stunningly
beautiful at seventeen years of age and awaiting the arrival of her betrothed,
Roselyn le Mon scowled menacingly at her brother.

“You will do no such
thing, Weston le Mon,” she gathered her skirts and took the stairs angrily.
“I’ll not be made a widow before I even become a bride.”

As Weston laughed softly
at his sister, his younger brother by fourteen months  came up beside him on an
equally fired-up war horse.  Davin le Mon, the only sibling with dark hair in a
family of light-haired people, grinned at his sister.

“You worry overly,
love,” he told her. “Your new husband will be thrilled with this gift. ‘Tis
exactly what a new bridegroom wants – a wild horse to tame.”

The brothers laughed
lewdly but Roselyn was on to their game. “He shall be thrilled until the beast
bucks him off and kills him,” she shook a finger at the brothers. “No tricks,
you two; do you hear me? No chasing this one off.  I think I should like to
marry him.”

The brothers passed wry
expressions at each other, preparing to respond until they were distracted by a
yell from the stable yards.  Their youngest brother suddenly came shooting out
of the yard astride a massive white horse, struggling to control the beast.  
As the family watched with a mixture of horror and bemusement, Austin le Mon
let the horse take him on a couple of wild circles around the bailey of
Beaucaire until finally managing to pull the horse to a halt.

 The biggest of the four
le Mon brothers, Austin was the mirror image of their father in his youth.  He
finally brought the horse to a stop, wiping his brow to the laughter of his
brothers.

“I thought I was a dead
man,” he breathed, slapping the big white neck affectionately. “He shall make a
wonderful wedding gift for Roselyn’s beau, don’t you think?”

“No!” Roselyn threw her
hands up. “No wild horses!”

“But…,” Austin began.

“I say not!” Roselyn
turned to Derica, grasping her mother by the arm. “Please, Mother; tell them to
leave my betrothed alone.  No wild horses, no swords that are weighted with
lead, and no wine that has been mixed with pepper so that he will cry for
days.  Please make them stop!”

Derica looked at her
boys, the exact image of her own brothers in spirit and demeanor. Daniel, Donat
and Dixon would have been proud. She had grown up with this kind of madness,
never dreaming she would also breed it.  Weston, Davin and Austin were loving, strong
and powerful, but with a wild streak in them that would test God’s patience.

“Your sister has
requested you not chase her intended away,” she lifted an eyebrow at the
handsome faces. “You will kindly obey her wishes or my punishment shall be
swift. Do we, in any way, misunderstand one another?”

Davin was the first to
shake his head. “Nay, Mother,” he assured her. “We understand perfectly.”

Weston and Austin nodded
sincerely but there wasn’t a bit of truth to it. Derica lifted the other
eyebrow at her boys to reinforce her request just as Austin’s white stallion
reared up and dumped him onto the dirt of the bailey.  The horse ran off as
Weston and Davin laughed uproariously.

“Austin, I find you in
this position far too often,” Garren suddenly emerged from the resident hall,
pulling on his massive leather gloves as he descended the stairs.  He had
missed the bucking stallion. “One would think with your size and strength, you
would be able to best your brothers when they toss you around.”

Austin picked himself
up, brushing off his bum. “It wasn’t my brothers,” he lifted his hand in the
direction of the open portcullis. “It was the horse.”

“The new one I just
purchased for you?”

“Aye, Da.”

Garren came to a halt
next to his wife and daughter, still fumbling with his gloves. He lifted a
threatening eyebrow at his youngest son.

“Then what are you doing
still standing here?” he asked. “Go get that animal. It cost a small fortune.”

As Weston and Davin
snorted, Austin turned for the stable yard, making a face at his brothers. 
Davin made one in return, Austin rushed him, and soon the two of them were
rolling around in the dirt throwing punches. Derica rolled her eyes and looked
at her husband, suddenly noticing a little body standing behind him.  She
motioned to the tiny figure.

“I did not see you,
sweetheart,” Derica said. “Come to me.”

Twelve year old Lily le
Mon went to her mother, allowing herself to be cuddled.  As the youngest child
in the family, she was sweet and spoiled.  If her mother wasn’t cuddling her,
her father was In fact, Garren was rarely without his little shadow. Lily was
as beautiful as a new spring morning with her blond hair and big blue eyes. 
While Roselyn had a lush, seductive beauty, Lily looked like a sweet little
poppet.  At twelve years of age, she should have left to foster long ago but
her parents couldn’t bear to part with her, so she remained at Beaucaire. 

As Derica hugged her
youngest, a tall, black-haired young man suddenly emerged from the resident.
He, too, was pulling on his leather gloves, much like Garren had been. In fact,
their actions were almost identical.  Sian le Mon had grown up idolizing the
big, blond knight, so much so that he was very nearly the spitting image of him
in action and mindset.  As the eldest of the le Mon brothers, he acted more
like Garren than any of his brothers did.  Even if he wasn’t Garren’s son by
blood, he was certainly his son by spirit and nature.

“We should get going
before the day grows any deeper,” he said to his father as he came down the
stairs. “The shops in town will be closing early for Vespers.”

“Where are you going?”
Derica wanted to know.

Sian leaned over, kissed
her cheek, and continued down the steps to the bailey. “Into town,” he replied.
“The tavern keeper at the Pig and the Fife said that he received a massive
shipment of St. Cloven ale all the way from England.  Father and I are going to
buy as much as we can for Roselyn’s wedding feast.”

“If the groom ever gets
here,” Davin was picking himself out of the dirt as Austin struggled to his
knees. “Maybe he is not even coming. Maybe he has decided to marry someone
else.”

Roselyn’s big green eyes
welled up. “Dada,” she sniffed. “Tell them to stop being so hateful.”

Garren stopped messing
with his gloves and eyed his middle son. “Enough, Davy,” he ordered quietly.
“Upset your sister again and I shall take it out on your hide.”

He didn’t mean it but
the threat was enough to silence Davin as he rose to his feet.  Austin stood up
next to him, weaving unsteadily in the wake of a righteous punch to the head
from his brother.

“She was hateful to us
first,” Austin pointed out. “She told us that her new husband would fight us if
we did not ply her with gifts every day for the next year.”

          Derica fought
off a grin, as did Garren.  He pointed a thick finger at his sons. “That is
because you have much to make up for,” he said sternly. “You three have
harassed your sister since the day she was born. ‘Tis a wonder I didn’t throw
you all to the wolves with all of the havoc you have wrought.”

Roselyn stood next to
her father, nodding vehemently. “Putting honey in my bed,” she sneered. “And
saffron in rosewater so it turned my teeth yellow. And…!”

Garren put his hand on
her copper-blond head to silence her. “And probably more that I do not even
know about so, if I were you, I would listen to her. Be kind to your sister on
the event of her wedding. And if you go anywhere near her marriage bed, you
shall rue the day you were born.  Is that understood?”

Roselyn stuck her tongue
out at her brothers for good measure; with her father’s support, she was brave
enough to antagonize them.  As she continued to make faces at them, Derica
grasped her husband by the arm when he turned to walk away.

“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.