The Whispering Night (13 page)

“I appreciate your point
of view,” Garren said after a moment. “But the de Rosa’s are powerful. It will
be imperative that Derica and I have ample protection against their onslaught,
which I have no doubt will come. My hope and inclination is that, after a time,
the de Rosas will tire of any siege they may undertake and give up.
Furthermore, with Derica and I married, the Church will undoubtedly support our
position. Were the de Rosas able to retrieve her, however remote, the fact
remains that she would still be a married woman.”

Fergus shrugged.
“Anything is possible. But if you are trying to avoid being tracked and thereby
avoid the entire siege scenario, then surely keeping a low profile is best.”

“I cannot disagree.”

“Do you want a battle,
Garren?”

“To teach those bastards
a lesson, perhaps.  But that would certainly not be in Derica’s best interest.”

“Nor yours. People tend
to die in battle.”

The men fell silent a
moment, pondering the immediate future. “Your family is from Wales, Fergus?”
Garren ventured.

“Aye.”

“Then if I were to
maintain a low profile, as you suggest, perhaps….”

Fergus was already
thinking ahead of him. “A half a day’s ride from the village where I was born
lies an abandoned castle,” he said, excitement in his tone. “When I was a lad,
it was fairly intact but neglected. Story has it that Rhys, a Prince of Dyfed,
built Cilgarren Castle for his new bride, but that he abandoned it shortly
after her death. So there it sits, massive and unused. My father could direct
you to this castle. It would be a perfect hiding place for you.”

“You’re sure? An entire
fortress completely unused?”

“In all of the years my
family has lived there, they have never seen it inhabited except for
immediately after its completion. Legend has it that the place is haunted, and
the princes of Dyfed will not go near it. And, being that nearby castles like
Cardigan and Carmarthen are far more threatening, the English have no desire to
claim it at this time. They have got their hands full with manned castles much
less unmanned ones.”

Garren felt better than
he had in some time. A plan, a place. With Fergus to help him, he was positive
the outcome would be favorable. Now to the get man to Framlingham and claim the
prize.  He suddenly snorted, softly.

“Cilgarren,” he
muttered.  “It is fate that I go there.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the castle
bears my name.”

Fergus grinned. “Indeed
it does,” he agreed. “Perhaps in the years to come, people will forget the
‘Cil’ altogether and simply call it Garren’s Castle.”

Garren nodded vaguely,
his mind mulling over Fergus’ advice. “Your clear thoughts and suggestions are
much appreciated, my friend,” he said. “Strange thing about Love; it muddles
your head like fog. I have not been able to think objectively about any of
this. I needed you more than I realized.”

“My offer still stands
to beat it out of you.”

Garren laughed softly.
“I think when you meet Derica, You will change your mind.”

Fergus stroked his chin.
“Is that so? Then perhaps I will abduct her for myself.”

Garren cast him his best
intimidating glance. “You will rue the day you were born, I assure you.”

“Very well. That threat,
coming from you, is enough to cause me to reconsider. I shall stay the course
and then you shall name your first born son after me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Then let us make this
so, my friend. Time waits for no man.”

Fergus’ confidence
reassured Garren.  But deep down, he was anxious for something that would be
completely out of his hands until the moment Derica appeared at Yaxley. Until
then, all he could do was wait and ignore the nameless fears that attempted to
seduce him.  So many things could go wrong and thinking such thoughts would
surely drive him mad. All he wanted to do was see Derica again, and truly hold
her for the first time. If he thought about it, he’d never done anything more
than kiss her hand. The longing to touch her, hold her, experience her, was
almost more than he could bear.

He didn’t like waiting.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was a lazy day. The
sun gave muted warmth, accompanied by the rising humidity that came with
summer. It was early in the year to experience the moist heat, but it was
present nonetheless. Perhaps it was an indication of the unbearable summer to
come.

Derica lay on a day
couch, fan in her hand.  Her chamber was warm and damp. Every so often, the fan
would wave back and forth and then collapse against her breast. The bright
green eyes were half-lidded, with thought and boredom, staring into the room as
if her mind had been spirited away somehow.  Ever since that dreadful day,
nearly a week ago, that she had made the bargain for Garren’s life it was as if
something had left her. The spirit that was normally present had vanished.
Those who knew her well were unsure if it would ever return.

Aglette had long since
hidden away the yellow wedding gown that she had worked on so diligently for
all those months. She thought about burning it simply to erase the memories,
but she wasn’t sure that would be wise.  She was currently working on a summer
gown for her lady, a pale blue garment made of light fabric. They had purchased
the material last year at a fair in Bury St. Edmunds. Yards of it had lain in
Derica’s chest, disregarded, until Aglette rediscovered it. She thought that a
new gown was something her mistress might need at this time. Anything to
brighten the dark days they were all suffering through.

Derica wouldn’t see
anyone but Uncle Hoyt and her brother Daniel. They were the only two members of
the family who didn’t represent Garren’s departure. Her Uncle Hoyt had spent a
good deal of time with her, brushing her hair, stroking her back, talking to
her about things like goddesses and flowers. Any mention of anything remotely romantic
would send Derica into fits, so Hoyt avoided the mythological love stories he
was so fond of. Cuchulain and the other Celts who had fought so hard for love
and kingdom were put aside in favor of discussions on roses and lavender. It
was all Derica could tolerate. Hoyt hurt for her, but deep down, he could not
truly understand what she was going through. None of them did.

Daniel’s visits could be
particularly brittle because he almost always carried a message from the rest
of the family. As the brother who stayed the furthest away from any manner of
politics or family squabbles, he had been coerced into playing peacemaker. He
would bring her meals to her and sit with her while she picked at the food,
discussing things like the weather and the quality of the spring foals. 

Unlike her emotional
outburst in the vault of Framlingham from the week prior, she had reverted back
to her normal character of controlling her emotions, only now it was darkly so.
There was no emotion in her face whatsoever. She mostly lay upon her day couch,
staring up at the ceiling and ignoring everything around her. She had no use
for her family at the moment, those people who had ruined her life.

Aglette had stuck to her
with the faithfulness of an old dog.  She had known Derica her entire life and
had never seen her so miserable. It was difficult to comprehend that she was
making herself ill over a man she had known less than a full week. Aglette had
seen suitors come to Framlingham for weeks on end and Derica had never so much as
said more than two words to them.  Garren le Mon, clearly, had been different.
They all knew that now.

So the little maid sewed
the blue dress and chattered, even though she knew she would receive no answer.
Eventually, she gave up chattering all together and simple sewed. In fact, the
pretty blue dress was almost done save hemming the length.  Perhaps now was a
good time to focus her mistress on something other than her misery.

“There we are,” Aglette
stood from her stool and held the dress up. “What do you think of this, my
lady? Beautiful, is it not?”

Derica didn’t respond,
though the fan lifted and waved back and forth a few times. Aglette tried not
to become discouraged.

“My lady,” she said,
more firmly. “I will need for you to try this on so that I may hem the bottom. 
Will you do that, please?”

Derica continued to fan
herself. Aglette was about to try again when Derica’s head moved, very slowly,
towards the dress. The green eyes that focused on it were lifeless.

“The sleeves are sheer.”

“Aye, they are,” Aglette
was thrilled that she was getting a response. “In the warmth of summer, it will
make it much cooler for you.”

“But everyone will see
the scar on my arm.”

Aglette hadn’t thought
of that. “Not much, my lady. Not unless they look closely.”

“It is healing quite
nicely. Garren did a remarkable job tending it.”

“Aye, he did.”

The fan stopped. “Where
do you suppose he went, Aglette?”

Aglette lowered the
dress. This was as much conversation as she had gotten out of Derica in a week
and she wanted to tread carefully. “I do not know. Perhaps back to Chateroy.”

Derica clasped the fan
against her breast and sat up. Her shoulders and forehead glistened in the
moist weather. “Do you suppose… if I had Uncle Hoyt write to him, that he would
write back?”

“I do not know, my lady.
But you can certainly try.”

“Father would not permit
it, I am sure.”

“Then perhaps we could
sneak a missive out somehow.”

Derica fell back against
the couch once more, closing her eyes in anguish. “He said he would not forget
me. But I shall wager that he has. What would he want to remember about this
horrid place and the horrible way he was treated?”

Aglette didn’t want to
argue with her, and she did not want her mistress to fall deeper into despair
with the present line of conversation. She laid the blue dress aside.

“I am going down to the
kitchens to fetch some cool water. A sponge bath will do you a world of good.
Then we shall try on this dress.”

Derica didn’t reply and
the fan lay still against her chest. Aglette quit the chamber and descended to
the second floor where she took the steps into the ward. The kitchens were
located towards the rear of Framlingham’s bailey. Her thoughts centered on
Derica as she commandeered two kitchen servants to help her carry the water
buckets up to her mistresses’ room.  Before she left the area, however, she
collected a plate of bread and cheese, hoping to coerce Derica into eating
something. With the bath and dress, perhaps she would feel better. One could
only try.

She sent the servants
bearing water on ahead as she collected one last bit of fruit for her mistress’
plate, some small green grapes.  The cook also gave her some boiled fruit juice
flavored with cloves and honey.  As Aglette crossed the ward towards the
western tower, a sharp whistle pierced her ears.  Then the sound came again.
Thinking it was one of the soldiers on the wall walk above, she ignored it
until she passed near the kiln and saw a figure bundling bunches of straw for
the kiln fire.

“Mistress,” the man was
on his knees, his face half-obscured by a dirty cloak. “Mistress!”

Aglette was used to
aggressive men; it happened quite often. “Go about your business. I have no
interest in you.”

“I have been waiting
here the better part of a week, waiting for the chance to speak with you,” the
man hissed. “You’re Lady Derica’s servant.”

Aglette didn’t answer;
she kept walking.  The man stood up, a bundle in his hands.

“How has your mistress
been feeling this past week?” he asked.

Aglette paused, looking
at him pointedly. “I do not know who you are or what you want, but if you do
not leave me alone, I shall send the soldiers after you.”

Aglette continued
walking. After two steps she had forgotten about the conversation until she
heard the man’s voice behind her once again.

“Aglette,” he said slowly.
“I bring your lady a message from Garren.”

Aglette came to a dead
halt. She turned, eyeing the man with the bucked teeth and bright blue eyes.
“What… what do you mean a message?”

Fergus could see the
fear in her eyes. “Garren said you are someone to be trusted.”

Aglette was shaken. “I…
I serve my lady faithfully.” She lowered her voice. “Who are you?”

Fergus knew there time
would be short. He glanced around, seeing that their conversation was going
unnoticed for the moment.

“I am Sir Fergus de
Edwin, a friend of Sir Garren’s,” he said quietly. “He has asked me to come on
his behalf.”

“You are a knight?”