The Whispering Night (32 page)

Hoyt de Rosa had joined
William at Newark. The man had abandoned his family and had joined Richard’s
cause in full.  He had arrived a few months ago, pledging his service with a
sudden strong loyalty that the Marshall was suspicious of, but that suspicion
was lifted when he saw Hoyt in battle. The man was ferocious.  The elder de
Rosa had fought with Garren, and had been there when Garren had fallen. It had
been Hoyt who had brought Garren’s body to the Marshall.  One look at the face
and skull disfigured by a morning star, and William had ordered the body
interred in the chapel at Newark with full honors.

William felt tremendous
guilt for the state of their relationship when Garren had passed. It had been
strained, though in William’s estimation that could not have been helped. 
Still, he would have liked to have known that Garren harbored no permanent ill
will. William had hoped that the marcher lordship of Buckton would have eased
any hardship.  The lordship came with two castles and a large chunk of land,
something Garren deserved. Now that he was no longer in the land of the living
to accept it, William could think of nothing else but granting it posthumously
to his wife.  Perhaps by making amends to Garren’s widow, it would right things
between them in the next life. 

That was his guilt
talking. He hated feeling the strange stirrings of indecision and regret.  Hoyt
had been at his side constantly since his return and the two of them had
sparred with their philosophies on life and death.  Even tonight, they shared a
blood-red wine and discussed a variety of critical subjects, and the important
subject, Lady le Mon’s future.

“I never asked Garren
where she was,” Hoyt muttered, staring at the liquid in his cup. “In all of the
months I fought at his side, I never asked. I did not want to know, as I
thought it was best considering the circumstances. But you must know.”

“Of course I do,”
William would not mention the entire ugly incident with Fergus and blackmailing
Garren into service. “She is well taken care of at the moment, I assure you.”

Hoyt glanced at him.
“Then I will ask you. Where is she?”

“Wales.”

“It is a big country.”

“Cilgarren Castle. Near
Pembroke.”

“I must stand by my
opinion, William. She should return to Framlingham.”

“And I must stand by
mine. She will be granted the titles and lands that were intended for Garren.
That is suitable to his legacy. Should she return to Framlingham, the de Rosas
will erase all memories of him from your niece’s mind. That is an unacceptable
end for such a man.”

Hoyt couldn’t completely
disagree. “So you intend to grant her the lordship of Knighton?”

William’s answer was to
summon a messenger to the borrowed solar. The young, skinny lad was barely a
man, but William had used him before. He was cunning and rode like the wind. 
Standing at the waist-high writing table, he authored two missives by himself
in the flickering candlelight. He carefully sanded the ink, blew it away,
rolled and sealed both missives. The messenger watched anxiously as William
handed over one parchment.

“You will find your way
to Pembroke Castle,” he instructed. “Do you know it?”

The lad nodded. “Aye, my
lord.”

“Then go there with all
haste. Find Keller de Poyer, the knight in charge of the garrison. He is an
older man, with brown hair last I knew, and arms the size of battering rams.
Give him this first missive.”  William handed the boy a second rolled
parchment. “And give him this one as well. Tell him it is for Lady le Mon.  Is
this, in any way, unclear?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“It is of the utmost
importance that you deliver these safely to him.”

“I will, my lord.”

“Be gone, then.”

The lad fled. William
wandered to the lancet window, watching the bailey below as the young man leapt
onto his long-legged horse and thundered through the gates. When the rider was
out of view, William gazed into the misty night, struggling to release his
guilt now that the deed was complete.  He did not look at Hoyt, still seated by
the empty bottle of claret.

“This does not ease the
loss of Garren, to be sure, but it will ease the situation with time,” William
said.

“How do you mean?”

 “I have provided well
for the widow in two ways; titles and lands will be hers, making her a very
wealthy woman. The second provision is to give her an attractive dowry to make
my orders to de Poyer more palatable.”

“Why should they be
palatable to de Poyer?”

William believed he was
doing the best thing for all concerned, but he had to remind himself that Hoyt
was the Widow le Mon’s uncle and, understandably, very fond of her.  He needed
to be diplomatic.

 “I have known Keller
for years, as had Garren,” the Marshall replied. “In fact, they fought together
on many campaigns and are of the same warrior fabric; powerful, cunning, and
resourceful, though Keller does not have nearly the intelligence that Garren
had. He is a large man with more strength than brains, but his nature is good
and he is obedient to a fault.  He will do as he was told, no matter what the
order.”

An inkling of suspicion
came to Hoyt’s mind as to the nature of the request. “And that would be?”

 William looked at him.
“The protection of a strong husband is necessary to a widowed woman, especially
Garren’s widow.”

Hoyt knew instantly what
was coming. “And you have asked de Poyer to marry her.”

“Garren would want her
well taken care of.”

Hoyt stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Christ, William,” he hissed. “Garren is hardly cold in his grave and you have
already married off his wife.”

“I do not see the
quandary in that.”

Hoyt put down his empty
glass, remembering the day that Garren and Derica met. He remembered the subsequent
days that saw a magical attraction between them to the day when Garren ended up
in the vault.  What his niece and the knight had went beyond simple attraction.
There was genuine emotion involved, so strong that it eclipsed the sun.

“There is no possible
way I can explain this to you, but I shall make an attempt,” Hoyt said. “Garren
and Derica’s feelings for one another go beyond something that you and I can
understand. It transcends time and sentiment, like the first, best love that
ever touched the darkness of this earth.  My niece was fortunate enough to
experience something that few mortals do.  You can’t just push that aside with
titles and another husband.”

“I am not attempting
to,” William stressed. “But you cannot deny that Garren would want his wife
well taken care of.”

“Of course not.”

“And she will be, I
promise.”

“She should go home to
her family.”

“She will not. My gift
to Garren is to see that she sustains his legacy and doesn’t end up back in
that den of vipers.”

Hoyt didn’t argue further
with him. He knew it was fruitless. But after William finally retired for the
night, he summoned a messenger of his own and sent the man east to Framlingham.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Days passed into a week,
and then two. Derica had grown strong enough to help with the chores,
discovering she wasn’t very good at cooking but that she was quite good at
mending. The massive lump on her head had slowly subsided and with it, her
memory had returned in bits and pieces.  She could remember the large family of
men and a few of their names – Hoyt was her uncle, Dixon and Daniel were her
brothers, but she still had no idea where they all lived or who the rest of the
nameless men were. 

At night, she dreamt of
a massive man with copper-gold hair who filled her with wondrous weakness.  She
awoke in the morning, expecting to see him sleeping beside her, and repeatedly
disappointed when he wasn’t there. Perhaps he was the husband who had beaten
her and thrown her into the river, though her instinct told her the man was not
the kind. Surely if he was her husband, he would come looking for her. But no
man came all of these days.

Early one morning, Mair
roused her from a deep, warm sleep. Derica yawned, rolling onto her back and
searching for her clothes. The clothes that Mair had found her in had been
unsalvageable, so the woman had given her what was probably her best clothing
to wear. Considering the near-rags Mair wore, Derica could surmise nothing
else.

Derica slept in her
shift, a soft wool garment that hung to her ankles.  Over her head, she pulled
the dark blue woolen surcoat with long sleeves, and then she pulled on a plain
fawn-colored sleeveless garment that was made for durability and warmth.  These
were her clothes, day in and day out, and Mair washed them once since giving
them to her.  They smelled like rushes, and a little smoke.

“Get up, get up,” Mair
apparently thought Derica was moving too slowly. “We must get up and go to the
lake.”

Derica ran a wooden comb
through her hair, wincing when it caught a snag. “The lake? Why?”

Mair smiled, handing
Sian a cup of warmed goat’s milk.  “For a winter’s harvest. You will see.”

Derica thought she meant
fish. Pulling her hair into a braid at the nape of her neck, she put on her
shoes and borrowed cloak, which was really more of a woolen blanket, and
followed Mair and the children out into the early morning. Everything was damp
and icy as they made their way through the trees and into the outskirts of the
small village.

The sun rose steadily
and smoke from cooking fires hung heavy in the misty air.  Mair led them around
the village and to a well-traveled road that headed to the east. Sian and
Aneirin walked on either side of Derica, holding baskets for their harvest.
They had decided over the past week that they liked Derica very much and had
taken to following her everywhere.  Sian was a sweet, protective little boy,
while Aneirin was more aggressive in a big sisterly manner and liked to push
her younger brother around a bit. They squabbled here and there, but had mostly
made wonderful companions for Derica. She was quite fond of them.

“Bryndalyn?”

For the past few days,
Derica had been having dreams and memories that suggested that wasn’t her name,
but she answered nonetheless. “Aye?”

Sian grinned up at her.
He was always grinning at her. “Tell me of the knights.”

They had been having a
discussion for several days about knights. Sian was enamored with warriors. She
smiled gently at him. “Men with big horses and bigger swords.”

She held her arms up to
indicate an enormous weapon, and Sian’s grin broadened.  “Tell me of a fight!”

Derica thought hard. 
She thought she could recall a tournament, events flowing through her mind of
colors and lists and shouting people. Dixon had taken the melee prize at this
particular one. Very slowly, she could recall the name York. This particular
tournament had been in York, and she recollected how much she had loved gazing
at the magnificent cathedral.

“Do you remember what I
told you about tournaments?”

“Aye!”

“Then do you remember
what I told you about the knight’s weaponry?”

Sian nodded eagerly.
“They use a lance for the jost.”

“Joust,” she corrected.

“Joust,” Sian repeated.
“They use their swords for the me.. me…”

“Melee.”

“A fight!”

She laughed softly.
“Aye, a fight, little man. They stick each other with swords until one man is
left standing. It is a horrible, bloody spectacle, something I suspect you
would love immensely.”

Sian began swinging the
basket around as if fighting for his life. “Behold, bad men,” he said, swinging
the basket so close to Derica’s head that she had to duck. “Beware of my
wrath!”

Derica took hold of
Aneirin’s hand, pulling her gently out of the way so she would not be struck by
the flying basket.  “All hail, Sir Sian of the Dark Woods.”

Sian liked that name. 
Derica had come up with it one night when the young boy was expressing his
desire to be the greatest knight in all the land.  He paused in his basket
swinging and bowed stiffly.

“I shall marry you when
I am a knight.”

Derica cocked an
eyebrow. “I think that I shall be a bit old for you, but your offer is most
flattering.”

The boy suddenly looked
very serious. He slipped his cold little hand into Derica’s. “But who will take
care of you?”

Derica had flashes of
the man with the sandy-copper hair, straining with body and soul to remember
who he was. In her heart, she already knew. “My husband will, when he finds
me.”

Sian looked confused.
“Mam says he is bad for what he did to you. I will kill him if he tries to hurt
you.”