Chapter Twelve #2
“My thanks,” Garren said. “But in case there are, make no provocative move. Return to the castle immediately and I shall decide a course of action.”
David nodded his dark head. “We’ll defend you, have no doubt.”
“I don’t. Your loyalty is appreciated.”
David didn’t say any more. He was uncomfortable saying what he had, afraid he’d sounded like a fool. Offa slapped his nephew on the shoulder. “You needn’t worry, my lady. Even if they make it to the castle, we know many places to hide and avenues of escape. They’ll never get you.”
Derica smiled in thanks. “I hope we’re not too much of a burden.”
“Not at all. David and I crave the excitement.”
“But your life was so quiet before we came.”
Offa snorted. “It was dull. At least now we have something to look forward to.”
“A battle?”
The old man’s eyes lit up, memories of glory from long ago filling his mind. “Indeed. Fine adventures of bloody battles!”
Derica looked at her husband and they smiled at each other. After a few more moments of languishing before the fire, she forced herself to stand. “I believe I shall go to bed.” She stretched her shapely body. “Good eve to you, my lords.”
The men responded politely. David stole a quick glance but just as quickly turned away.
Garren excused himself and followed his wife up the narrow steps the led into the minstrel’s gallery above the hall.
He’d fashioned a large screen out of wood and rushes, hiding them from the view down below.
A pallet of more rushes and bedding from Emyl’s humble home lay upon the floor, comfortable enough for the two of them.
Garren felt bad that he had nothing to offer her other than borrowed goods and the bare minimum of comfort.
She deserved so much more. As his wife lay down, he tucked the worn coverlets in around her.
“Someday, we’ll have a massive castle and the finest bedding money can buy,” he said softly. “You will only touch satins and silks, I swear it.”
She smiled. “I have had that. It matters naught if you are not with me to share it.”
“So you prefer rushes that scratch and poke?”
“As long as they scratch and poke you, too.”
He sat there a moment, gazing down at her, torn between tremendous joy and tremendous sorrow. He could not delay the inevitable; the longer he put it off, the harder it would be.
It was quiet in the gallery. He tucked the covers in tighter around her, trying to think of the correct words, when she interrupted his thoughts.
“I have something to tell you,” she said softly.
“You do? What?”
“You’re going to be leaving soon.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I am?”
“Aye,” she nodded. “You must attend William Marshal. He needs to know all that has gone on at Framlingham during the past few weeks.”
“Hmmm,” he looked at her with interest. “You are correct, madam. The security of this country is at stake. When must I leave?”
“I would think tomorrow,” she said as if issuing orders. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you return.”
He nodded, a warm twinkle in his eye. “I cannot tell you how much is pains me that I must go alone. I wish I could take you with me.”
“I am safe here,” Derica was trying to be brave. “I have Emyl and Offa and David to protect me.”
An eyebrow lifted. “Mind that David keeps a respectful distance. I would hate to have to kill him.”
“David is afraid of me. I swear that if I winked at him, he’d faint.”
“I have spent my life being suspicious of the motives of others. Though he seems harmless enough, I cannot discount his thoughts should I not be here as a thwarting presence.”
“I am my own thwarting presence. I have thwarted many an amorous suitor in my time.”
He grinned. “But not me.”
She returned his smile. “Nay, not you. You were the only man who lowered himself from the roof into my boudoir. With such dedication, how could I discourage you?”
His smile faded as he gazed into her eyes. “Christ, I am going to miss you. I am so sorry that I must leave, even for a short time.”
The longing in his voice squeezed her heart, making it difficult to be brave. “How long do you think you shall be away?”
He ran a finger down her cheek, onto her shoulder. “ ’Tis difficult to say. Perhaps ten days, perhaps twenty.”
“Twenty days,” she breathed. “Why can I not go with you if you are to be away that long?”
“Because I shall travel much more quickly without you. Furthermore, there are threats on the road I have no desire to expose you to. Bandits and murderers, to name a few. I would rather know you were here, safe, waiting impatiently for me to return.”
She knew he was right, but that didn’t help the tugging in her chest. When he pulled her up and took her in his arms, it only increased the ache. Derica held him tightly, afraid to let him go.
“Promise you will return,” she whispered.
His fingers were in her hair, his mouth against her forehead. “I swear it.”
She kissed him once, twice. “Do you realize that since we were reunited at the abbey, we have never been apart? It will be strange not waking up to you every morning. It has become a part of me, like breathing.”
“I know,” he said. “But after this temporary separation, I shall never leave you again. Ever.”
She was quiet a moment. “But what if William Marshal insists you continue in his service?”
“I have been in his service for many years. I have dedicated my entire life to the king. It is time that I dedicate myself to my own life now and he will have to understand that.”
“What if he doesn’t’?”
“He has no choice.”
She sighed, hearing his determination. But she also knew that he had a strong sense of duty to Richard. A man who would chose to be a spy for the king would have nothing else. She wondered if his love for her would outweigh his sense of duty if he were pressured to make a choice.
“Whatever happens, my love,” she ran her fingers through his hair. “This night belongs to us.”
He couldn’t think of a reply other than to make love to her.
*
The next morning dawned dismal. Rain was coming down in sheets, creating a blurry white landscape. Emyl had loaded Garren’s charger and had it waiting outside the outer wall. Both bridges were still in a state of disrepair and the horse could not be brought any closer.
A fire burned in the crumbling hearth in the great hall, sending smoke to the ceiling and escaping from gaps in the roof.
Garren and Derica had eaten a cozy meal near the fire, greedily soaking up the last few moments they would have together until he returned.
They kept the conversation positive, talking of trivial things, unwilling to face the fact that time was drawing short.
Derica was in control of her emotions until Emyl came with Garren’s armor and began helping him dress.
She sat atop the old table, huddled in the woolens that the nuns had given her as she watched her husband transform from a strong, sweet man into a terrifying vision of a knight.
She well remembered the first time she ever saw him, in her father’s solar.
Although he had worn his armor, he had not been allowed his weapons inside the castle; even so, he had been an impressive sight.
Having lived in a household full of knights, she had long gotten over being impressed by a bold man in a steel suit.
But watching Garren as he adjusted his breastplate, she felt giddy and warm as she hadn’t felt in years.
Garren noticed her watching him and his eyes twinkled. “Why do you look so?”
She blinked at him, puzzled. “How do I look?”
“Like you are day dreaming.”
She grinned. “I am, in a way. Tell me something; why is it that you do not have horns jutting from the armor on your shoulders? Uncle Hoyt used to.”
He snorted. “Because I do not need them. Men with spikes on their armor aren’t merely looking to defend or attack honorably; they are seeking to maim and destroy.”
“Then you say that Uncle Hoyt is dishonorable?”
“I say nothing of the sort. I simply mean that he has them because, I would imagine, he derives a good deal of pleasure at men being terrified by the mere sight of them. ’Tis a good intimidation tactic, mentally unsettling an enemy before the battle has even begun.
What sane man would not fear a knight with spikes all over his armor? ”
She thought on that a moment. “Father’s helm has a horn that comes out of the center of his forehead, like a Unicorn.”
Garren merely wriggled his eyebrows, in approval or disapproval she could not tell. When Emyl finished struggling with a strap that finally decided to latch, Garren stepped away and shook himself slightly, like a dog shaking its hide. The armor clinked and settled on his big body.
“Your weapon and helm are with the charger,” Emyl said.
Garren nodded at him, then looked at his wife. She was smiling at him, but it was forced. Emyl, sensing the farewell to come, excused himself and left them alone.
The silence was expectant. Derica struggled to keep the smile on her face. “It is time, I see.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “Will you walk with me to the door?”
She slipped off the table and slid her hand into his enormous one. Together, they walked to the open door where the rain pounded outside. Derica was about to walk outside but he held her back.
“Not outside, sweetheart,” he said. “I shall take my leave of you here, where it is dry.”
She looked at him, those enormous green eyes bright with emotion.
He smiled at her, memorizing every last line of her sweet face.
He committed it to memory, to keep him warm on the long cold nights to come.
He ran a delicate finger along her jawline, touching the honey-colored hair that tickled her face.
He couldn’t discern any other emotion at the moment other than deep, agonizing longing.