The Whispering Night (33 page)

Derica stroked his dark
head. “I am very fortunate to have a protector such as you. But he is my
husband, and if he comes for me, I must go with him. I belong to him.”

Sian didn’t agree with
her but he didn’t know what to say. Aneirin looked frightened.  Up ahead, Mair
was leading them off the road and into some trees. Derica and the children
followed. On the other side of a thin line of trees lay a large pond, swamped
with too much water.  Mair paused at the edge, and when Derica and the children
reached her, she put her hand in the water up to the elbow, fished around, and
came up with a handful of wet, red berries.

“Come on, help me,” she
encouraged them.

Soon, they were all
harvesting the wet fruit from the swampy water.  At Mair’s urging, Derica
popped one in her mouth and was delighted with the strong bitter-sweet flavor. 
They swept the edge of the pond until their baskets were full and their hands
were freezing and wet.  Derica dried off Sian’s hands, while Mair dried off
Aneirin’s.

The children’s teeth
were chattering with cold, but they were thrilled with their booty, dancing
around with the catch of red berries.  As Derica bent over to pick up the
little scarf that Sian had dropped, the little boy gleefully swung his basket
around and hit her on the back. Derica pitched forward, unable to stop herself
from ramming head-first into the decomposing tree directly behind her. Stars
flashed before her eyes before everything went suddenly dark.

She hadn’t been out very
long, perhaps a few moments. Derica blinked her eyes, gazing up at Sian and
Mair’s worried faces.  She put a hand up to her bruised forehead, struggling to
sit.

“Are ye well?” Mair was
beside herself with horror at what her son had done.

Derica nodded
unsteadily. “I… I think so.”

Sian, over the shock of
having accidentally hit her, began to wail and Derica comforted him. “There,
there,” she hugged him. “I am fine. Do not be troubled.”

“I am sorry, Bryndalyn,”
he sniffed.

Derica’s expression
slowly changed, as if a spark of flame slowly bloomed within her mind.  She
rubbed her forehead again, a weary smile on her lips. 

“That’s not my name,”
she said softly.

Sian’s tears faded and
he looked at her, confused. Mair, too, looked surprised. “It is not?”

Derica closed her eyes
briefly, suddenly remembering everything in a waterfall of memories and
feelings. They had been struggling to come through for several days and the
knock on the head was apparently all she had needed. Her smile broadened as if
the most wonderful thing in the world had just happened.

“My name is the Lady Derica
de Rosa le Mon,” she said, restraining her excitement lest she frighten the
children with it. “My husband is Sir Garren le Mon, sworn to King Richard and
vassal of William Marshall.”

Mair squeezed her arm.
“So ye do remember now.”

Derica nodded. “I do.”
She hugged Sian tightly. “My thanks to you, Sian, for causing me to hit my
head. ‘Twas the best gift you could have given me.”

The little boy was glad
he was not in trouble, happy his friend was so joyful. But something occurred
to him out of all the fuss and joy going on. “Your husband is a knight?”

Derica nodded,
remembering the man with the sandy-copper hair and thrilled to remember every
last detail about him. “He is a great knight,” she said quietly. “And he did
not beat me and throw me in the river. I was too close to the edge and slipped
in. The bruises were from my fall.”

“Ye recollect the fall
that brought ye to us?” Mair asked. “Do ye also remember where ye’re from?”

“We were at Cilgarren
Castle,” Derica said. “How far are we from there?”

Mair thought. “A goodly
distance, I think. ‘Tis to the north of us.”

“But you know of it?”

“I have lived here all
my life. I know the land.”

Derica rubbed her head
again and stood up, gripping the offending tree for support. But she didn’t
care that her head was swimming; all that mattered is that she could remember
who she was again. It was deliriously liberating. She was seized with the
desire to return to Cilgarren right away.

“I must go home,” she
said. “Will you help me?”

Mair nodded. “Of course
we will.”

“Can we make it in a
day, if we start now? ‘Tis still early.”

Mair shrugged. “‘Is it
also possible yer husband is already looking for ye? Perhaps if we stay here,
he will come to us.”

Tears came to Derica’s
eyes, remembering her last conversation with Fergus.  The good memories as well
as the bad rejoined her. She wondered what had happened during her absence. “He
is fighting the wars between Richard and John. I suspect he’ll not come looking
for me any time soon.”

Mair understood. She
didn’t like the thought of wandering the dangerous countryside with her
children, but she could not refuse her. “Very well,” she said softly. “We will
take you home.”

Derica sensed the moment
between them, the sacrifice Mair was willing to make for a woman she hardly
knew. “I cannot tell you what you have meant to me, you and your children.  You
have taken me in and cared for me, and I will not forget your kindness. My
family has much wealth and I swear I shall reward you for your trouble.”

Mair’s pale complexion
flushed. “We have all we need. I did not help ye for the fortune to be gained
by it.”

“I know you didn’t. But
you shall be rewarded all the same. You have risked much.”

There was nothing more
to say. Rubbing her head again, Derica let go of the tree and took Sian’s hand.
Her heart was lighter than it had been since she came to this place.  Together,
the four of them made their way back through the trees, towards the road.  The
day was warming as the sun struggled through the clouds.  Sian saw a rabbit
with big white ears and ran off in pursuit.  He wanted to play with it, but
Aneirin wanted the fur for a coat.  Derica and Mair reached the road, watching
the children chase the rabbit through the bushes.  A low rumble in the distance
caught their attention.

“Rain is coming,” Mair
glanced up at the semi-cloudy sky.

Derica looked up, too. 
But the rumble didn’t stop; it continued and seemed to grow louder. Her gaze
moved to the road leading west.

“I do not think it is
rain,” she said. “Listen. It sounds more like horses. Many horses.”

Mair’s relaxed
expression tensed. “An army?”

Derica was quiet a
moment, thinking. “Where does this road lead?”

“To Pembroke.”

There was a large castle
in Pembroke. “Get the children,” Derica said with quiet urgency.

They sprinted into the
bramble. Derica came across Aneirin and grasped the little girl by the wrist,
but the child didn’t understand. She thought it was a game and pulled away from
Derica, laughing. Derica chased her through a cluster of trees, panicked when
she saw that the girl was heading back up towards the road. She called her
name, trying to stop her, but the child dashed onward. By the time she hit the
road, Derica was right behind her and finally grabbed her around the waist.

“Got you!” she breathed.

She noticed the dust
first. Whirling around with the child still in her arms, her eyes fell on a
large group of armed men several feet away. They were clad in expensive armor
and rode massive chargers, animals built for the brutality of war.  Having been
around knights her entire life, she knew this particular group of men could be
nothing other than seasoned warriors.

 The group carried
several Welsh crossbowmen with them, men renowned for their deadly accuracy. 
It was a war party. She prayed that Mair and Sian would stay to the bushes as
she herself faced the horde, having no other choice. To run would be to surely
invite them to follow, and that could result in the capture of all of them.

The group had come to a
halt.  Derica pushed Aneirin behind her, protectively, facing the men with
courage.  One knight flipped up his visor, studying her carefully.

“I have traveled this
road many a time and have never seen a fairy, though I have heard tale of
them,” he said.  When Derica didn’t reply, he continued in a less friendly
tone. “Your name, woman.”

Derica knew her family
name held much weight, on both sides of the realm.  If these knights supported
the Prince, then it would save her. If not, it may very well work against her. 
But it was her name, for better or worse.

“Who asks?” she questioned
with polite authority.

“You will answer me,
wench.”

“I will. As soon as you
answer me. And you will not call me wench.”

The knight was working
up another snappish retort, but the large knight next to him put out a hand,
stopping the reaction.  The knight who spoke reworded his reply.

“The Lord of Pembroke
asks.”

Derica knew she had to
tell him. To be evasive would only pull her deeper into what could possibly be
an unpleasant situation. She’d already been far bolder than she should have
been.

“The Lady Derica de Rosa
le Mon.”

The knight snorted. 
“And I am the King of France. I will ask you one more time your name. Lie to
me, and punishment shall be swift.”

“I did not lie. I am the
daughter of Bertram de Rosa of Framlingham Castle and wife to Garren le Mon,
heir to the baronetcy of Anglecynn and Ceri and descendent of Saxon kings. My
father and uncles have crusaded with King Henry, and my godfather is Roger
Bigod, second Earl of Norfolk. Shall I go on?”

The helmed heads looked
at each other. The large knight who had held up a quelling hand lifted his
visor, gaining a better look. His large brown eyes regarded her.  He finally
spurred his charger forward, an enormously hairy red horse with an abundance of
cream-colored fur around its hooves.  Derica didn’t flinch as he came to within
a few feet of her.

“You are Garren le Mon’s
widow?”

Derica felt as if she
had been struck. “I am his wife,” she replied steadily.

“What are you doing so
far from Cilgarren, lady?”

Derica wasn’t sure where
to start with all of it, and her mind was still spinning with his words. 
Garren le Mon’s widow. And how did this knight, whom she did not know, have the
knowledge that she was at Cilgarren? “I… I was lost and preparing to make my
way back home.” It sounded like a lame excuse, even to her.

“Lost?”

“I wandered… too far and
became lost.” When he appeared as if he didn’t believe a word, she grunted in
frustration. “Suffice it to say that I was lost and am, even now, on my way
home. I do not see how that is any concern of yours.”

The knight regarded her
carefully; he didn’t doubt for a minute she was who she said she was. She was
well spoken and exceedingly beautiful, even in the peasant clothing she was
wearing. It was like looking at a diamond glistening in the dirt. But he was
incredibly confused to find her wandering a road several miles south of
Cilgarren Castle.  She was surely as witless as she was lovely.

“William Marshall has
ordered me to retrieve you, Lady le Mon.”

“Why?”

“I am to take you back
to Pembroke. He has sent a missive for you.”

“A missive? What
missive?”

“’Tis a private
document, for your eyes only. I suspect it is news of some manner.”

Derica’s heart suddenly
fell into her stomach; she knew what the missive was. The knight didn’t have to
say another word. It had to be a missive telling her of her husband’s death,
which is why the warrior referred to her as Garren’s widow.  Much had
apparently happened in her absence. The world was suddenly very unsteady and
her heart began pounding loudly in her ears. She was vaguely aware of falling
to her knees, slightly less aware of the knight dismounting his charger and
coming to her aid so that she would not fall on her face.  Somewhere, she could
hear Aneirin crying.

“No,” she breathed.
“God, please… no. He is not dead. He cannot be.”

By this time, several of
the knights had ridden forward. One of them took hold of the riderless charger,
while two others dismounted, mostly to gain a better look at the beautiful lady
rather than to actually lend assistance.  The knight that held her pulled off
his helm with his free hand and passed it off to the man standing next to him.

“Help me get her on my
steed,” he commanded softly.

“No!” Derica struggled
weakly against him. “I will not go! I must go back to Cilgarren!”

The knight didn’t reply
as he swung her up into his arms. Aneirin was crying loudly now. Mair and Sian
came running out of the bushes, protesting loudly at what was surely a
kidnapping.  Startled, one of the Welsh crossbowmen released his weapon, and an
arrow sailed with deadly precision into Mair’s chest. She was dead before she
hit the ground.

The children screamed
with horror. Derica, struggling for coherency, managed to angle her head around
to see what had happened.