The Whispering Night (44 page)

“Stop,” Garren boomed.
“Come no further before you announce yourself.”

The armored man came to
a halt.  After a long, tense pause, he finally off his helm.  Garren’s eyes
nearly popped from his skull in astonishment as he recognized the face.

“Fergus!” he hissed.

Fergus de Edwin flashed
his toothy grin; he was older, perhaps thinner, but there was no mistaking the
bright blue eyes or graying blond hair.

“I see that I have come
to the right place,” he said.  “You are as ugly as ever, Garren.”

“And you are still as
stupid.”

It was their traditional
greeting, much missed and much revered. Garren was already making his way
towards Fergus, who met him somewhere near the raise second portcullis.  In
lieu of an extended verbal greeting, Garren simply threw his arms around the
man.  Fergus returned the gesture and they hugged each other to reaffirm old
bonds.  The affection, the friendship, was still there and as strong as it had
ever been. Words, at the moment, were fairly useless.

“I do not even know
where to start,” Garren said as he pulled back, gazing into Fergus’ face with
complete, utter amazement. “How on earth did you find me?”

Fergus clapped Garren on
the side of the face. “Your father told me,” he said, catching a glimpse of a
pretty young girl half-hidden behind Garren.  His focus turned to her,
startled. “And who is this pretty faerie princess? Is she magic, perhaps?”

He was looking at Lily
as he spoke. Lily flushed bright red and shook her head, pressing her face into
her father’s side.  Fergus watched her a moment longer before returning his
focus to Garren.

“Surely she must belong
to you,” he said softly.

Garren grinned, lifting
his arm so he could get a glimpse of Lily with her face buried in his torso.

“She does,” he said.
“This is the Lady Lily le Mon.  And the rest of the group behind me also
belongs to me. I believe you know my wife.”

Fergus hadn’t noticed
Derica standing on the steps with a lovely young woman beside her.  As their
eyes met, Derica smiled broadly and descended the stone stairs into the bailey,
coming upon Fergus and doing just as her husband had; she hugged him fiercely.
Fergus seemed a bit overwhelmed at everything, studying the faces of the young
men and women looking back at him.  He gestured to the group.

“All yours?” he asked
Garren and Derica, incredulous.

Garren nodded, glancing
over his shoulder at his children. “All ours; Weston, Davin, Austin, Sian and
Roselyn.  You remember Sian, of course.”

Fergus thought back
through the years to that dark-haired little boy from Pembroke. “I do.”

“His sister is married
and about to have her first child.”

Fergus shook his head in
amazement. “Quite a brood, I must say,” he was still in disbelief. “And they
are all grown. Has it been so long between us, Garren?”

Garren nodded slowly, so
very glad to see the man. “It has been too long,” he murmured, his expression
growing intense. “Tell me why you have come.”

Fergus took a deep
breath; he was still amazed with Garren and Derica and all of their children.
He could not believe how much time had passed.  But he focused on Garren’s
question, on the reason for his visit.  It was important.

“I come bearing news,
Garren,” he lowered his voice. “Much has happened recently.”

“Recently?” Garren’s
brow furrowed. “What has happened?”

Fergus clapped a hand on
Garren’s enormous shoulder. “The Marshall passed away not long ago,” he
replied. “His son is now the new Earl of Pembroke.”

Garren felt a flash of
sadness for the man he had once served.  He nodded in acceptance,
acknowledgement.  “I will pray for him,” he said softly. “But never did I doubt
my decision to leave his service and, consequently England, was the correct
one. I could not have lived in peace had I stayed.”

Fergus sighed faintly,
scratching his forehead, eyeing the little girl now peeking out from behind her
father.

“He knew where you were,
you know,” he muttered.

“Who?”

“The Marshall. He knew
where you had gone almost the moment you left. Had he truly been out for
vengeance, he could have done it long ago. I would not be too bitter towards
him if I were you.”

Garren’s brow furrowed. 
“How did he know?”

Fergus lifted his
eyebrows. “Do not forget that de Poyer and I knew you were alive, as did my
father.  The Marshall came to Pembroke shortly after you fled England and,
after a night and day of drinking, my father told the Marshall everything.  So
he knew from nearly the beginning.”

Garren’s eyebrows
lifted. “And he never sought to find me? Not ever?”

Fergus shook his head
slowly. “All he ever said to me about you was that he hoped you were finally
happy, wherever you were.  No more than that.”

Garren looked at Derica,
who gazed back at him with wide-eyes.  All of these years he thought he had
been hiding from William Marshall when the truth was that the Marshall knew
where he was the entire time.  Upon reflection, it didn’t surprise him.  The
Marshall made it a habit of knowing everything.  He turned back to Fergus.

“So why have you come?”
he asked. “Surely not to tell me of the Marshall’s passing. It is of no
consequence to me, truly. My life is here at Beaucaire and I have no intention
of leaving.”

Fergus wriggled his
eyebrows. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But I have not come for that reason alone. I
have also come to tell you that your father passed away last month. You are now
the new baron of Anglecynn and Ceri.  Chateroy Castle is now  yours.”

Garren stared at him a
long moment, feeling Derica’s hand on his arm comfortingly.  “My father passed
away?”

“Aye. I am sorry,
Garren. I know you loved him.”

Garren nodded faintly, 
saddened by the fact that his father would never get to see his strong
grandsons or beautiful granddaughters. But he had known that the moment he fled
English soil. Still, it was a sad moment.

Fergus could see the
sorrow in his expression but he continued. “There is more,” he said softly. “I
have brought with me documents from the Marshall. He told me to give them to
you should I ever see you, so I suppose now is the time.  Do you recall that he
granted your wife lands and title upon your death at the Battle of Lincoln?”

Garren nodded vaguely,
not particularly remembering the details. “What of it?”

Fergus’ bright blue eyes
began to gleam. “He never took them back, you know. Once he gave them to
Derica, they became hers forever. She is a very wealthy heiress of the Buckton
Marcher lordship that stretches from Hopton Castle on the east, Adforton to the
south, Craven Arms to the north, and includes four towns, two fiefdoms, and
about five thousand vassals.  She also has possession of Clun Castle, four
hundred soldiers and ten thousand gold marks.  William Marshall the Younger is
holding all of this for your return, should you ever decide to return.”

Garren and Derica stared
at him with big eyes before turning to each other, a thousand unspoken words
between them.  Garren finally shook his head and turned to Fergus, confused and
bordering on irritation.

“So you come to France
to tell me of my father’s death, the Marshall’s death, and of vast wealth
awaiting my wife and I should we return to England?” he reiterated. “Fergus,
you could have done yourself a favor, remained in England, and simply sent me a
missive. All of this does not change the way I feel about my life; I have been
deliriously happy for the past twenty three years and have no intention of
returning to England.”

Before Fergus could
reply, Derica put her hand on her husband’s arm.

“But your family home is
now yours, Garren,” she said quietly. “Do you not want your sons to return to
Chateroy to continue the le Mon legacy? Surely you do not want it to die out
with you.”

Garren looked at her;
Derica had only grown more beautiful with the years, her lovely face hardly
lined and her green eyes just as bright. She was literally his heart and soul.
He didn’t know what he would do without her.

“Are you not happy
here?” he asked softly. “Must we uproot our family because of old ties and old
memories?”

She smiled at him,
wrapping her arms around him and Lily, was still pressed against her father.

“Of course I am,” she
said. “But Chateroy is your legacy and has been in your family for two hundred
years.  You do not want to see it end with you.  As for the rest, well… perhaps
it will make a fine gift to our children, don’t you think? We can divide up the
Buckton lordship among them and they will have lands upon which to build their
own legacies.”

Garren didn’t look entirely
sure but he respected his wife’s opinion. Still, there was much to talk about.
In just a few short minutes, his life had changed dramatically and he wasn’t
sure how to feel about any of it. 

Lost in thought, he
failed to notice that the two other men who had accompanied Fergus had
dismounted their horses.  Lily had somehow unhinged herself from her father and
had wandered over to them, gazing up at them with her bottomless blue eyes. 
The two men looked down at the little girl, inspecting her as she was
inspecting them.

Lily was not usually so
bold with strangers, which made her behavior odd. But she didn’t seem
particularly wary of these strangers for some reason. She stared up at them
curiously.

“Who are you?” she
finally asked.

The men in armor were
big, one bigger than the other.  The larger of the pair stiffly knelt down in
front of Lily, almost eye-level with her.  Then he removed his helm

Hoyt de Rosa’s tired old
face gazed at Lily as if she was the most beautiful creature on the face of the
earth.  The old eyes were soft with emotion.

“My name is Hoyt,” he
said in his soft, deep voice.  “Who are you?”

Hearing Hoyt’s voice
brought a gasp from Derica, followed by instant tears when she saw him.  But
Lily ignored her mother, instead, focused on the very old man in front of her.

“I am Lily Elspeth de
Rosa le Mon,” she said her name very quickly and fluidly.  “Why are you here?”

“I am your mother’s
uncle,” Hoyt replied. “You are very pretty, Lily. You look a good deal like
your mother when she was young.”

Lily eyed him a moment,
finally pointing to the other young lady who was standing slightly behind her
mother.

“That is my sister,
Roselyn,” she said. “She is awaiting her betrothed today but my brothers have
said he is probably not coming because he is probably marrying someone else.”

“What?” Hoyt roared
softly, rising to his feet as he gazed at the very beautiful Roselyn. “How is
this possible? Your sister is too beautiful to be jilted. Who is this
bridegroom that would shame my grand niece?”

Although he was big and
scary, Lily didn’t sense bad from the man. In fact, she rather liked him. She
slipped her hand into his massive gauntlet and continued to study him
curiously. When he looked down at her, she smiled.  Next to Hoyt, the last
helmed man lifted his visor, revealing his face to the world.

“No man will shame my
granddaughter so,” Bertram de Rosa said softly. “Lily, you will tell me his
name so that I may champion your sister.”

Derica went from soft
tears to great sobs as she rushed to her father, throwing herself into his
arms.   Bertram, very old and very tired, hugged his daughter tightly.

“Da,” she wept. “How…
how…?”

She couldn’t finish and
Bertram didn’t let her; he held her back at arm’s length, holding her sweet
face in his hands and drinking in the sight of her. Although his eyesight was
failing him and he was nearly crippled, he still felt the need to come and see
to his daughter after all of these years.   The past twenty three years had not
caused him to forget her.  He had missed her every day.

“Every night I prayed
for your happiness and safety,” he murmured, watching tears spill down her
cheeks. “Every day, I would wonder where you were and if you were happy. I see
that God has answered my prayers; you are as happy as you are beautiful, and I
am thankful.”

Derica kissed her
father’s cheeks, struggling to still her tears. “But how did you know where to
find me?” she looked between Hoyt and Fergus and her husband. “I do not
understand how.”

Bertram smiled wearily,
putting his arm around her shoulder and leaning heavily on her. Derica could
see as well as feel how exhausted her father was and it concerned her,
overshadowing her joy.  Everything aside, he was an old man who had traveled a
very long way.

“Hoyt told me,” Bertram
said quietly. “He discovered your whereabouts through your husband’s friend,
Fergus.”

Derica knew the greater
implications of Hoyt’s, and Fergus’, loyalties but she said nothing, Perhaps
her father didn’t know their connection; perhaps he did. Either way, it didn’t
seem to matter any longer. Loyalties or politics could not trump family and
friendship bonds.