Chapter Sixteen
“If she fell into the river, there is no knowing how far down stream she is drifted,” Emyl said quietly. “You must face facts, Garren. Your wife is dead.”
Garren’s jaw flexed dangerously. In the great hall of Cilgarren, he stood his ground, unwilling to give in to the resignation the others had.
It had been nearly four weeks since Derica’s disappearance and, for as much as they had searched, they were convinced she had drowned in the river and her body would not be found.
It had been a painful realization for Offa and Emyl, a devastating one for David.
Their world had been a dark and dreary place as of late.
“I understand your logic,” Garren said steadily. “But if nobody has been located, then there is still hope. I have seen too many incidents of alleged death in my life to be so easily convinced that death has come. Show me her body and I shall believe it.”
Emyl cast his son a long look before turning away. He was too old to give in to false hopes. Fergus, however, had been listening to unrealistic expectations for the better part of a week.
“We’ll go look for her, you and me,” he told Garren. “Perhaps, somehow, she made it out of the water and was kidnapped by peasants. Perhaps she is being held hostage somewhere. Who knows?”
“Nonsense!” Offa snorted. “More than likely, if she made out of the water, she is in the hands of bandits who will…”
A deadly look from Garren stopped him. Fergus smoothed the situation. “There is a possibility she escaped your search,” he said. “Garren is like a hound. He’ll track her until he finds her.”
“What if he doesn’t find her?”
It was David’s soft question. They all looked at him, the tall, slender man with the haunting dark eyes, knowing how smitten he had been with Derica.
He had, so far, looked the most for her out of all of them.
Even with her husband returned, the enormous knight with the recent battle scars, he was still feeling her loss and was inadequately hiding his feelings.
“Unless God himself has reached down and pulled her into the heavens, I will find her,” Garren growled at him.
No one had the courage to say another negative word.
Garren was exhausted from battle, exhausted from riding for days on end, and in no mood to be disputed.
He wouldn’t even wait to eat and rest, as Fergus had strongly suggested.
Finally reaching Cilgarren had empowered him, renewed his resolve to find Derica alive.
He was back where he had left her, and he could feel her presence as strongly as if she was standing next to him.
Nothing was going to stop him from finding his wife.
In a flash of armor and steel, he quit the hall.
Fergus followed him outside, as did the others.
Near the kitchens, he slowed to observe the sloping hillside that abruptly disappeared into the river below.
The weather had long since worn away any clues that might have told him what had happened to his wife on that fateful day.
Still, he inspected the slope, walked among the wild garden, glancing down to the murky riverbed.
“She was here, we think.”
Garren turned to Fergus, who was standing very close to the edge of the cliff. The man was looking sadly into the gray waters. He made his way over to the place where Fergus stood and paced around, inspecting the rim.
“Had it been raining that day?”
“It had been raining for weeks.”
“So the ground was slippery.”
“Verily. Which is why I am more inclined to believe that she did not throw herself into the river as much as she slipped in.”
Garren took a long, slow breath, his mind working. “Damn her for standing so close. Too many times did I warn her.”
“We all did. She was fearless about it, unfortunately.”
Garren was quiet a moment. “The fall itself should not have killed her,” he said. “My concern is that perhaps she hit her head somehow and was knocked unconscious.”
“And drowned,” Fergus was barely audible.
Garren couldn’t refute the obvious. He turned away from the cliff, heading back towards the bailey.
“It is my hope that we will find out,” he said with more determination than he felt.
“I intend to comb down river inch by inch until I find something that leads me to believe she is either alive or dead.”
“That could take time,” Fergus followed him. “If we only had more help.”
Garren paused. “Your father and Offa and David have already been through this,” he said. “We will use them again to search, as futile as they believe it may be. And…”
“And what?”
Garren suddenly looked thoughtful. “The nearest garrison is Pembroke. You could ride there and ask for assistance.”
“Pembroke is held for the Marshal. Won’t some of those who serve there know you on sight?”
“Probably.”
“If they see you alive….”
Garren put up his hands, moving forward again in search of his horse. “I know, I know. All would be for waste if someone from the garrison saw me and reported back to the Marshal. But they don’t know you, and I could direct their efforts through you.”
“True enough,” Fergus agreed. His steed was nearby and he wearily sought the animal’s reins. “Very well, then. I shall ride to Pembroke for help. Perhaps a dozen men or so to cover more ground than you and I can alone. But you need to stay out of sight.”
“I will.”
“I shall return as quickly as I can.”
Garren watched him ride out, mounting his own charger and fighting his exhaustion as he did so. He felt better knowing that aid was coming, hoping he was that much closer to finding his wife. He could only pray it would be soon enough.
*
Derica had never had so many gifts. As if the floodgates of a mythical Aladdin’s Cave had suddenly burst open, she had more jewelry and belts and dresses and shoes than she knew what to do with.
Keller apparently thought that the best way to ease her grief was to ply her with gifts, and he did so with exhaustive efficiency.
Not a day passed that he didn’t present her with something soft, shiny, or otherwise. It was becoming an endless parade.
Sian and Aneirin had more possessions than they had ever known to exist, too.
Toys, food, clothing was all theirs for the squandering if they wished it.
Keller had taken a particular liking to Aneirin, and she to him.
Since Derica was distant, he lavished attention on the little girl instead.
He wished he could lavish it on Derica, but he knew he had to be patient with her.
She wasn’t remotely ready for his interest, so he bided his time with the brown-haired little girl.
Sian seemed more intent to be Derica’s shadow, no matter how much Keller tried to interact with him.
On a morning during her second week at Pembroke, Derica awoke to a bright day and the children playing silently near her bed.
They had been up for hours. Yawning, she climbed from the bed, kissed them both, and went about preparing herself for the day.
She had always been one to rise and dress immediately, not to lag about lazily.
One of the severe women, whom she had yet to be able to tell apart from one another, brought her warmed rosewater to wash the sleep from her face with.
She brushed her teeth with a soft reed brush and rinsed it with a breath sweetener.
Pulling off her woolen night shift, she replaced it with a shift of soft lamb’s wool.
Over that, she donned a long sleeved linen shift of deep blue and a sleeveless surcoat of contrasting pale blue broadcloth.
It was some of the less ornate clothing she owned, but highly fashionable and very comfortable.
Her dresser was overflowing with belts and jewels that Keller had given her.
The severe servant encouraged her to wear something rich and gaudy to compensate for the plain dress she wore, but Derica pushed her suggestions aside and chose a simple gold cross on a golden chain that hung between her breasts.
When the servant attempted to braid her hair in an elaborate style, Derica insisted on one simple braid that draped over one shoulder.
Every time the woman tried to dress her up, she would dress down.
The children were ready to go outside and run about.
They had been caged in the bedchamber far too long since awakening and were bouncing about like animals.
With one child in each hand, Derica ascended to the hall below and was met by the majordomo of the castle, a kindly man named Sims. He ushered her to one of two heavy dining tables that lined the hall of Pembroke and quickly ordered the morning meal delivered.
Within a very short time, there was more food than they could possibly eat covering the table.
Derica sipped the boiled water with a hint of rose and apples in it; she didn’t like ale for breakfast, which was a common drink.
It made her sleepy. She nibbled on a wedge of white tart cheese while the children gobbled gruel with honey.
Her mind, for the first time in several days, didn’t seem gripped by anguish this morning.
All of the agonizing grief she felt had dulled to a throbbing ache at the moment, but the tears were still close by.
They were always near the surface, ready to be released at the slightest provocation.
She dare not look at the silver band around her finger; it was a sure-fire trigger, yet she refused to remove it.
She was sure she would never be able to.
“I see that you are eating this morning,” Keller had come up behind her, silently. “A good sign, my lady.”
Derica glanced up into his weathered face, realizing whatever appetite she may have had inexplicably fled. “I suppose it would not be good for me to starve myself to death.”
Keller smiled timidly. “May I sit?”
“Of course.”