Chapter Twelve #4
Garren glanced over at Offa and David, talking softly by the smoking hearth. “Do you see that dark haired man?”
Fergus glanced in David’s direction. “That young whelp you introduced me to? The one who has been living here?”
“Aye.”
“What about him?”
“He is fond of Derica. Too fond, if you get my meaning.”
Fergus’ eyebrows rose. Then he laughed. “Idiot. His life shall not be a long one.”
“He is the nephew of an old friend of your father’s.
I should hate to have to kill him were he to press his intentions on my wife while I am away.
As it stands, only your father stands between my wife and a potential problem.
But with you here, there is no doubt that David would be in way over his head were he to attempt something.
It would give me more peace of mind than you know. ”
Fergus swallowed the last of his food. “So, once again, you expect me to play nursemaid to your wife.”
“I ask you, my friend.”
“You do not want my sword at your side?”
“I want your sword here, in my stead.”
Fergus sighed heavily, wiping at a smear of food on his chin. “Very well. If that is your wish.”
Garren smiled. “Many thanks.”
“But you owe me.”
“The usual?”
Fergus nodded firmly. “A hog’s head of ale, deliverable upon your return.”
Garren stood up and reseated his helm. Derica had been standing a respectful distance away, allowing the men sometime between the two of them, and Garren extended a hand to her. It would be their second painful farewell of the day.
Fergus watched them walk from the hall, Garren’s arm protectively around Derica’s shoulders.
He rose from the table, told his father he was going to find shelter for his weary horse, and went out into the yard.
His movements didn’t seem so weary anymore.
He casually melted into the shadow of a wall, watching Garren and Derica take their leave of each other.
When Derica finally went back into the hall, wiping her eyes, Fergus followed Garren into the old gatehouse.
“So I finally get you all to myself.”
They were sheltered from the elements in the dank passage. Garren stopped walking and turned around. “So it seems.” He moved back towards Fergus. “I assume you have information for my ears only.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just do. I know you, Fergus. There’s something else.”
“Perhaps,” Fergus regarded him. “I have a question for you.”
“Ask it.”
“Where are you really going, Garren?”
It was more a statement than a question. Garren answered evenly-. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. You’re not going back to Chateroy, are you?”
“I said I was. What makes you think otherwise?”
Fergus’ pale blue eyes glittered. “Something that one of the de Rosas said to me.”
“And that was?”
“That perhaps you are going to see William Marshal.”
Inwardly, Garren flinched. “William Marshal? Why would I want to see him?”
“As a member of his inner circle. As a man who is loyal to Richard in the most sworn sense.”
Garren snorted. “So they told you I was a spy, did they? They accused me of that to my face.”
“You do seem to wander a bit, Garren. It would explain a great many things about you.”
Garren rolled his eyes. “Not you, too,” he growled. “Fergus, listen to me. The de Rosas think that everyone is somehow involved with William Marshal, especially the man who eloped with their only female kin.”
“He seemed terribly certain. He said to tell you that he was on your side, and he wanted me to warn you against returning to Chateroy.”
Garren grew serious. “The de Rosas are waiting for me there.”
“They’re going to raze it. They are probably laying siege as we speak. I did not want to say anything in front of your wife for fear of upsetting her.”
“That was wise,” Garren said. “And you say it has been at least a week since you saw the de Rosas?”
“Aye,” Fergus replied. “They’ve already had time to amass and reach Chateroy by now.”
Garren fell silent, mulling over his options. Fergus watched him closely. “What are you going to do now?”
“I must defend my father’s house, of course.”
“By yourself?”
“My father has two hundred men at arms. It is a sizable force.”
“Against the de Rosa thousand?” Fergus shook his head. “That’s madness, Garren. Chateroy will fall if it hasn’t already. And if you go back there now, they’ll kill you. What about your wife?”
Garren’s eyes turned in the direction of the great hall, as if he could see her through all of the stones that separated them. “I must deal with the consequences my actions have brought upon my family,” he said softly. “She understands that.”
“She’ll understand everything until you get yourself killed, and then she’ll go mad,” Fergus said. “Trust me, my friend, when it comes to women. They never mean what they say.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Do you have anyone with an army you can call upon for support?”
Garren wouldn’t be sucked into that line of conversation again, and he wondered seriously why Fergus was trying to probe him. Knowing Fergus, it was purely nosiness.
“Let me think… I could call on my father, I suppose.”
“Oh… right.”
Garren didn’t like being toyed with, especially not by Fergus. He cocked an eyebrow at him, his manner sarcastic. “I suppose you could ask Longton for help, but being allied with John, I don’t suppose he’d respond.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Any other suggestions?”
“Sorry, not at the moment.”
The thought of Chateroy under siege was growing increasingly disturbing. Garren suddenly felt a strong sense of urgency. He turned from Fergus.
“I must go and see what they’ve done to my father.”
“Garren,” Fergus took a step after him. “I wish you wouldn’t. It is a trap.”
“Be that as it may, my father would not be in trouble were it not for me.”
Fergus watched him until he was nearly out of the gatehouse. “Garren, there’s something else. Another message from the de Rosa brother that saved my hide. He said that if I speak it, you will know the truth.”
“What?”
“I am sorry, my friend. So sorry.”
Garren came to a halt. “For what? Fergus, I don’t have time for this.”
It was odd how the expression on Fergus’ face had changed. Garren had never seen such a look, something between wisdom and sorrow. It was an expression that cut through Garren like a knife.
“For this,” he whispered. “La lealtà alla morte. Onorare soprattutto.”
The sledgehammer hit. Garren was confused and suspicious.
Had Fergus been an agent for William, Garren would have known long ago.
Or perhaps he wouldn’t; there were those in service that even Garren didn’t know about.
Something wasn’t right and his guts churned with dread.
It occurred to him that the probing Fergus had been doing was for a definitive reason, an overshadowing motive that Garren was slowly coming to understand. Something told him not to respond.
“What does that mean?”
“Your phrase, my friend.”
“The last I recall, I don’t speak Italian.”
“You are obligated to respond.”
“Fergus, what are you talking about?”
Fergus gazed at him without saying a word. Then, he smiled weakly. “Nothing,” he said. “Forget about it. In fact, it is best you do not respond.”
“Why not?”
“Because… well, because ’tis best, that’s all. I do not want to know that you know what I know.”
Garren could have done of two things at that moment; he could have continued his ignorant charade, or he could have let his guard down. He had known Fergus far too well and long to let it go.
“What in the hell are you talking about, Fergus?” he rumbled.
Fergus shrugged weakly. “Nothing, my friend. Nothing at all. ’Tis simply… stay away from Chepstow, and stay away from Chateroy. Stay here, with your wife. ’Tis the best place for you.”
Garren felt as if he were walking the edge of a cliff, unwilling to look down, but being inexplicably drawn towards the danger.
“I cannot stay here,” he said, wanting off the subject, unbalanced by the entire conversation.
“My only concern, beyond my father, is that Derica is protected in my absence.”
Fergus nodded. “I will protect her with my life. You know that.”
“I know that,” Garren said. “But it shan’t be for long. I shall return as soon as I can.”
“Christ, I hope not,” Fergus muttered.
“What’s that you say?”
“Nothing,” Fergus said quickly. “And if you do not return, Garren? What then?”
Garren forgot about the past few moments of conversation, Fergus’ oddly murmured words. He looked at Fergus as his oldest, closest friend. “Then I will trust you to take care of her, for all time. Will you do this for me?”
“Without question.”
Garren left without another word.