The Whispering Night (45 page)

“And so you came with
Fergus and Hoyt to see me?” she asked softly.

Bertram nodded. “When I
caught Hoyt sneaking out in the middle of the night nearly a month ago, I
demanded to know where he was going.   After much discussion, he finally
confessed. I knew I had to come. I know there was much dissention the last we
saw each other, Derica… I was hoping that with time you have forgiven a selfish
old man.”

Derica shook her head
emphatically. “Of course I have,” she assured him. “I am so happy you have
come.  You have, in fact, come at a most opportune time. As Lily told you,
Roselyn is expecting her betrothed any moment.  She will be more than pleased
to have her grandfather attend her wedding.”

By this time, the boys
had begun to gather around the emotional group near the portcullis and Derica
took the time to introduce her and Garren’s sons.  It was apparent that the
boys were of de Rosa stock and Bertram was deeply touched to be greeted by
grandsons he never knew he had.  Roselyn even gave him a kiss on the cheek,
causing the old man to get misty-eyed.   Derica watched it all with tears in
her eyes, never imagining it was something she would ever witness. Family, and
life, had come full circle.

But she could see the
sheer exhaustion in her father as he spoke with his grandchildren and she was
determined to get him inside to rest.  She took his elbow gently, firmly.

“Come along, now,” she
urged her father towards the gray-stoned resident hall. “There is all the time
in the world to become acquainted later. Right now, I want you to rest and
recover. It has been a long trip for all of you.”

Bertram resisted. “I am
more interested in meeting my granddaughter’s betrothed,” he said, sounding
very much like the Bertram de Rosa of old. “Who is this man? What of his family
and loyalties?”

Derica looked at Garren,
shaking her head ironically. “Do you remember the last time my father met a
bridegroom?”

Garren lifted an
eyebrow. “I do indeed.”

“The situation could get
ugly.” 

Garren merely shook his
head and snorted, having a difficult time believing the irony of history
repeating itself. Roselyn was at his side, grasping his big hand tightly.

“Tell me, Dada,” she
begged. “When was it? What happened?”

Garren looked at his
daughter, fearful to tell her. “Well,” he began slowly. “It was….”

“His name is Paul le
Velle,” Davin suddenly piped up as they all walked towards the resident hall.
“His father is the local sheriff and he comes from a family of all women.”

Bertram looked at his
grandson, his eyebrows lifted. “All women?”

Davin nodded eagerly.
“His mother is a shrew and his sisters are hags,” he made a face, completely
riling his sister. “They live like a pack of animals on the other side of
town.”

Roselyn let out a shriek
and began chasing Davin around the bailey, swatting at him with her hands. Lily
was tugging on Hoyt, pulling him up the stairs towards the entry, as everyone
else followed.  Bertram watched Roselyn make contact with Davin’s head,
grinning when the young man began to howl.  When Austin and Weston took up the
face-making complete with witch sound effects, all three boys ended up running
from their furious sister.

Only Sian was left out
of the fun; he was more serious, like his father, and watched the antics as the
taunting boys and furious sister made their way into the keep.  Derica noticed
that her father was grinning from ear to ear.

“Why do you look like
that?” she asked.

Bertram shook his head
faintly. “’Tis as if I am watching you and your brothers thirty years ago,” he
replied. “Brothers and sisters never change.”

Derica laughed softly.
“Well, those boys had better change or Roselyn will have their hides.”

Bertram lifted his
eyebrows. “They have de Rosa blood in them, daughter. They will never change.”

Derica laughed softly. 
Lily, still attached to Hoyt, reached out to take Bertram’s hand, escorting
both elderly gentlemen into the resident hall, leaving Derica and Garren
bringing up the rear.  Garren smiled down at his wife, wrapping his arms around
her affectionately.

“It looks as if
Roselyn’s betrothed must endure what I had to go through,” he murmured, kissing
her on the forehead.  “Four brothers, a grandfather and a grand uncle to
scrutinize him like an ibis among alligators.  God help us all.”

Derica laughed softly at
the old reference, gazing into his strong face, more handsome than she had ever
remembered him. 

“Thank God that the
alligators did not eat the ibis those years ago,” she murmured. “I would have
never have known such joy.”

Garren’s features
softened. “Nor would I,” he leaned down, kissing her lips tenderly. “We have
much to be thankful for.”

When Paul le Velle
arrived less than an hour later, he found himself surrounded by a new
generation of alligators.  But this time, the ibis wasn’t set upon.  He was
scrutinized but not devoured, and Roselyn managed to have a wedding night
without nails in the mattress or eggs in the pillow. Her father saw to that.

Garren le Mon never
again saw the green fields of England or Chateroy Castle.  But, then again, he
didn’t much care.  His legacy did not include anything left to him by his
ancestors. A missive sent to his aged sister, Gabrielle, had bequeathed
Chateroy Castle to her, which she in turn deeded to Yaxley Nene, and that was
how Chateroy Castle became a Benedictine monastery for the next three hundred
and forty two years, until fire burned it to the ground.

Garren had created his
own legacy, safe in the bosom of Beaucaire Castle, eventually buried in the
same crypt as his wife and, as the centuries passed, surrounded by his
descendants. And in Wales, Cilgarren Castle remained standing into the new
millennium, still called by its rightful name, no longer bearing tales of Owain
and Brendalyn, but of the mysterious Lord Garren and his wife who vanished into
the river only to be saved by good faeries. All of these things were left to
the ages by Garren and Derica.

It was the best legacy
either could have ever imagined.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathryn Le Veque has
been a prolific writer of Medieval Romance Novels for eighteen years.

The Whispering Night was
a story that followed an odd path.  Written several years ago to completion,
the last several pages were lost due to a defective hard drive.  The author
then had to not only remember what she had written, but sit down and actually
do it. Anyone who writes knows that rewriting a book can be extremely
difficult. Thoughts and feelings sometimes aren’t the same and one must
recapture the ‘mood’ of the book.  Additionally, Fergus was killed in the last
version and the author wasn’t so sure she wanted to kill him off again.  As you
can see, everyone lives happily ever after.  The last time anything was written
in the manuscript of The Whispering Night, it was 2003.  The last chapter(s)
were written in 2010.  The author thinks it turned out much better the second
time around.

As a note of interest,
there really is a Cilgarren Castle in Wales that fit conveniently into the
novel.  Look it up on the Castles of Wales website.

Visit Kathryn’s website
at
www.kathrynleveque.com
for more information
including ordering more novels. Kathryn lives in La Verne, California.