Chapter Fifteen #2
Mair shrugged. “Is it also possible yer husband is already looking for ye? Perhaps if we stay here, he will come to us.”
Tears came to Derica’s eyes, remembering her last conversation with Fergus. The good memories as well as the bad rejoined her. She wondered what had happened during her absence. “He is fighting the wars between Richard and John. I suspect he’ll not come looking for me any time soon.”
Mair understood. She didn’t like the thought of wandering the dangerous countryside with her children, but she could not refuse her. “Very well,” she said softly. “We will take you home.”
Derica sensed the moment between them, the sacrifice Mair was willing to make for a woman she hardly knew.
“I cannot tell you what you have meant to me, you and your children. You have taken me in and cared for me, and I will not forget your kindness. My family has much wealth and I swear I shall reward you for your trouble.”
Mair’s pale complexion flushed. “We have all we need. I did not help ye for the fortune to be gained by it.”
“I know you didn’t. But you shall be rewarded all the same. You have risked much.”
There was nothing more to say. Rubbing her head again, Derica let go of the tree and took Sian’s hand.
Her heart was lighter than it had been since she came to this place.
Together, the four of them made their way back through the trees, towards the road.
The day was warming as the sun struggled through the clouds.
Sian saw a rabbit with big white ears and ran off in pursuit.
He wanted to play with it, but Aneirin wanted the fur for a coat.
Derica and Mair reached the road, watching the children chase the rabbit through the bushes.
A low rumble in the distance caught their attention.
“Rain is coming,” Mair glanced up at the semi-cloudy sky.
Derica looked up, too. But the rumble didn’t stop; it continued and seemed to grow louder. Her gaze moved to the road leading west.
“I do not think it is rain,” she said. “Listen. It sounds more like horses. Many horses.”
Mair’s relaxed expression tensed. “An army?”
Derica was quiet a moment, thinking. “Where does this road lead?”
“To Pembroke.”
There was a large castle in Pembroke. “Get the children,” Derica said with quiet urgency.
They sprinted into the bramble. Derica came across Aneirin and grasped the little girl by the wrist, but the child didn’t understand.
She thought it was a game and pulled away from Derica, laughing.
Derica chased her through a cluster of trees, panicked when she saw that the girl was heading back up towards the road.
She called her name, trying to stop her, but the child dashed onward.
By the time she hit the road, Derica was right behind her and finally grabbed her around the waist.
“Got you!” she breathed.
She noticed the dust first. Whirling around with the child still in her arms, her eyes fell on a large group of armed men several feet away.
They were clad in expensive armor and rode massive chargers, animals built for the brutality of war.
Having been around knights her entire life, she knew this particular group of men could be nothing other than seasoned warriors.
The group carried several Welsh crossbowmen with them, men renowned for their deadly accuracy.
It was a war party. She prayed that Mair and Sian would stay to the bushes as she herself faced the horde, having no other choice.
To run would be to surely invite them to follow, and that could result in the capture of all of them.
The group had come to a halt. Derica pushed Aneirin behind her, protectively, facing the men with courage. One knight flipped up his visor, studying her carefully.
“I have traveled this road many a time and have never seen a fairy, though I have heard tale of them,” he said. When Derica didn’t reply, he continued in a less friendly tone. “Your name, woman.”
Derica knew her family name held much weight, on both sides of the realm. If these knights supported the Prince, then it would save her. If not, it may very well work against her. But it was her name, for better or worse.
“Who asks?” she questioned with polite authority.
“You will answer me, wench.”
“I will. As soon as you answer me. And you will not call me wench.”
The knight was working up another snappish retort, but the large knight next to him put out a hand, stopping the reaction. The knight who spoke reworded his reply.
“The Lord of Pembroke asks.”
Derica knew she had to tell him. To be evasive would only pull her deeper into what could possibly be an unpleasant situation. She’d already been far bolder than she should have been.
“The Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon.”
The knight snorted. “And I am the King of France. I will ask you one more time your name. Lie to me, and punishment shall be swift.”
“I did not lie. I am the daughter of Bertram de Rosa of Framlingham Castle and wife to Garren le Mon, heir to the barony of Anglecynn and Ceri and descendent of Saxon kings. My father and uncles have crusaded with King Henry, and my godfather is Roger Bigod, second Earl of Norfolk. Shall I go on?”
The helmed heads looked at each other. The large knight who had held up a quelling hand lifted his visor, gaining a better look.
His large brown eyes regarded her. He finally spurred his charger forward, an enormously hairy red horse with an abundance of cream-colored fur around its hooves.
Derica didn’t flinch as he came to within a few feet of her.
“You are Garren le Mon’s widow?”
Derica felt as if she had been struck. “I am his wife,” she replied steadily.
“What are you doing so far from Cilgarren, lady?”
Derica wasn’t sure where to start with all of it, and her mind was still spinning with his words.
Garren le Mon’s widow. And how did this knight, whom she did not know, have the knowledge that she was at Cilgarren?
“I… I was lost and preparing to make my way back home.” It sounded like a lame excuse, even to her.
“Lost?”
“I wandered… too far and became lost.” When he appeared as if he didn’t believe a word, she grunted in frustration. “Suffice it to say that I was lost and am, even now, on my way home. I do not see how that is any concern of yours.”
The knight regarded her carefully; he didn’t doubt for a minute she was who she said she was.
She was well spoken and exceedingly beautiful, even in the peasant clothing she was wearing.
It was like looking at a diamond glistening in the dirt.
But he was incredibly confused to find her wandering a road several miles south of Cilgarren Castle.
She was surely as witless as she was lovely.
“William Marshal has ordered me to retrieve you, Lady le Mon.”
“Why?”
“I am to take you back to Pembroke. He has sent a missive for you.”
“A missive? What missive?”
“ ’Tis a private document, for your eyes only. I suspect it is news of some manner.”
Derica’s heart suddenly fell into her stomach; she knew what the missive was.
The knight didn’t have to say another word.
It had to be a missive telling her of her husband’s death, which is why the warrior referred to her as Garren’s widow.
Much had apparently happened in her absence.
The world was suddenly very unsteady and her heart began pounding loudly in her ears.
She was vaguely aware of falling to her knees, slightly less aware of the knight dismounting his charger and coming to her aid so that she would not fall on her face.
Somewhere, she could hear Aneirin crying.
“No,” she breathed. “God, please… no. He is not dead. He cannot be.”
By this time, several of the knights had ridden forward.
One of them took hold of the riderless charger, while two others dismounted, mostly to gain a better look at the beautiful lady rather than to actually lend assistance.
The knight that held her pulled off his helm with his free hand and passed it off to the man standing next to him.
“Help me get her on my steed,” he commanded softly.
“No!” Derica struggled weakly against him. “I will not go! I must go back to Cilgarren!”
The knight didn’t reply as he swung her up into his arms. Aneirin was crying loudly now.
Mair and Sian came running out of the bushes, protesting loudly at what was surely a kidnapping.
Startled, one of the Welsh crossbowmen released his weapon, and an arrow sailed with deadly precision into Mair’s chest. She was dead before she hit the ground.
The children screamed with horror. Derica, struggling for coherency, managed to angle her head around to see what had happened.
“You killed her!” she shrieked. “My God… Mair!”
The knight who held her cursed under his breath, hissing to the knight nearest him. “God’s Bones, who released that arrow?”
“I do not know, my lord.”
“Find out. And confiscate his weapon!”
“Aye, my lord.”
The children were still screaming, crying over their mother’s corpse. The knight that held Derica spoke steady orders to another knight.
“Collect the children. Bring them.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Derica had ceased to struggle. Her body went limp and she cried pitifully, tears for Garren, a few for Mair.
She wished she could die, too, retreating into a world of incoherency and darkness.
At the moment, she cared naught for her fate.
All that mattered was that Garren was gone and her life was over.
The trip back to Pembroke passed in a blur. The knight with the big brown eyes carried her the entire way. A couple of times, she had tried to remove herself from his charger, but he had held her tightly and said little. She had asked about the children and he assured her they were well.