The Whispering Night (10 page)

She slapped her father’s
hand away; it was sharp movement that strained her bad arm and she winced as
pain shot through her.

“Answer me. Where is Sir
Garren? Why is he in here?”

Bertram glanced at his
brothers, undeterred from putting his arm around his daughter. She pushed
against him, but he was insistent.

“Derica, you needn’t
worry about Sir Garren any longer. There will be no forced marriage and you
will be free to marry a man worthy of you. I am so sorry you had to….”

Derica pulled away from
him sharply, looking at her father as if he had gone mad. “No marriage? What
are you talking about?” Her father tried to hold her again and, this time, she
roughly slapped his hand away. “If you do not tell me what is going on here, I
shall pummel each and every one of you until I have my answers.”

Alger tried to comfort
her. “Derica, you’re ill and distraught. ‘Twould be better if you retired to
your chamber and allowed us to do what needs to be done.”

Derica could see that
she would receive no answers. With a growl of frustration, she pushed past her
father and uncle and moved towards the cells. Her brothers tried to stop her
and she fought with them, too; it seemed that no one wanted to answer her or
help her find Garren. Even rational, gentle Daniel wouldn’t help her. When she
finally pushed past Donat after threatening to restructure his nose, she caught
a glimpse of a large body chained to the wall of one of the cells.

It was Garren. He looked
as if he had been thrashed within an inch of his life, blood on his face and
matted in his hair. His arms were bruised and bloodied, and the iron cuffs that
held him to the wall had chaffed huge red welts around his wrists.

Derica suddenly felt
very ill and weak. Bertram didn’t try to stop her as she entered the cell.

“Dear God,” she
whispered as she surveyed Garren’s wounds. “What have they done to you?”

Garren hated for her see
him like this. She appeared weary and exhausted, and he knew she shouldn’t be
here. Nasty dealings were afoot and he didn’t want her bearing witness. But he
was glad to see her nonetheless.

“It took several of them
to capture me,” he was trying to lighten the grim situation. “Your father,
uncles, brothers, and a few soldiers for good measure. One moment I was in the
stables, and in the next I was being set upon. Without you there to protect me,
the alligators snared the ibis.”

Derica could not give
into his attempt at humor. “But why? I do not understand.”

Before Garren could
reply, Bertram answered. “He is a spy, Derica,” her father said quietly. “You
must not interfere in what needs to be done.”

Confusion flickered
across Derica’s face. “Spy?” she repeated. Her focus remained on Garren. “What
are they saying about you?”

Garren took a long, deep
breath. “They believe I mean to destroy them.”

“Destroy?” Derica
mouthed the word as if she had never heard it before. “Why in the world would
they think this?”

Garren shook his head.
“I was not given the courtesy of being told their reasons. They seem more
intent on beating a confession out of me.”

Derica’s confusion faded
and her fury returned, worse than before. She whirled to her father. “You’re
mad,” she hissed. “I have known you to be suspicious and belligerent, but this
accusation against Sir Garren is pure madness.”

Bertram remained calm.
“We know this for truth, daughter.”

“From whom?”

“A reliable source.
Suffice it to say that….”

“Who told you this?”

“It does not matter.
What matters is that I trust this word.” He nodded towards Garren. “Your
intended is sent from William Marshall to spy against us. He comes to destroy
everything we have, including you.”

“That is not true,”
Derica turned back to Garren. “What insanity would cause them to say this
against you? Tell them they are lunatics!”

“I am not here to
destroy you,” Garren said softly. “When I came through the gates of Framlingham
five days ago, my only intention was to gain wealth and status through
marriage.  Now my only intention is to marry you, wealth or no. You are the
only wealth I will ever want.”

Tears filled her eyes.
She reached up with her good arm, touching his battered face, feeling his lips
against her fingers. Anger such as she had never known filled her.

“Release him, father.”

“I cannot. He must be
punished.”

“You mean killed.”

“Spies are dealt with in
such ways.”

Derica exploded. “If you
kill him, I shall flee from Framlingham and you will never see me again. I will
whore for every nobleman that serves King Richard and shame the name of de Rosa
such as you have never dreamed.” The tears escaped and found their way onto her
face. “This foolish paranoia that feeds your soul must come to an end.  For all
of these years I have ignored it because you were my father and I love you. But
now you attack me directly, and you attack my happiness. Release Sir Garren or
I swear I will make you sorry until the end of your days.”

The entire vault was
deathly silent by the time she finished.  Bertram was pale; he’d never seen his
daughter in such a tirade. She had always maintained such control over her
emotions. His natural instinct was to do whatever she wished, but at the
moment, he was torn. He didn’t want her to follow through on her threats; he
wasn’t sure she would, but, being a de Rosa, she was stubborn and willful and
he wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t.

“Derica,” he said
quietly. “You’re sick. You’re not thinking clearly. You must understand that
this is a man’s matter. It does not involve you.”

“It clearly involves me
if Sir Garren is to be my husband,” she countered. “You will release him
immediately and I will forget this ever happened.”

As much as Bertram loved
his daughter, he would not be pushed around by her.

“I cannot.”

Derica stared at him for
several long, painful moments. He had been right about one thing; she was ill
and not thinking clearly. In a fit of momentary insanity, she swooped upon the
brother standing nearest to her and unsheathed his sword. Before anyone could
stop her, she pressed the blade against her stomach.

“Release him now or I
drive this into my belly!”

Everyone shouted at her
to stop, including Garren. She had a wild look to her eye and there was no one
in the chamber that had any doubt she would do as she threatened.

Bertram pleaded.
“Derica, no. It is not as bad as all that. Please… give the blade back to
Donat.”

Her response was to grip
it more tightly. “Release him. I shall not tell you again.”

Bertram looked at
Garren. Strange how mortal enemies had, in a fraction of a second, suddenly
became allies. Garren could feel the father’s panic; he had quite enough of his
own.

“Derica,” Garren said
softly. “Put the blade down, sweetheart. Please.”

Derica looked at him.
“Do you not understand that they mean to kill you? I will not let them do that.
I cannot.”

“So you would kill
yourself instead?” Garren smiled. “Do you think that would give me pleasure to
watch? As much as you do not wish my death, I do not wish yours even more. To
know you died on my behalf would fill me with grief as I cannot comprehend. My
life would be meaningless.”

“As mine would be were
you to leave me,” her lip quivered. “I cannot let them do this to you.”

“If you thrust that
blade into your belly, they are going to kill me anyway. Your death would not
stop them. It would more than likely cause them to insure that my death was as
painfully long and slow as possible. Did you think of that?”

She knew he spoke the
truth. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at her father. She knew how
her father and brothers were, that honor and service to the prince was nearly
everything to them. She could not imagine who told them Garren was a spy, or
how this wild idea took root, but one thing was for certain; if they believed
Garren was a spy, for whatever reason, nothing on earth could convince them
otherwise. But bargains could be struck, and for the sake of Garren’s life, she
knew what she had to do.

“Release him and I will
not kill myself. His life for mine, father. That is the bargain.”

Bertram eyed his
daughter. He couldn’t stand the thought of her driving that cold blade into her
soft belly. He weighed his choices.

“Do as she asks.”

The command came from
the steps leading up into the gatehouse. Everyone turned to see Hoyt standing
at the base of the stairs, without his makeup or fancy gowns. He looked as they
all remembered him, a massive man who had been the best warrior of them all. 
Bertram hadn’t seen his brother this serious, or this normal, in some time. It
was unsettling.

“He is a spy,” Bertram
said to his brother. “If we let him go, the consequences could be lethal.”

“If you do not, the same
could be said.” Hoyt entered the vault, slowly. His eyes were on Derica. “Look
at her, Bertram. She means what she says. Let him go or we shall all be sorry.”

Bertram knew that his
brother was correct; there was only one choice to make. He found himself
cursing the day his only female child was born. At that moment, something
between them changed.

“Then I shall release
him,” he said. “But I shall also say this; there will be no marriage. I will
never again hear the name Garren le Mon and if I ever see him again, I will
kill him. Make no mistake. My mercy is given only once.”

Derica was not
surprised. Her terms had been accepted; now her father was extending his own.
It was a compromise of the greatest proportion, but Derica considered it a
small price to pay for Garren’s life.

“As you say,” she
whispered.

She kept the sword
against her stomach as she watched Hoyt unlatch the shackles around Garren’s
wrists and ankles. It was sorry to say that she didn’t trust her family, but
she did not. She had lived with them too long and knew too well of their ways.
She had to maintain the threat even though, deep down, she would not have done
it. It was bluff that, with the mere thought of her death, had worked against
her father. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty.

“Sir Garren is free to
go to the stables and collect his horse,” she said pointedly to the men around
her. “He will not be touched.”

The younger men
grumbled, kicked at the ground, but dare not dispute her. The older men glared.
Only Hoyt stood there, with no discernible expression, but the message was
obvious; his support was with Derica and, subsequently, with Garren.  The tides
of the de Rosa household were shifting.

 Garren rubbed his
wrists. Hoyt was standing next to him and their eyes met, silent words of
understanding passing between them; Hoyt had seen Garren tend Derica and had
seen the tenderness in the man’s eyes. It was more than courtesy or
infatuation; there was genuine emotion there. Whatever his brothers were
cooking up now against Garren was not only detrimental to Derica, but to them
all. Walls were being built with little hope of ever being torn down again.

Garren turned to Derica.
“I will not leave you here.”

Derica could feel her
anguish welling. “I cannot go with you. Be fortunate that you leave with your
life.”

He was going to argue
with her but thought better of it; surrounded by the de Rosa clan, she had a
point. He was indeed fortunate to be leaving with his life. But in his
estimation, it wasn’t over. Not as long as there was breath left in his body.

“Then the last time I
see you will not be with a sword against your gut,” he said softly. “Take it
away and let me see you one more time the way you were meant to be.”

That was all it took for
Derica to throw down the sword.  She wanted to run to him and throw herself in
his arms, but she dared not. It might set her father off and she had no way of
knowing. They gazed at each other, a thousand unspoken words between them.

 “You haven’t asked me
if it is true,” Garren said.

“If what is true?”

“If I am a spy.”

She shrugged weakly.
“That is because it doesn’t matter. You are Sir Garren le Mon of Anglecynn and
Ceri, a man who came to me with kindness and compassion such as I have never
known. That is who you are to me.”  She could read the longing in his eyes and
her heart was broken. “Now, go. Please. While there is still time.”

“I shall not forget you,
lady.”

“Nor I, you.”

His expression said
everything that his lips could not. Derica watched him walk from the cell,
listening to his boots until they faded away. Her father, uncles, brothers
stood there, unable to move, unwilling to say anything. Everyone stood in a
dark, brooding mass. 

“Derica,” Daniel said
softly. “You must understand that Father was only doing what he thought he had
to. To protect you.”