The Whispering Night (40 page)

“I had to know what I
would miss.”

It was as much as an
explanation as he could give her. Derica, having no reply, went up the stairs
to the keep and disappeared inside. Keller stood there, watching until she
vanished.

He probably would have
been better off if he’d not kissed her, for his own sake.

***

It had started raining
again the moment Fergus left Pembroke. It had been rather harrowing being
lowered over the western wall into the sea cliff below, but they had
intentionally waited until low tide so he wouldn’t be swept away by the
pounding surf. Still, he was wet and cold by the time he slipped along the
cliffs and beaches to the north before daring to make his way back up onto the
land.          

It was dark as he made
his way inland, racing through the shadowed landscape as fast as his freezing
legs would carry him. With the cloud cover, there was no moon by which to see.
More than once he tripped over something, muffling his curses as he stubbed a
toe or whacked a knee. 

Fergus had always had a
knack for physical activity and running did not tire him easily, but the
conditions were cold and wet and he could feel his muscles tightening after a few
miles. Pushing on at the pace he was, he reckoned that it would take him
between seven and eight hours to reach Cilgarren, thirty miles to the
northeast.  However, if he kept crashing into things in the dark, no telling
how much longer it would take, if he made it at all.  Settling himself down
into a rhythm, he moved along at a steady pace.

He was glad when the
rain eased.  The supper hour came and went because his stomach was rumbling and
it was never wrong.  He kept running, unable to tell the difference now between
the sweat rolling off his body and the blobs of rain still pelting him.  On the
outskirts of Jeffreystown, he slowed his pace, thinking now would be a good
time to borrow a horse.  It was by sheer luck that he passed near a tavern, the
occupants barricaded in for the night. There was a stable behind the tavern and
he silently made his way to it.  It was pitch black inside when he opened the
door, careful not to wake the lad sleeping just inside. The boy was snoring.
Keeping his eyes on the lad, Fergus took the nearest horse he could find, good
or bad or indifferent, and quietly led it from the stall.

It was a hairy brown
steed, fairly well fed. Fergus took a rope hanging on the side of the fence and
fashioned a bridle out of it. Slipping it over the horse’s ears and nose, he
leapt onto the animal’s back and inaudibly walked it from the barn and through
the grass. When he reached the trees near the road, he spurred the animal into
a run.

He reached Cilgarren by
midnight.  Unable to cross the destroyed drawbridge on the horse, he tethered
the animal and plunged into the muck-filled ditch, climbing up on the other
side and into the gatehouse. He raced across the outer bailey and into the
inner bailey. Suspecting Garren would be in the great hall, he barreled into
the cavernous room and shouted for his friend. In a moment’s breath, he sensed
a body behind him and whirled in a start.

Garren’s blue eyes
glittered at him in the light of the dying hearth. He had a dagger in his hand,
aimed at Fergus’ midsection.

“Christ, Fergus,” he
hissed, lowering the knife. “I heard you coming. I thought we were being
raided.”

Fergus put both hands on
Garren’s massive arms, bracing him for the news to come. “Garren, I found her.”

Garren dropped the knife
in shock. “Is she…?”

“She is alive and well
at Pembroke Castle.”

The information was
coming too strong, too fast. Garren nearly choked on the breath in his lungs,
wanting to shout his joy but unable to form a coherent thought. After making a
gagging sound in an attempt to speak, he settled for a snort of pure relief.

“Thanks be to God,” he
breathed fervently. “I can hardly believe it. I thought surely….”

Fergus cut him off. 
“There is no time for your happiness, my friend. There is far more to the
tale.”

He could see Garren
stiffen.  “What is it?”

Fergus didn’t know where
to begin.  But he knew one thing; they had to go to Pembroke at that very
moment.

“Get your horse,” he
shoved Garren towards the door. “I shall tell you everything on the way.”

“You will tell me now.”

“I can’t tell you
everything now. All I can tell you is that it is a matter of life and death to
go and retrieve your wife at this very moment.”

Garren froze. “Is she in
danger?”

Fergus could see that
Garren was going to be difficult until he had some answers. He quickly tried to
surmise the situation.

“Her father is laying
siege to Pembroke as we speak. He wants his daughter back.”

“De Rosa?”  Garren
wondered how much worse this could get. “How did he find her?”

“I don’t know,” Fergus
managed to get him out into the bailey. “But suffice it to say that he knows.
And he is there. You must go and retrieve your wife.”

Garren was on the move.
Offa and David, having heard the noise, were up and apprised of the situation.
David ran for the horse so Garren could don his armor. Offa went to get Emyl.  
There was excitement in the air, and anxiety. Garren knew it was bleeding out
of every pore of his body; his mind was swimming, his limbs shaking as he
strapped on his protection.  It was difficult to focus.

“She is well, then?” he
asked as he slapped at a fasten on his breastplate.

“Very well.”

“How did she get to
Pembroke?”

Fergus helped him with
the heavy armor. “The story of her trip to Pembroke is amazing. Apparently, it
was as we surmised. She did not throw herself off the cliff as much as she
slipped and fell. As she tells the story, she drifted down the river and by
sheer fortune washed ashore. A peasant woman and her children found her and
took care of her.”

Garren absorbed the
information. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear this,” his voice was
husky with emotion. “Although I insisted she was still alive, I must admit that
I did not believe it.  God has been looking out for her.”

“Indeed he has, for the
both of you.”

“But how did she end up
at Pembroke?”

Fergus cocked an
eyebrow. “Here is where the story grows complicated.  As I understand it,
William Marshall, wracked with guilt over your death, has granted Lady le Mon
lands and titles in reward for your services.”

Garren stopped,
mid-strap. “So the Marshall knows of my death,” he said it almost thoughtfully.
“It is as we planned, then.”

“There is more,” Fergus
went on. “Now that Lady le Mon is a wealthy, titled woman, it is logical that
she would be in need of a husband for protection and equal status.”

Garren’s blood turned
cold. “What husband?”

“The Marshall betrothed
her to Keller de Poyer, garrison commander of Pembroke Castle. De Poyer,
rightfully so, was en route to Cilgarren to retrieve his bride when he happened
across her and her peasant saviors upon the road. If there was ever so strange
a coincidence, Garren, that was it. Naturally, he took her back to Pembroke,
where she is at this very moment.”

Along with a myriad of
other emotions he had experienced this day, now he was dealing with jealousy and
possessiveness. 

“How in God’s name did
he know she was at Cilgarren?” he returned to securing his armor, furiously and
quickly. “And how did the de Rosa’s know she would be at Pembroke? I do not
understand that bizarre forces at work, either for or against us.”

Fergus shook his head.
“I do not know, either. There are some elements to this tale that make no sense
at the moment. Perhaps they never will.”

Garren forced the most
difficult question he had ever had to ask. “They… they didn’t marry, did they?”

“Nay. Derica has kept
him at arm’s length, much to his disappointment. De Poyer is quite taken with
her, and he has been quite good to her. Before you go riding in there to slay
the man for showing attention to your wife, you should consider thanking him
instead. He has been remarkably gallant.”

Garren didn’t know what
to feel. “How is that?”

“He is fighting off the
de Rosas and he helped me escape to come and tell you everything. That should
be quite enough.”

The last piece of metal
that Garren collected was his sword, massive and lethal. He looked at it,
thinking that he would soon be raising it for the greatest cause he had ever
known.  Fergus saw the deadly gleam to his eye as he spoke.

“Not hell nor William
Marshall nor the de Rosas will keep me from claiming what is rightfully mine,”
he growled. “Fergus, I swear to you, by the time this night is through, I shall
have my wife. If I do not, it is because I was killed trying.”

Fergus could see a
recklessness about him that was frightening. “You have come too far to die,” he
said firmly. “Derica would never recover. She went for weeks thinking you were
dead and it nearly destroyed her. For you to die within sight of her would be
too much for her to bear. You must think of her, Garren.”

“She is all I think of.”

“Then temper yourself.
We need your cold logic, not your fury.”

Garren’s jaw ticked.
There was too much happening for him to be rational at the moment. Without
another word, he and Fergus went back into the inner courtyard where surprise
met them; Offa and Emyl, dressed in their ragged armor and weapons, stood
silently in wait.  Garren eyed them as he approached.

“Where do you go?” he
indicated their dress.

“With you,” Emyl said
steadily. “You will need our help.”

They were old knights
and due their respect. Garren tried to be careful in his reply.

“Although I am most
grateful for your offer, I fear this is a job for me alone. Four of us would be
too many and not enough, all at the same time.”

“But there is an army in
wait for you, Garren,” Offa said. “You must have aid.”

Garren couldn’t help but
think how pathetic they looked, though noble were their intentions. The de Rosa
knights would cut them to ribbons.

“Gentle knights, I am
riding to reclaim my wife. I must do this alone. Pray that you understand and
are not offended.”

Offa shrugged. “We were
obligated to offer. We are knights, after all.”

“And your loyalty is
appreciated. But for now, I need you here to shore up Cilgarren for a de Rosa
attack. If I am successful in retrieving Derica, it is quite possible they will
follow us here in their zeal to kill me and take back their daughter.”

It was an honorable duty
requested of them, and a necessary one. Emyl was perhaps more disappointed that
Offa was; there was a time when he lived for a good fight. But he forced down
his disappointment.

“We shall be ready,
Garren. Godspeed to you.”

Garren laid a hand on
the old man’s shoulder as he walked away, glad they understood, now better able
to refocus on what he must do.  By the time he reached his charger, he was
quivering with the anticipation of seeing Derica again. It seemed like a dream
he’d held so closely to his heart that she was nearly nebulous, like a ghost. 
He could remember the smell of her, the taste of her, but the feel of her soft
flesh in his hands was slipping from his memory. It had been too long. The more
he struggled to keep the memory, the further it moved away from him.  His whole
being cried out for her.

It had been less than an
hour since Fergus’ arrival at Cilgarren. In the dark of night, Garren and
Fergus were back on the road, riding southwest to Pembroke.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bertram de Rosa
unleashed hell.

Keller, a man who was
not easily impressed with battle tactics, had to admit he was somewhat
respectful of not only Bertram’s cunning, but of his power.  The maid that had
come with de Rosa’s terms had not exaggerated when she had said the army
carried around one thousand fools and men.  It had to be at least that, if not
more.  But Keller was ready for them.

The first phase of the
battle had consisted of archers, aimed high at close range so that they sailed
up and over the outerwall of Pembroke but had less luck breaching the inner
wall because of its distance from the outerwall and the great gatehouse. 
Because the archers were so close, they were in range of Keller’s Welsh
archers, the finest bowmen in the world.  After Bertram’s first volley, Keller
let loose with his own barrage that effectively sent Bertram’s archers running
for cover.  But it had been a shrewd move on de Rosa’s part, designed to give
Keller an overabundance of confidence and invite the hope that he would follow
it up with something foolish.