Chapter Three #2
The answer was obvious, for his mission. He had to say, act, or do anything to convince her he was who he said he was. But the answer that came forth was the honest truth, an inherent response before he could think it through.
“I will stay with you.”
She lifted one of those shapely eyebrows at him. “Is that a fact? You intend to stay here, with me, at Framlingham?”
He realized there was a fantasy life here for him to play out, to make plans that would never come to past and to tell her that the future would be as bright and wonderful as he said it would be.
He shouldn’t have indulged the fantasy, but gazing into her sweet face, he couldn’t help his natural male instincts to give in to the role.
“We will not stay here,” he shook his head. “Do you think I want your father, uncles and brothers breathing down my neck at every turn, scrutinized like an ibis in the midst of alligators?”
Her eyebrows drew together, though she was smiling. “Ibis and alligators?”
“Creatures in the Holy Land. The latter always eats the former. Quite fascinating, really, but also quite deadly.”
“I would like to hear about them sometime.”
“We shall have plenty of time to talk about things like that.”
“I am sure we will, in this mysterious place you intend for us to live if we will not be here at Framlingham in the midst of alligators.”
She was sharp of wit. He liked that. Grinning, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as if somehow that would move him closer to her.
“We shall not live in a mysterious place, I assure you. My father’s castle is to the north and east of Oxford, a very old place. Parts of it are hundreds of years old, but it is very comfortable.”
“Sounds intriguing. Does this castle have a name?”
“Two, actually,” Garren was warming to the conversation.
“The origins of the castle, as I said, are very old. Parts of it were built at least three hundred years before the Normans came. It was part of a village back then, the house of the king, and was called Culthberg because Culth was the king who built it. But when the Normans came, they called le chateau de le roi, or the house of the king. So Chateroy Castle it became.”
He had a deep, rich voice. Derica liked listening to him. He was not at all like the arrogant, aggressive man she had seen in her father’s solar earlier that day.
“A fascinating story,” she said. “How long has your family lived there?”
“Culth was my ancestor. When the Normans came, a king by the name of Ael ruled the province. He surrendered to the Normans without a fight and gave his only child, a daughter, to a general serving William the Bastard. They had thirteen children, the eldest of which was my grandfather several times over.” He grinned.
“Funny thing about the Norman general; his name was not le Mon when he married the Saxon princess. All he could say about his new acquisition was ‘mine, mine’, so William took to calling him ‘mon’, which is ‘mine’ in French. So the name le Mon was born.”
Derica laughed softly. “A name borne of greed.”
“I certainly can’t blame the man being excited about his just reward.”
Derica shrugged in agreement. The conversation lulled and she couldn’t think of any more questions to ask him at the moment.
He had been quite open with her and she was, in truth, feeling comfortable with him.
He seemed to be a likable man in spite of her original impression.
She was coming to regret not attending sup; yet if she had, she knew they would not have been able to converse as they were now with her brothers and uncles hanging over them.
A twinkle came to her eye. “Now,” she said. “Are you going to tell me how you got in through that window or are you going to dazzle me with more talk of the history of the le Mon family?”
“I am going to dazzle you with more talk.”
She shook her head, a reproachful gesture. Yet there was humor in it. “Then talk. God’s Bones, you risked your life to come to me. You may as well make it worth the risk.”
“It is worth the risk already.”
Derica could feel her cheeks grow warm. Lowering her gaze, she moved her chair back, away from the fire. “You may as well sit across from me rather than in the darkness, then. Let us be comfortable.”
Garren didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up his chair and moved it.
Sitting an arm’s length away from her was much better than sitting an entire room’s width from her.
He just sat there, looking at her, smiling when she would meet his gaze, looking at his hands when she looked away, both of them trying to think of something to say.
It was not uncomfortable, but more than once they chuckled when they realized the flow of conversation did not come so easily.
“Is Chateroy a beautiful place, then?” Derica finally asked.
Garren nodded. “I think so.” He couldn’t think of much else to say to that. “Have you lived at Framlingham all of your life?”
“Aye,” she replied. “I was sent away to foster when I was eight years of age, but my family missed me so that they sent for me when I was twelve years and I have been back at Framlingham ever since.”
Garren cocked an eyebrow. “If they think to send for you when you and I go to Chateroy, they had better think twice. I will not return you.”
She was pleased by his statement. “It will be difficult for them. Being the only female in the family, I am something of a prized commodity. Women tend not to survive long in the de Rosa house.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “It is rare for a female de Rosa to be born. For several generations back there has been nothing but males. My father has three brothers and his father had one, and his father before him had six, and so forth, for seven generations. I am the first female in well over one hundred years.”
“And well worth the wait,” Garren said quietly.
Derica burst into embarrassed laughter. “You certainly are free with your flattery, Sir Garren.”
He shook his head. “Not really. It does not come easy to me, as I am not particularly comfortable with women.”
“You seem very comfortable with me.”
“That is because you are easy to talk to.”
She dipped her head graciously, to thank him.
The conversation quieted once again, but there was no discomfort to it.
Garren’s gaze moved back and forth between Derica and the dying fire.
He was appalled and thrilled to realize he could grow to like this very much.
She’d given him no reason to dislike her; if anything, the entire conversation had produced the opposite effect.
The seed of confusion that had sprouted in his mind was growing in to a nice, healthy sapling, one he should like to rip out by the roots before it grew into a mighty oak and obscured his vision completely.
“Well,” he said softly, rising. “I suppose I should leave you to your sleep. I have taken enough of your time.”
Derica rose with him. “Strange, I am not tired at all, but I am sure you must be after your long journey today.”
“I am, a little,” he gazed into her eyes, longer than he should have. If only she had been the petty, spoiled female he had hoped for. “I will bid you a good eve, then, my lady. Pleasant dreams.”
“Thank you, Sir Garren,” she said. “Good sleep to you as well.”
He stood there looking at her just as she stood there looking at him. Garren couldn’t seem to move his feet. He felt like an idiot.
“Well?” she asked.
“What?”
“I thought you were leaving.”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t appear so.”
“In good time, my lady.”
She smiled coyly. “Then perhaps we should sit again until you are completely ready,” she turned back to her chair. “I would not want you to think me rude by hastening you out of my chamber, although propriety demands that I must. Still, it has been a….”
As she sat down, she looked up to see that Garren was gone.
Startled, not to mention disappointed, she bolted up and ran to the lancet window.
Hoisting herself up on the sill, she looked down but saw nothing.
All was quiet and dark in the ward below.
Glancing up, she caught a glimpse of boots disappearing over the top of the battlement directly above her head.
A small rope dangled down the side of the keep, which was quickly retracted as she watched.
All evidence was removed, and Sir Garren was gone as if he had never come at all.
Derica lowered herself from the window and pulled the oilcloth back over the window, keeping out the cool night air. She stood there a moment, thinking on Sir Garren and grinning like a fool. It had been a most eventful evening.
She wasn’t sorry that she missed sup in the least.
*
“He what?”
“He came to my chamber last night. We had a wonderful conversation.”
Aglette was beside herself. Derica put her hand on the woman’s elbow and forced her to continue walking.
It was a sunny morning and the bailey was alive with activity.
Villains were bringing in wagons of food and goods for the castle and soldiers milled about as the women strolled through the compound.
“I… I simply cannot believe…,” Aglette stammered. “How scandalous!”
“He was afraid that he had offended me and came to apologize,” Derica said evenly. “We talked at length.”
“But how did he get in?”
“Through the window.”
“The window?” Aglette gasped. “Good Lord, how did he manage that?”
Derica smiled at the thought of his boots disappearing high over her head. “With a rope. He lowered himself down from the top of the keep. Quite clever, actually.”
“And all of this does not distress you?”
“Why should it?”
Aglette looked at her mistress with her mouth agape. Derica wasn’t the least bit concerned with the behavior of a man she barely knew. She suddenly knew why.
“You’re smitten with him,” she accused.
Derica’s smile vanished. “I am not.”
“You are! I can see it in your face.”