Chapter Five #2
Aglette tried to run a comb through her long, tangled curls, but Derica would have no part of it.
Fumbling a pair of slippers onto her feet, she moved from her chamber as fast as her shaky legs would carry her.
Aglette stumbled behind her, fastening the dress so that it would stay on her mistress.
By the time they entered the ward, Derica was flushed and weak, but her determination speared her on.
The day was bright and cool, and she received some curious looks from soldiers and peasants alike as she sprinted across the bailey in a disheveled mess.
The vault of Framlingham was located in the bowels of the gatehouse tower, an enormous place that smelled like rot. A soldier guarding the entrance tried to keep her away, but she ignored him and descended the narrow stone stairs.
The steps came to a leveled room, cold with stone and mold.
Torches lit the walls and there were several people standing about, making the small chamber crowded.
Two iron-grated cells were at the far end of the room and a hole in the floor held a pit dungeon.
Derica’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, recognizing her father and uncles.
Bertram spoke first. “Derica! What…?”
She cut her father short. “Where is he?”
Bertram moved towards her, his arms outstretched. “Derica, my love, you must….”
She slapped her father’s hand away; it was sharp movement that strained her bad arm and she winced as pain shot through her.
“Answer me. Where is Sir Garren? Why is he in here?”
Bertram glanced at his brothers, undeterred from putting his arm around his daughter. She pushed against him, but he was insistent.
“Derica, you needn’t worry about Sir Garren any longer. There will be no forced marriage and you will be free to marry a man worthy of you. I am so sorry you had to….”
Derica pulled away from him sharply, looking at her father as if he had gone mad.
“No marriage? What are you talking about?” Her father tried to hold her again and, this time, she roughly slapped his hand away.
“If you do not tell me what is going on here, I shall pummel each and every one of you until I have my answers.”
Alger tried to comfort her. “Derica, you’re ill and distraught. ’Twould be better if you retired to your chamber and allowed us to do what needs to be done.”
Derica could see that she would receive no answers.
With a growl of frustration, she pushed past her father and uncle and moved towards the cells.
Her brothers tried to stop her and she fought with them, too; it seemed that no one wanted to answer her or help her find Garren.
Even rational, gentle Daniel wouldn’t help her.
When she finally pushed past Donat after threatening to restructure his nose, she caught a glimpse of a large body chained to the wall of one of the cells.
It was Garren. He looked as if he had been thrashed within an inch of his life, blood on his face and matted in his hair. His arms were bruised and bloodied, and the iron cuffs that held him to the wall had chaffed huge red welts around his wrists.
Derica suddenly felt very ill and weak. Bertram didn’t try to stop her as she entered the cell.
“Dear God,” she whispered as she surveyed Garren’s wounds. “What have they done to you?”
Garren hated for her see him like this. She appeared weary and exhausted, and he knew she shouldn’t be here. Nasty dealings were afoot and he didn’t want her bearing witness. But he was glad to see her nonetheless.
“It took several of them to capture me,” he was trying to lighten the grim situation. “Your father, uncles, brothers, and a few soldiers for good measure. One moment I was in the stables, and in the next I was being set upon. Without you there to protect me, the alligators snared the ibis.”
Derica could not give into his attempt at humor. “But why? I do not understand.”
Before Garren could reply, Bertram answered. “He is a spy, Derica,” her father said quietly. “You must not interfere in what needs to be done.”
Confusion flickered across Derica’s face. “Spy?” she repeated. Her focus remained on Garren. “What are they saying about you?”
Garren took a long, deep breath. “They believe I mean to destroy them.”
“Destroy?” Derica mouthed the word as if she had never heard it before. “Why in the world would they think this?”
Garren shook his head. “I was not given the courtesy of being told their reasons. They seem more intent on beating a confession out of me.”
Derica’s confusion faded and her fury returned, worse than before. She whirled to her father. “You’re mad,” she hissed. “I have known you to be suspicious and belligerent, but this accusation against Sir Garren is pure madness.”
Bertram remained calm. “We know this for truth, daughter.”
“From whom?”
“A reliable source. Suffice it to say that….”
“Who told you this?”
“It does not matter. What matters is that I trust this word.” He nodded towards Garren. “Your intended is sent from William Marshal to spy against us. He comes to destroy everything we have, including you.”
“That is not true,” Derica turned back to Garren. “What insanity would cause them to say this against you? Tell them they are lunatics!”
“I am not here to destroy you,” Garren said softly. “When I came through the gates of Framlingham five days ago, my only intention was to gain wealth and status through marriage. Now my only intention is to marry you, wealth or no. You are the only wealth I will ever want.”
Tears filled her eyes. She reached up with her good arm, touching his battered face, feeling his lips against her fingers. Anger such as she had never known filled her.
“Release him, father.”
“I cannot. He must be punished.”
“You mean killed.”
“Spies are dealt with in such ways.”
Derica exploded. “If you kill him, I shall flee from Framlingham and you will never see me again. I will whore for every nobleman that serves King Richard and shame the name of de Rosa such as you have never dreamed.” The tears escaped and found their way onto her face.
“This foolish paranoia that feeds your soul must come to an end. For all of these years I have ignored it because you were my father and I love you. But now you attack me directly, and you attack my happiness. Release Sir Garren or I swear I will make you sorry until the end of your days.”
The entire vault was deathly silent by the time she finished.
Bertram was pale; he’d never seen his daughter in such a tirade.
She had always maintained such control over her emotions.
His natural instinct was to do whatever she wished, but at the moment, he was torn.
He didn’t want her to follow through on her threats; he wasn’t sure she would, but, being a de Rosa, she was stubborn and willful and he wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t.
“Derica,” he said quietly. “You’re sick. You’re not thinking clearly. You must understand that this is a man’s matter. It does not involve you.”
“It clearly involves me if Sir Garren is to be my husband,” she countered. “You will release him immediately and I will forget this ever happened.”
As much as Bertram loved his daughter, he would not be pushed around by her.
“I cannot.”
Derica stared at him for several long, painful moments.
He had been right about one thing; she was ill and not thinking clearly.
In a fit of momentary insanity, she swooped upon the brother standing nearest to her and unsheathed his sword.
Before anyone could stop her, she pressed the blade against her stomach.
“Release him now or I drive this into my belly!”
Everyone shouted at her to stop, including Garren. She had a wild look to her eye and there was no one in the chamber that had any doubt she would do as she threatened.
Bertram pleaded. “Derica, no. It is not as bad as all that. Please… give the blade back to Donat.”
Her response was to grip it more tightly. “Release him. I shall not tell you again.”
Bertram looked at Garren. Strange how mortal enemies had, in a fraction of a second, suddenly became allies. Garren could feel the father’s panic; he had quite enough of his own.
“Derica,” Garren said softly. “Put the blade down, sweetheart. Please.”
Derica looked at him. “Do you not understand that they mean to kill you? I will not let them do that. I cannot.”
“So you would kill yourself instead?” Garren smiled. “Do you think that would give me pleasure to watch? As much as you do not wish my death, I do not wish yours even more. To know you died on my behalf would fill me with grief as I cannot comprehend. My life would be meaningless.”
“As mine would be were you to leave me,” her lip quivered. “I cannot let them do this to you.”
“If you thrust that blade into your belly, they are going to kill me anyway. Your death would not stop them. It would more than likely cause them to insure that my death was as painfully long and slow as possible. Did you think of that?”
She knew he spoke the truth. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at her father.
She knew how her father and brothers were, that honor and service to the prince was nearly everything to them.
She could not imagine who told them Garren was a spy, or how this wild idea took root, but one thing was for certain; if they believed Garren was a spy, for whatever reason, nothing on earth could convince them otherwise.
But bargains could be struck, and for the sake of Garren’s life, she knew what she had to do.
“Release him and I will not kill myself. His life for mine, father. That is the bargain.”
Bertram eyed his daughter. He couldn’t stand the thought of her driving that cold blade into her soft belly. He weighed his choices.
“Do as she asks.”