The Whispering Night (6 page)

"And all of this
does not distress you?"

"Why should
it?"

Aglette looked at her
mistress with her mouth agape. Derica wasn't the least bit concerned with the
behavior of a man she barely knew.  She suddenly knew why.

"You're smitten
with him," she accused.

Derica's smile vanished.
"I am not."

"You are! I can see
it in your face."

Derica looked away from
her so the woman could not read her expression.  "You see nothing. He
came, he apologized, and we spoke. It was pleasant. The man is to be my
husband, after all. Should I not know something about him?" She glanced
up, seeing her brother Donat on the battlements. He glared down at her, his
usual expression. "Do you think it would be a simple thing to talk to the
man with the alligators hanging about, waiting to devour him?"

"Alligators?"

"A story for
another time. Suffice it to say that if I am to be married to the man, I would
come to know him at least somewhat. I know that is a ridiculous notion in this
day and age, but I would like to establish some manner of rapport with
him."

"Why?"

"Because we are
going to spend the rest of our lives living together. Is it wrong to want to
know the person I will be living with, the father of my children?"

Aglette looked uncertain
about the whole thing. "I suppose not, but... if your father hears that he
has visited you in your chamber, and you without an escort, he'll...."

Derica put up a
silencing hand. "I know. It is too horrible to think of." She paused
a moment, looking about the bailey, realizing that she hoped to see Garren.
"I believe this is the one man I do not want them to chase off."

Aglette was astounded.
The Derica she knew had no use for men, in any way. For her to show interest in
one was astonishing. She started to reply, but the expression on her mistress'
face stopped her.

"There he is,"
Derica murmured.

Aglette looked across
the bailey towards the cluster of buildings that housed the stables.  As tall
and strong as an oak, Garren was crossing the compound, apparently heading from
the knight's quarters to the stables. He hadn't seen the ladies and Derica came
to a halt, watching him stroll away from her. His moves were graceful and
powerful.

"How do I
look?" she hissed.

Aglette peered at her.
"Look what?"

Derica elbowed her in
the ribs. "My dress, my hair. How do I look? Am I presentable?"

"As presentable as
you always are," Aglette replied. Her gaze moved between her mistress'
face and the massive man in the distance. "You are smitten with him."

"I am not. I just
do not want to appear unkempt or slovenly to the man I am to marry. What kind
of bride do you think I am if I am anything less than composed?"

It wasn't the reason and
Aglette knew it, but she kept her mouth shut.  She watched Derica as the
woman's green eyes focused on Garren like a cat watching a mouse.  Even after
he disappeared into the stable, she didn't move. She continued to stand there,
waiting and watching, until quite some time later he reappeared.

Suddenly, she was
moving. "Come along," she whirled for the keep. "Let's go
inside."

Aglette almost had her
neck snapped by Derica's abrupt movements. "Why the hurry?"

Derica didn't answer.
She was determinedly walking toward the keep. But in a matter of a few moments,
they heard a deep male voice behind them.

"Good morn to you,
ladies."

Garren walked up, his
handsome face shining in the morning sun. Derica came to a halt and turned
around, very casually.

"Sir Garren,"
she put up her hand to shield the sun from her eyes. "Forgive me, I did
not notice you. Where did you come from?"

Aglette lifted an
eyebrow at her. Whatever her mistress was up to, she was playing the game quite
coyly. It was a surprise coming from a woman who, under normal circumstances,
gave no thought to such things. But she wisely kept quiet.

"The stables,"
Garren answered her question. "My horse was acting strangely yesterday and
I wanted to see if he came up lame."

"Did he?"

"Slightly. He'll be
no good to me for a day or so."

"I am sorry to hear
that," Derica said. "My father has several chargers. I am sure you
can borrow one should you need to."

"Perhaps."

Garren studied her in
the bright of the day; she was dressed in pale yellow brocade, quite becoming
with her coloring.  He'd spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning with
thoughts of her on his mind; the sapling of confusion had grown into a yearling
of stunning strength, with branches that reached into his mind to cause mass
disorientation. But he had fought the branches, the tree itself, and in the
morning had awoken with the resolve to distance himself from her as much as
possible. No more sneaking into her chamber, no more private conversations. He
had to draw the line if there was to be any hope of him keeping his mission in
focus.

It had been easy to
reason so with distance between them. But gazing at her, he knew that line
would be extremely difficult to draw. He was attracted to her, more than any
woman he had ever met. Knowing she was to be his wife, and he would be entitled
to all of the husbandly pleasures thereof, was enough to seriously disturb him.
A woman like this could make him forget everything he had ever worked for and
he was coming to comprehend something he'd never understood his entire life;
why men over the centuries had died for the affection of a beautiful woman.
Suddenly, it was blatantly obvious.

He knew he had to get
away from her before he forgot everything he had resolved himself to over the
past several hours.

"If you will excuse
me, I will not burden you ladies any longer with my presence,” he said. “Good
day to you."

He walked away from
them, almost too quickly, but Derica's voice stopped him.

"Sir Garren?"

He paused, turned, and
would have had to have been a blind man not to see the expression on her face.
She looked as if someone had just stolen her best friend.

"My lady?"

"Have... have a
pleasant day as well."

"Thank you."

It was harder than he
could have imagined to turn and continue walking. But he had to.  In fact, he
had to do more.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Have I ever asked
this of you before, my lord?"

"You have
not."

"Then I would hope
you would take me seriously when I ask that you reconsider assigning me to this
task."

"Of course I take
you seriously, Garren. But you have only been at Framlingham one day. How do
you know this mission is impossible?"

"You must trust me
when I tell you that it is. I know my limitations and I am telling you that I
believe this mission will fall into serious jeopardy."

"So you have told
me repeatedly. But what you have failed to tell me is why."

Garren sat in William
Marshall's solar, gazing at the old man with the yellowed eyes, wondering how
he was going to explain this to him. Months in the making and he was running
from his assignment like a coward.  He'd never run from anything in his life.

Outside, the night was
becoming early morning. He'd ridden for hours to get from Framlingham to
Chepstow and he was exhausted. But he'd never felt so strongly about anything
in his life, so much so that he was willing to yank William Marshall from bed
and beg him to reconsider the task at hand. 

"Suffice it to say
that, for various reasons, it is not something I can do," he muttered.
"There are too many factors...."

"Rubbish," the
Marshall snapped softly. "Tell me the truth. What has you spooked like a
skittish mare?"

Garren looked at him,
wondering if he should tell him the truth, but knowing in the same breath that
he would sound like a complete idiot. Still, the Marshall deserved to know.
Garren was the best agent he had and had served flawlessly up until this point.
He knew he could confide in William but was reluctant to do so. With the truth
came admission.

"Send someone to
infiltrate the servants," he said. "I need support on this task. I
fear that my attention may not always be where it should and I need assistance
that I can depend on should I be indisposed."

William studied him a
moment, a wise man with many years of living and loving behind him. He
suspected he knew what the problem was. "Is it your bride?"

"Aye."

"You have expressed
reservation about this betrothal from the beginning. What is it that still
disturbs you?"

Garren took a deep
breath, staring into the fire, trying to think of the right words. They came to
him in pieces. "I am not sure. There's something about her...."

"Is she
unpleasant?"

"Nay."

"Fat? Lazy?"

"Nay."

"Then what?"

Garren was hesitant.
"From the onset, I feared the woman would be a distraction,” he said
quietly. “I have never been comfortable with women, you know that, and I saw
the entire marriage element as unnecessary to this mission. I could have
infiltrated the House of de Rosa another way, for instance, as a bachelor
knight searching for a house to pledge my fealty."

The Marshall nodded
patiently. "You suggested that, as I recall."

"I did. But you
were convinced the marriage aspect was the most convenient and secure."

"It still is."
He threw up his hands. "Garren, where is this leading? I do not understand
what the problem is."

Garren sat a moment,
trying to piece together his thoughts. He finally stood up and began to pace.
"Derica de Rosa is no ordinary woman," he said softly. "If I
were the marrying kind, she is someone I would choose to marry."

"And that is a bad
thing?"

"Aye," Garren
whispered. "I have known the woman all of a day and already she haunts
me."

"In what way?"

"In a way that
makes me feel as if I cannot breathe every time I look at her."

The Marshall was silent,
contemplating what Garren has so haltingly told him. "Then I think I understand,"
he said quietly. "At first you feared being married to a woman you hate.
Now you fear being married to a woman who takes your breath away and you fear
that your loyalties will be torn."

"Something like
that."

"I am sure this is
a foolish question, but do you think you could grow to love her?"

Garren looked sick.
"Christ, I don't know," he hissed. "All I know is that the very
moment I lay eyes on her, one set of fears was replaced by another and with as
much attraction as I feel towards her, I am afraid that I cannot guarantee the
sanctity of this mission.  If she is a distraction to me now, God only knows
how I will feel about her a week, a month or a year from now."

William fell silent as
the long moments ticked away. "I am not sure how we can break this
betrothal, Garren."

"Therein lies the
confusion,” he said, agitated. “I don't want to break it, for all of the wrong
reasons. But I also do not believe I can perform to the best of my abilities,
which will greatly compromise me and the success of this task. Yet, I am sworn
to the king and to my vows as his servant. Never, in all of my years of
service, have I faced a situation like this and I find it bewildering."

The Marshall stood up
from his chair, moving his weary body across the floor as he contemplated
Garren's situation.  As he saw it, there was only one way to deal with it.

"You are my
greatest asset," he said. "You have never failed me. Yet I have also
never known you to act like an addle-brained schoolboy, which is exactly what
you are doing. Is this woman so attractive to you that she could ruin
everything you have worked to achieve over the past eighteen years? Is she more
important than your king and country? Is she so important that you would let it
all slip through your fingers to see John Lackland on the throne, running the
country into the ground? In one day, do you give your loyalties to a woman you
don't even know simply to sate your lust?"

He was bellowing by the
time he finished. Garren remained characteristically cool, yet at the same
time, he felt ashamed.

"It is more than
that, my lord."

"What more could
there be?" he shouted. "By this foolish behavior, you have already
compromised your position. Do they, in fact, know where you have gone? Don't
you think they will discover that you're missing, run off liked a frightened
child?"

"They know I am
gone. I told Bertram that I had business to attend to. He did not ask what it
was, and I did not offer.  All they know is that I shall return sometime in the
next couple of days and the wedding is set to take place on the sixth day of
this month."