Chapter Eight
Derica had never been out of the walls of Framlingham without her brother, father and uncles riding close escort. On those occasions, which had been rare, she had looked at it as something of a grand adventure.
But her harrowing ride with Fergus de Edwin was no grand adventure.
It had been terrifying. Fergus had ridden north for the rest of the day to elude the search parties from Framlingham; when nightfall came, he had dared not risk putting her up at an inn and, instead, made camp in a small vale outside the village of Thetford.
Although he tried to make it as comfortable as possible for her, it was nonetheless cold and damp and he would not light a fire for fear that the search parties might see the smoke.
Derica was cold and wet, wrapped in her new gown and Fergus’ old peasant cloak, and tried not to let her misery show.
Fergus built a little shelter for her to keep the damp off and she had slept fitfully.
For warmth’s sake, he lay close to give her some of his body heat and in the morning they had made jokes about not telling Garren of their improper proximity.
Derica was kidding, but Fergus was mostly serious.
He’d seen Garren in battle too many times not to fear the man greatly, especially where a woman was concerned.
It was slow going once they turned west for Yaxley.
Fergus estimated it would take them at least three days to reach the abbey.
They stayed to the untraveled roads and footpaths, and Fergus slipped into a small town on the second day to buy bread and cheese for the lady.
So far, she hadn’t complained, but he knew she was cold and hungry and uncomfortable. He felt very badly about it.
The second day blended into the third and, even though their travel had been slower than he had estimated due to the fact that they had swung far to the north, they had nonetheless made good time.
The closer they drew to the abbey, however, the more relieved Fergus was becoming.
It was certainly no offense to the lady that he was eager to drop her off and return to Longton; he simply didn’t like feeling of being hunted.
On the afternoon of the third day they stopped at a stream that transected a small, lush valley.
There were trees about, offering shelter and shade from the sun that had decided to appear.
In truth, it was pleasant and they needed the rest. Derica immediately took her slippers off and waded out into the stream, hooting at the freezing water.
Fergus watered the horse, grinning at her, trying to keep his eyes averted from tantalizing flashes of ankle.
“Fergus,” Derica called to him as she hopped onto a slick rock.
“My lady?”
“Tell me something.”
“Anything, my lady.”
“You have known Garren a long time, have you not?”
“Since we were squires.”
“Tell me what he was like back then.”
Fergus let the horse graze. “He was a somewhat small boy, very quiet, very sharp. He never needed to be given an order twice.”
Derica hiked her skirt higher as she stepped from the rock back into the water. “Garren was small?” she giggled. “I cannot imagine that. He is absolutely enormous.”
“That happened very quickly,” Fergus said.
“Because he was small and quiet, some of the other squires used to taunt him. But the moment he entered youth and his voice deepened, it was as if he woke up one morning a head taller than even the knights. From working with the sword and other weapons, his arms and shoulders grew enormous. Woe betides those who had teased him when he was small.”
“He punished them?”
Fergus smiled at the memories. “In very subtle ways. They never knew they had been punished until it was all over. But he made sure each and every one had their day.”
“But he is not a vengeful or wicked man.”
Fergus looked over at her; she was standing in the stream, the filtered sunlight glistening off her hair. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“No, my lady,” he said quietly. “He is not a vengeful or wicked man. In fact, Garren is one of the few men I know that will be honorable ’til the death. He is what every knight hopes to be but seldom is. I have nothing but respect and admiration for him.”
Derica smiled, thinking of Garren, her heart swelling with happiness and longing. “I hope to find that out for myself.”
“As you shall. You are a most fortunate woman, Lady Derica.”
She knew that. Gathering her skirts closer, she timidly picked her way out of the stream.
“Then we should not keep him waiting any longer,” she said. “The sooner we get to Yaxley, the better.”
Her foot slipped on the bank before the last word was out of her mouth. With a whoop, she tumbled into the chilly water, landing flat on her backside. Horrified, Fergus dropped the horse’s reins and rushed to help her, but she just lay there and laughed.
“Are you all right?” Fergus asked. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Derica shook her head. “Of course not. But I am as wet as a mud hen.”
Her laughter was infectious. Fergus was smiling as he reached down and pulled her out of the water. “I can see that,” he picked up the edges of her gown and tried to wring some water out of it. “You don’t have a change of clothes, my lady. I am sorry….”
She cut him off. “Don’t be silly. I shall dry if you spur the horse fast so that the wind swishes through the material like a storm.” She made wide, sweeping motions with her arms and they both laughed.
“I shall do my best to create the tempest.”
“Good.” Pulling away from him, Derica found her slippers and, drying her feet off on the dry portions of the cloak, put them off. “Come along, Fergus. I want to get to the abbey before dark.”
“Aye, my lady,” he shook his head, thinking she was very adept at giving orders and knowing that Garren would have his hands full with her. He was about to help her onto the charger when shouts in the distance caught his attention.
They both froze, ears peaked, listening with the trepidation of the mouse awaiting the cat. The shouts came again and Fergus didn’t wait to interpret them.
He tossed her up onto the horse and mounted in front of her. Spurring the charger through the trees, he struggled through the stream and rocks in an attempt to wipe clear their trail. Behind, Derica clung to him fearfully.
“They’ve found us,” she hissed.
Fergus nodded to the obvious. “They must have undoubtedly heard your scream when you fell in the water.”
“Sweet Lord,” she murmured. “I am so sorry, Fergus. I didn’t know….”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Create that tempest I promised.”
Fergus reined the steed out of the stream and into the forest. The horse began to thunder through the bramble, plowing a path and leaving a host of broken branches in its wake. It was an obvious trail to follow, one plowed with furious speed.
“We’re close to the abbey, perhaps a few miles,” Fergus said after several moments. “I am going to leave you there and then try to lead the search party away. Perhaps they will follow my trail and bypass the abbey all together.”
“You’re going to be a decoy?”
“I did not come all of this way simply to have them grab you before you can enter the abbey walls.”
Small branches were whipping her in the face; the green of the trees whizzed by her head as the horse galloped through.
She held on tightly, praying that they would reach the abbey before her family caught wind of their trail.
She was sickened to think they had come this far, this carefully, only to be discovered at the last possible moment.
Closing her eyes, she could see Garren’s face and she prayed, harder than she had ever prayed in her life, that she would see him again.
It was with certainty, she knew, that if her family caught up to her she would be sequestered the rest of her life.
She couldn’t bear to think of what they would do to Fergus.
Derica couldn’t hear anymore shouting but she wasn’t convinced that her father wasn’t right behind her.
Fergus thundered across a meadow and skirted what looked and smelled like a bog.
Derica kept her face buried in his back, holding on tightly, trusting that he would get them safely to the abbey.
She lost track of time as they raced along, through the trees and, at one point, across a farmer’s field.
But suddenly, they emerged onto a road and Fergus let the horse have his head.
Rocks pelted Derica’s legs and feet. The wet part of her dress lay across the back of the charger, sticking to the horse. Abruptly, the horse slowed and began to lope in a strange, sloppy gait. Fergus looked about the animal in a panic before pulling it to a sharp halt. He leapt off the horse.
Derica’s gown, unhemmed and long, had wound its way around the horse’s back legs. Fergus unwound the dress and pulled Derica off the animal.
“Listen to me,” he made sure she was looking him in the eye before pointing over to his right.
“The abbey is through those trees and down a small hill. If you cut through, it will keep you off the road while I lead them on a wild goose chase. When you get to the abbey, you are to ask for Sister Mary Felicitas. Do you understand?”
Derica nodded, the fear in her eyes momentarily replaced by gratitude. “Fergus, I cannot possibly express my thanks adequately. What you have done is….”
“Is nothing more than Garren would not do for me.” Fergus smiled at her, briefly. “It was a pleasure, my lady. I wish you and Garren all of the happiness in the world. He is an extremely lucky man. Now, off with you and don’t look back.”
Impulsively, he kissed her on the forehead and mounted the steed. With the charger hurling down the road, Derica tore into the trees as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.
*
Nine days. Nine long, miserable days.