Chapter Six #2
Gabrielle was thoughtful. “I have never known you to speak of any woman, much less one you wish to marry. Are you sure this is not an infatuation, quick to flame, quick to pass? The thoughts you voice would surely end your illustrious career.”
“Well I know it,” he said. “And, no, I am sure this is not an infatuation. I felt something different for Derica from nearly the moment I met her, something I have not felt before.”
“Feelings enough to incur the Marshal’s wrath?”
Garren sighed heavily, gazing up at the dark ceiling. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, soft gray light coming through the lancet window.
“I begged him not to send me on this mission,” he murmured. “God, I begged and pleaded until I could say no more and, still, he sent me. I would love to blame William for this mess, but I cannot. The fault is my own.”
Gabrielle smiled. “Do you believe in the Will of God, Garren?”
“I do.”
“Then you surely must know that this was planned for you a long time ago. You begged and pleaded with the Marshal not to send you on this mission, but still he sent you. You knew from the moment you met the lady that there was something different about her and in the matter of a week, you have found yourself hopelessly entangled in something that men only dream of. Perhaps this was meant to happen, all of it. Perhaps you were indeed sent on a mission, simply not the one you had planned for.”
Garren was interested in what she was saying. “What do you mean?”
“Precisely that. You stated that your mission was to infiltrate the de Rosas in the hope of discovering the movements of Prince John’s rebellion.
What if… what if your true mission was to simply marry Derica de Rosa and, as a result, perhaps affect Richard’s opposition in a way you never dreamed possible. ”
“I do not understand.”
“Nor do I at the moment. Sometimes we cannot see God’s Wisdom until well after the fact.”
She had a point. Garren mulled her words, watching the room turn shades of gray and white as the sun continued to rise. There was fog outside, shrouding the countryside, dampening his mood. Finally, he pushed himself from the wall and rose wearily. Gabrielle’s sightless eyes tracked him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He lifted his arms in a helpless gesture. “The only plan I can come up with is storming the castle and spiriting her away, which is not particularly wise. I am too tired to think right now.” He looked at his sister. “Tell me; what would you do?”
“Do you truly wish to know?”
“I would not have asked otherwise.”
She smiled faintly, a gesture shaped somewhat like her brother’s. “I would suggest you plan carefully for this, Garren. You must not make any rash decisions.”
“What plans do you suggest?”
Gabrielle folded her hands. “You cannot return to Framlingham for her. They would kill you. You cannot storm the castle, as you cannot amass enough men in a short amount of time. So it is logical that perhaps you know of someone, a trusted friend or knight, who could infiltrate Framlingham and whisk her from the castle. Do you know of someone?”
Garren was listening intently. “I do. Then what?”
“Have them bring her here, to me. That way, if her family tracks her, it would lead to the abbey and not even the de Rosa’s would dare breach the sanctity of the abbey. I will keep her here with me until you come for her.”
“Where am I going to be?”
“After you tell the Marshal that you no longer wish to be an agent for the king, you will find a place for you and your wife to live. You cannot run the rest of your lives. Find a place in Scotland or Wales, something well off the path and fortified, and take her there. Swear fealty to whichever king you wish, raise a sizable force and recruit bachelor knights, and live there with your lady for the rest of your life. If that is what you wish, Garren, then make it so.”
Garren just stood there and smiled. “A sound enough plan, madam. How is it that your mind works so?”
“My brother taught me.”
Garren knelt down beside her again, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I am glad to have come to you,” he said softly. “You help me to think clearly when my entire world is in turmoil.”
Gabrielle patted his hand. “You have no time to waste, Garren. I suspect even now that your lady is living anxiously. If she supported you against her family, she cannot be in their good graces. The sooner she is removed from Framlingham, the better. The sooner you are reunited with her, the better.”
Garren collected his saddlebags, his mind was racing with possibilities, of hope, where moments before there had been none. He had another mission now, perhaps greater than any he had ever undertaken. He took his sister’s hand, trying to think of the proper words of gratitude.
“To express my thanks seems quite inadequate,” he said simply.
She waved him off. “None needed, Garren.”
“I do not know when I shall return. I do not know when Derica will arrive. Of the future, I can say nothing for certain. Only that I will do my very best.”
“I know you will. And I shall be prepared for any event. I shall welcome it.”
He gave her hand a squeeze before quitting the room, marching into the early morning light with more purpose he had ever felt in his life.
Back in the small chamber, Gabrielle swore she could hear his charger race off even though she knew she could not.
She sat there, wondering if she had given him advice that would end his life.
But the man’s heart was in turmoil, and she gave the only advice she knew she could.
There was nothing to do now but wait.
*
Garren had known Fergus de Edwin since they had been boys.
They had fostered together at Sandhurst Castle and had formed a friendship that had lasted all of these years.
They had served together, and at times had gone years without seeing one another, but somehow they always found each other again.
Garren knew, in any circumstance, that Fergus was the only man who would postpone his own funeral if Garren needed him.
That manner of friendship was few and far between, and Garren valued it.
Fergus was a bachelor knight and something of a free spirit.
His fealty shifted from time to time with different lords.
His cause also happened to be any cause that Garren had, and at the moment, Garren needed his friend desperately for a cause that he never thought he would support.
In this crisis, Garren could only turn to one man.
Fortunately for Garren, he had last heard that his friend happened to be serving Walter de Lacy at Longton Castle in Herefordshire.
The nearby village, Haverhill, was a two-day’s ride from Framlingham.
Garren had taken a room in a tavern in Haverhill and found a youth to run a message to the castle.
It was the middle of the night by the time he sent the message.
He suspected it would be dawn before Fergus arrived, if he was even still at Longton.
Having not slept in well over two days, Garren stripped off his armor and fell down on the bed of his rented room.
The straw inside the mattress was damp and old, but he didn’t care.
He was beyond exhausted and asleep before he realized it.
As a knight, his life depended upon his reflexes.
Knights were notorious for sleeping lightly.
But the sun was up and there was someone in his room before he was fully oriented.
His sword was near his hand and the blade came up.
He heard it clang against metal, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a yelp.
Rolling off the opposite side of the bed in a flash, he saw a man with bright blue eyes standing on the other side, rubbing his left arm.
A bolt of relief ran through Garren and he lowered the sword. “Christ,” he muttered. “Fergus, you idiot….”
Fergus stood there, still rubbing his arm. “Did you have to try and cut my head off?” he complained. “You send for me and this is the welcome I receive? Even from you, that is cold.”
Garren tossed the sword on the bed and wearily scratched his head. “What did you expect, sneaking into my room? I will wager that you were standing over me trying to decide how best to smother me as I slept.”
Fergus broke into a wide grin. Garren did the same. The men embraced each other as one would a brother.
“You’re as ugly as ever, Garren.”
“And you’re still as stupid as I remember.” Garren rubbed the sleep out of one eye and indicated the only chair in the room. “Please, sit. So you’re still at Longton, after all?”
Fergus took the chair as Garren lowered himself back onto the bed. Fergus was a nice looking man with brilliant blue eyes and dark blond hair. His teeth protruded slightly and his skin was rough from sun and cold. He shrugged to Garren’s assertion.
“De Lacy is fond of me and pays me well,” he said. “I have no reason to leave yet. And you? Last I heard, you were wandering somewhere between Dover and Hastings.”
“I still am.”
“So why are you in Herefordshire?”
“Up until yesterday, I was to marry a local heiress.”
Fergus’ eyebrows lifted; he liked money. “Is that so? What did you do to make her break the betrothal?”
Fergus snickered at Garren’s expense. Garren grinned at his friend’s sense of humor. “It wasn’t her, but her father. Seems he didn’t take too kindly to me, after all.”
“Do tell.”
Garren’s smile faded and the conversation took a serious turn.
He explained everything, from the beginning.
Fergus had no knowledge, nor had he ever, of Garren’s true vocation, so the details about the Marshal were left out.
For all Fergus knew, Garren’s father had negotiated a marriage contract, which was broken when the de Rosa’s concocted some foolish story about Garren being a spy for the king.
Garren made sure to point out, without much embellishment, how suspicious the clan was and how protective they were of Derica.