The Whispering Night (5 page)

Garren stood there,
watching the light reflect off her features. He also knew it was dangerous for
him to be here, but for the duration of sup he had been seized with the
determination to see her.  A small seed of confusion was glowing somewhere in
his mind, something that he suspected at some point would make it difficult for
him to keep his mind on his mission unless he kept it in check.  Maybe if he
could talk to her, to find out just how spoiled and petty she was, he could
learn to dislike her. He needed to find a reason to dislike her in order to
maintain his focus.

He took a couple of slow
steps, moving towards the other chair in the chamber and being very careful not
to appear threatening.

"You have no
interest in me, my lady," he commented quietly.

"I beg your
pardon?"

He took the chair,
lowering his big body. "I said, you have no interest in me. This marriage
is as much a duty to you as it is to me."

He was a safe enough
distance away and Derica was feeling more composed, enough so that she found
herself responding to him.

"Unless a young
woman is intended for the convent, it is expected she would wed," she
replied. "I have no desire to become a nun or an old maid."

"But you were
disturbed by my observation that one of marriage's primary purposes is to
produce heirs."

Derica shrugged, toying
with the ends of her hair. "Sometimes the truth is disturbing."

"It is. But why
should the production of a child disturb you? All women want children, do they
not?"

"My mother died
giving birth to me."

"I see,"
Garren understood. "Then childbirth frightens you."

Derica looked up at him,
feeling an odd warmth coarse through her as their eyes met.  "Not
particularly," she tried to sound uncaring. "It is a fact of life.
One cannot avoid it."

Garren sensed she was
putting up a front but he let it go. "Many, many women survive it,"
he said. "True enough that some die, but the same pertains to any risks
you take in life. Some live, and some die, but it is better to have taken the
chance than to have had no chance to take."

For the first time since
they met, he drew a smile from her, however reluctant. It was a beautiful
gesture. "You speak like someone who has taken many chances, and has
perhaps regretted the ones he never had."

He met her smile,
feeling the same warmth that she was feeling.  "I think that can be said
for all of us, not just me," he said. "But there are things I wish I
could have done, and things I wish I hadn't done."

She laughed softly, her
straight white teeth reflecting the fire. "This conversation is becoming
too philosophical for me. I am but a simple woman, after all."

"You are indeed a
woman. But I doubt you are simple."

"So I have been
told." She was again feeling those familiar feelings associated with him,
wildly curious to know more about him. "You never did answer my question
when we were up on the battlements."

"About what?"

"Whether or not you
planned to stay in one place after we wed, or whether you plan to continue your
wandering ways."

The answer was obvious,
for his mission. He had to say, act, or do anything to convince her he was who
he said he was. But the answer that came forth was the honest truth, an
inherent response before he could think it through.

"I will stay with
you."

She lifted one of those
shapely eyebrows at him. "Is that a fact? You intend to stay here, with
me, at Framlingham?"

He realized there was a
fantasy life here for him to play out, to make plans that would never come to
past and to tell her that the future would be as bright and wonderful as he
said it would be. He shouldn't have indulged the fantasy, but gazing into her
sweet face, he couldn't help his natural male instincts to give in to the role.

"We will not stay
here," he shook his head. "Do you think I want your father, uncles
and brothers breathing down my neck at every turn, scrutinized like an ibis in
the midst of alligators?"

Her eyebrows drew
together, though she was smiling.  "Ibis and alligators?"

"Creatures in the
Holy Land. The latter always eats the former. Quite fascinating, really, but
also quite deadly."

"I would like to
hear about them sometime."

"We shall have
plenty of time to talk about things like that."

"I am sure we will,
in this mysterious place you intend for us to live if we will not be here at
Framlingham in the midst of alligators."

She was sharp of wit. He
liked that. Grinning, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as if
somehow that would move him closer to her.

"We shall not live
in a mysterious place, I assure you. My father's castle is to the north and
east of Oxford, a very old place. Parts of it are hundreds of years old, but it
is very comfortable."

"Sounds intriguing.
Does this castle have a name?"

"Two,
actually," Garren was warming to the conversation. "The origins of
the castle, as I said, are very old. Parts of it were built at least three
hundred years before the Normans came.  It was part of a village back then, the
house of the king, and was called Culthberg because Culth was the king who
built it. But when the Normans came, they called le chateau de le roi, or the
house of the king.  So Chateroy Castle it became."

He had a deep, rich
voice. Derica liked listening to him. He was not at all like the arrogant,
aggressive man she had seen in her father's solar earlier that day.

"A fascinating
story," she said. "How long has your family lived there?"

"Culth was my
ancestor. When the Normans came, a king by the name of Ael ruled the province.
He surrendered to the Normans without a fight and gave his only child, a
daughter, to a general serving William the Bastard. They had thirteen children,
the eldest of which was my grandfather several times over." He grinned. "Funny
thing about the Norman general; his name was not le Mon when he married the
Saxon princess. All he could say about his new acquisition was 'mine, mine', so
William took to calling him 'mon', which is 'mine' in French. So the name le
Mon was born."

Derica laughed softly.
"A name borne of greed."

"I certainly can't
blame the man being excited about his just reward."

Derica shrugged in
agreement. The conversation lulled and she couldn't think of any more questions
to ask him at the moment. He had been quite open with her and she was, in
truth, feeling comfortable with him. He seemed to be a likable man in spite of
her original impression.  She was coming to regret not attending sup; yet if
she had, she knew they would not have been able to converse as they were now
with her brothers and uncles hanging over them.

 A twinkle came to her
eye. "Now," she said. "Are you going to tell me how you got in
through that window or are you going to dazzle me with more talk of the history
of the le Mon family?"

"I am going to
dazzle you with more talk."

She shook her head, a
reproachful gesture. Yet there was humor in it.  "Then talk. God's Bones,
you risked your life to come to me. You may as well make it worth the
risk."

"It is worth the
risk already."

Derica could feel her cheeks
grow warm.  Lowering her gaze, she moved her chair back, away from the fire.
"You may as well sit across from me rather than in the darkness, then. Let
us be comfortable."

Garren didn't need to be
told twice. He picked up his chair and moved it. Sitting an arm's length away
from her was much better than sitting an entire room's width from her. He just
sat there, looking at her, smiling when she would meet his gaze, looking at his
hands when she looked away, both of them trying to think of something to say. 
It was not uncomfortable, but more than once they chuckled when they realized
the flow of conversation did not come so easily.

"Is Chateroy a
beautiful place, then?" Derica finally asked.

Garren nodded.  "I
think so." He couldn't think of much else to say to that. "Have you
lived at Framlingham all of your life?"

"Aye," she
replied. "I was sent away to foster when I was eight years of age, but my
family missed me so that they sent for me when I was twelve years and I have
been back at Framlingham ever since."

Garren cocked an
eyebrow. "If they think to send for you when you and I go to Chateroy,
they had better think twice. I will not return you."

She was pleased by his
statement. "It will be difficult for them. Being the only female in the
family, I am something of a prized commodity. Women tend not to survive long in
the de Rosa house."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It
is rare for a female de Rosa to be born. For several generations back there has
been nothing but males. My father has three brothers, and his father had one,
and his father before him had six, and so forth, for seven generations. I am
the first female in well over one hundred years."

"And well worth the
wait," Garren said quietly.

Derica burst into
embarrassed laughter. "You certainly are free with your flattery, Sir
Garren."

He shook his head.
"Not really. It does not come easy to me, as I am not particularly
comfortable with women."

"You seem very
comfortable with me."

"That is because
you are easy to talk to."

She dipped her head
graciously, to thank him. The conversation quieted once again, but there was no
discomfort to it. Garren's gaze moved back and forth between Derica and the
dying fire. He was appalled and thrilled to realize he could grow to like this
very much. She'd given him no reason to dislike her; if anything, the entire
conversation had produced the opposite effect.  The seed of confusion that had
sprouted in his mind was growing in to a nice, healthy sapling, one he should
like to rip out by the roots before it grew into a mighty oak and obscured his
vision completely.

"Well," he
said softly, rising. "I suppose I should leave you to your sleep. I have
taken enough of your time."

Derica rose with him.
"Strange, I am not tired at all, but I am sure you must be after your long
journey today."

"I am, a
little," he gazed into her eyes, longer than he should have. If only she
had been the petty, spoiled female he had hoped for. "I will bid you a
good eve, then, my lady. Pleasant dreams."

"Thank you, Sir
Garren," she said. "Good sleep to you as well."

He stood there looking
at her just as she stood there looking at him. Garren couldn't seem to move his
feet.  He felt like an idiot.

"Well?" she
asked.

"What?"

"I thought you were
leaving."

"I am."

"It doesn't appear
so."

"In good time, my
lady."

She smiled coyly.
"Then perhaps we should sit again until you are completely ready,"
she turned back to her chair. "I would not want you to think me rude by
hastening you out of my chamber, although propriety demands that I must. Still,
it has been a...."

As she sat down, she
looked up to see that Garren was gone. Startled, not to mention disappointed,
she bolted up and ran to the lancet window. Hoisting herself up on the sill,
she looked down but saw nothing. All was quiet and dark in the ward below.
Glancing up, she caught a glimpse of boots disappearing over the top of the
battlement directly above her head. A small rope dangled down the side of the
keep, which was quickly retracted as she watched.  All evidence was removed,
and Sir Garren was gone as if he had never come at all.

Derica lowered herself
from the window and pulled the oilcloth back over the window, keeping out the
cool night air. She stood there a moment, thinking on Sir Garren and grinning
like a fool. It had been a most eventful evening.

She wasn't sorry that
she missed sup in the least.

***

"He
what
?"

"He came to my
chamber last night. We had a wonderful conversation."

Aglette was beside
herself.  Derica put her hand on the woman's elbow and forced her to continue
walking. It was a sunny morning and the bailey was alive with activity. Villains
were bringing in wagons of food and goods for the castle and soldiers milled
about as the women strolled through the compound.

"I... I simply
cannot believe...," Aglette stammered. "How scandalous!"

"He was afraid that
he had offended me and came to apologize," Derica said evenly. "We
talked at length."

"But how did he get
in?"

"Through the
window."

"The window?"
Aglette gasped. "Good Lord, how did he manage that?"

Derica smiled at the
thought of his boots disappearing high over her head. "With a rope. He
lowered himself down from the top of the keep. Quite clever, actually."