Chapter Seventeen #3
He reached Cilgarren by midnight. Unable to cross the destroyed drawbridge on the horse, he tethered the animal and plunged into the muck-filled ditch, climbing up on the other side and into the gatehouse.
He raced across the outer bailey and into the inner bailey.
Suspecting Garren would be in the great hall, he barreled into the cavernous room and shouted for his friend.
In a moment’s breath, he sensed a body behind him and whirled in a start.
Garren’s blue eyes glittered at him in the light of the dying hearth. He had a dagger in his hand, aimed at Fergus’ midsection.
“Christ, Fergus,” he hissed, lowering the knife. “I heard you coming. I thought we were being raided.”
Fergus put both hands on Garren’s massive arms, bracing him for the news to come. “Garren, I found her.”
Garren dropped the knife in shock. “Is she…?”
“She is alive and well at Pembroke Castle.”
The information was coming too strong, too fast. Garren nearly choked on the breath in his lungs, wanting to shout his joy but unable to form a coherent thought. After making a gagging sound in an attempt to speak, he settled for a snort of pure relief.
“Thanks be to God,” he breathed fervently. “I can hardly believe it. I thought surely….”
Fergus cut him off. “There is no time for your happiness, my friend. There is far more to the tale.”
He could see Garren stiffen. “What is it?”
Fergus didn’t know where to begin. But he knew one thing; they had to go to Pembroke at that very moment.
“Get your horse,” he shoved Garren towards the door. “I shall tell you everything on the way.”
“You will tell me now.”
“I can’t tell you everything now. All I can tell you is that it is a matter of life and death to go and retrieve your wife at this very moment.”
Garren froze. “Is she in danger?”
Fergus could see that Garren was going to be difficult until he had some answers. He quickly tried to surmise the situation.
“Her father is laying siege to Pembroke as we speak. He wants his daughter back.”
“De Rosa?” Garren wondered how much worse this could get. “How did he find her?”
“I don’t know,” Fergus managed to get him out into the bailey. “But suffice it to say that he knows. And he is there. You must go and retrieve your wife.”
Garren was on the move. Offa and David, having heard the noise, were up and apprised of the situation.
David ran for the horse so Garren could don his armor.
Offa went to get Emyl. There was excitement in the air, and anxiety.
Garren knew it was bleeding out of every pore of his body; his mind was swimming, his limbs shaking as he strapped on his protection. It was difficult to focus.
“She is well, then?” he asked as he slapped at a fasten on his breastplate.
“Very well.”
“How did she get to Pembroke?”
Fergus helped him with the heavy armor. “The story of her trip to Pembroke is amazing. Apparently, it was as we surmised. She did not throw herself off the cliff as much as she slipped and fell. As she tells the story, she drifted down the river and by sheer fortune washed ashore. A peasant woman and her children found her and took care of her.”
Garren absorbed the information. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear this,” his voice was husky with emotion. “Although I insisted she was still alive, I must admit that I did not believe it. God has been looking out for her.”
“Indeed he has, for the both of you.”
“But how did she end up at Pembroke?”
Fergus cocked an eyebrow. “Here is where the story grows complicated. As I understand it, William Marshal, wracked with guilt over your death, has granted Lady le Mon lands and titles in reward for your services.”
Garren stopped, mid-strap. “So the Marshal knows of my death,” he said it almost thoughtfully. “It is as we planned, then.”
“There is more,” Fergus went on. “Now that Lady le Mon is a wealthy, titled woman, it is logical that she would be in need of a husband for protection and equal status.”
Garren’s blood turned cold. “What husband?”
“The Marshal betrothed her to Keller de Poyer, garrison commander of Pembroke Castle. De Poyer, rightfully so, was en route to Cilgarren to retrieve his bride when he happened across her and her peasant saviors upon the road. If there was ever so strange a coincidence, Garren, that was it. Naturally, he took her back to Pembroke, where she is at this very moment.”
Along with a myriad of other emotions he had experienced this day, now he was dealing with jealousy and possessiveness.
“How in God’s name did he know she was at Cilgarren?” he returned to securing his armor, furiously and quickly. “And how did the de Rosa’s know she would be at Pembroke? I do not understand that bizarre forces at work, either for or against us.”
Fergus shook his head. “I do not know, either. There are some elements to this tale that make no sense at the moment. Perhaps they never will.”
Garren forced the most difficult question he had ever had to ask. “They… they didn’t marry, did they?”
“Nay. Derica has kept him at arm’s length, much to his disappointment. De Poyer is quite taken with her, and he has been quite good to her. Before you go riding in there to slay the man for showing attention to your wife, you should consider thanking him instead. He has been remarkably gallant.”
Garren didn’t know what to feel. “How is that?”
“He is fighting off the de Rosas and he helped me escape to come and tell you everything. That should be quite enough.”
The last piece of metal that Garren collected was his sword, massive and lethal. He looked at it, thinking that he would soon be raising it for the greatest cause he had ever known. Fergus saw the deadly gleam to his eye as he spoke.
“Not hell nor William Marshal nor the de Rosas will keep me from claiming what is rightfully mine,” he growled. “Fergus, I swear to you, by the time this night is through, I shall have my wife. If I do not, it is because I was killed trying.”
Fergus could see a recklessness about him that was frightening.
“You have come too far to die,” he said firmly.
“Derica would never recover. She went for weeks thinking you were dead and it nearly destroyed her. For you to die within sight of her would be too much for her to bear. You must think of her, Garren.”
“She is all I think of.”
“Then temper yourself. We need your cold logic, not your fury.”
Garren’s jaw ticked. There was too much happening for him to be rational at the moment.
Without another word, he and Fergus went back into the inner courtyard where surprise met them; Offa and Emyl, dressed in their ragged armor and weapons, stood silently in wait. Garren eyed them as he approached.
“Where do you go?” he indicated their dress.
“With you,” Emyl said steadily. “You will need our help.”
They were old knights and due their respect. Garren tried to be careful in his reply.
“Although I am most grateful for your offer, I fear this is a job for me alone. Four of us would be too many and not enough, all at the same time.”
“But there is an army in wait for you, Garren,” Offa said. “You must have aid.”
Garren couldn’t help but think how pathetic they looked, though noble were their intentions. The de Rosa knights would cut them to ribbons.
“Gentle knights, I am riding to reclaim my wife. I must do this alone. Pray that you understand and are not offended.”
Offa shrugged. “We were obligated to offer. We are knights, after all.”
“And your loyalty is appreciated. But for now, I need you here to shore up Cilgarren for a de Rosa attack. If I am successful in retrieving Derica, it is quite possible they will follow us here in their zeal to kill me and take back their daughter.”
It was an honorable duty requested of them, and a necessary one. Emyl was perhaps more disappointed than Offa was; there was a time when he lived for a good fight. But he forced down his disappointment.
“We shall be ready, Garren. Godspeed to you.”
Garren laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder as he walked away, glad they understood, now better able to refocus on what he must do.
By the time he reached his charger, he was quivering with the anticipation of seeing Derica again.
It seemed like a dream he’d held so closely to his heart that she was nearly nebulous, like a ghost. He could remember the smell of her, the taste of her, but the feel of her soft flesh in his hands was slipping from his memory.
It had been too long. The more he struggled to keep the memory, the further it moved away from him. His whole being cried out for her.
It had been less than an hour since Fergus’ arrival at Cilgarren. In the dark of night, Garren and Fergus were back on the road, riding southwest to Pembroke.