Chapter Eighteen #3
Derica laughed joyously, meeting his feverish kisses with delight. Her hands were on his stubbled face as he literally kissed every pore on her face. He didn’t seem to want to do anything other than kiss her. But as the initial shock of delirium began to fade, Derica wanted answers.
“What happened?” she asked in between furious kisses. “Why did the Marshal send me a missive telling me of your death? Fergus said that he was mistaken. How could he make a mistake like that?”
Garren sighed, his kisses slowing considerably. It occurred to him that they were on the wall walk, not the best place to be in the midst of a battle. He stopped kissing her long enough to look around, noticing the nearby turret and taking Derica along with him as he made haste for it.
His arms were around her as they entered the cool shelter of the tower.
His hands moved to her face, touching her reverently as if to confirm that she was indeed real.
He still couldn’t believe it. But the question hung in the air between them, the massive implications becoming reality. He didn’t even know where to start.
“What else did Fergus tell you?” he asked softly.
Derica shook her head, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Not much more,” she told him. “He simply said that the Marshal was mistaken about your death. But how can this be?”
Garren thought on that question, taking her hands between his own and kissing them reverently.
“I told you that nothing could keep me from you,” he murmured.
“Not the Marshal nor your father nor even death. I meant it. Fergus came to me when I was on the battlefield at Lincoln to tell me that you had disappeared from Cilgarren. At that moment, there was nothing more important on earth than finding you and I was determined to do so. Dead or alive, I would find you. But I knew the Marshal would not let me go so easily so I faked my own death so that I would be free to return to Wales to search for you. I had no idea that the Marshal would find you before I would, sending you missives of my death.”
Derica stared at him, shocked by the story. “So the Marshal still believes you are dead?”
He nodded slowly. “If he finds out that I faked my death, then my death might not be such a mistake after all. He will not be pleased.”
Derica clutched at him. “What are you going to do?”
He kissed her fingers again, still gripped between his two enormous palms. “Truthfully, I had not thought on it. My only focus has been to reclaim you. Now that I have you, I suppose I must make plans for our future.”
“What future?”
His blue eyes glimmered. “A glorious one now that you and I are together again. What does it matter with kings and princes? The only thing that matters is you. Trust that I will do what is necessary to build a fine legacy for our son.” His gaze drifted over her slender body.
“I must say, you do not appear to be with child.”
Derica’s soft expression faded somewhat, realizing that Fergus, or someone, must have told him that she had been pregnant. She sighed softly, putting a tender hand to his cheek. “I am not,” she murmured. “Not any longer.”
His brow flickered with confusion. “But Fergus said….”
She cut him off gently. “It was not meant to be. The fall into the river saw to that.” She saw his expression wash with sorrow and she turned the tables on him, kissing his big hands instead. “Do you know how I ended up at Pembroke?”
He nodded, distressed, and she pressed him. “Did Fergus tell you?”
“He did.”
“Then you know that I slipped from the hill at Cilgarren and into the river. I was found by a woman and her two children. They nursed me back to health.” She smiled timidly at him. “There will be more children, my love. Do not grieve for the one lost. It simply was not meant to be, not this time.”
He nodded reluctantly, pulling her back into his embrace once again.
For several moments, he fell silent, rocking her gently against him and relishing the feel of her in his arms once more.
He felt extremely blessed for her life yet sorrowful for the one she lost. Still, they were together and that was the only thing of import now.
He murmured prayers of thanks as he stood there and held her.
Outside of the tower, the sounds of battle were growing. Men were shouting and arrows were slinging over the walls. Garren’s gaze moved to the portion of the wall walk he could see, watching the battle grow more intense.
Derica noted where his focus lay and she, too, gazed out of the tower, watching the activity upon it. Then she looked up at her husband, his handsome profile as he watched the action. She could tell that he was anxious, pensive, torn. Now that they had found each other, bigger issues loomed.
“What will we do now?” she asked softly. “My father is here to retrieve me. Keller is doing all he can to protect us.”
Garren looked at her. “De Poyer is a good man,” he said. “I have known him for years. He would have made a good husband for you.”
She could see the mirth in his eyes and she shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “Perhaps. But I would rather have you.”
His smile broke through and he kissed her tenderly.
“How fortunate for me,” he murmured against her lips.
“In answer to your question, however, I do not know what we are going to do right now. But I can do one of two things; I can return to the Marshal and beg his forgiveness, or we can leave England entirely and start a new life somewhere else.”
She gazed at him seriously. “You said the Marshal would kill you if he found out you faked your death.”
“It is entirely possible. But an honorable man would hone up to his actions. They were, after all, in pursuit of a noble cause and I have always considered myself a man of honor.”
She fell silent, pondering the greater implications. “I would be honest when I say that I do not want to risk it,” she whispered. “I would rather have you alive, Garren. Is your honor worth more than your life with me?”
He took a long, pensive breath. “Nay,” he murmured. “I do believe that I have demonstrated that. I have destroyed everything I have ever worked for but it matters not. I am nothing without you.”
“Then we will flee England?”
He looked at her, seeing the light of hope in her eyes.
He knew, as he lived and breathed, that he could not return to the Marshal to tell him why he had faked his death.
He was fairly certain the Marshal would never trust him again and he could no longer continue as an agent for the king.
All of that was destroyed the moment they dressed that old, rotted corpse in his battle armor at Lincoln.
Garren realized, as he gazed into Derica’s eyes, that a whole new life was before him, something richer and more wonderful than he could ever imagine. He was very eager to know it.
“Aye,” he whispered. “We will leave and never look back.”
Derica threw her arms around his neck, holding him close against her and praying they were making the correct choice.
All she knew was that he was alive and they were together, forever, whatever may come.
He had given up everything he had ever worked for because of her.
She would spend the rest of her life making sure he did not regret it.
As night fell on another brutal and bloody day, the de Rosa army camped at a safe distance around the walls of Pembroke with the exception of the area of the swampy marsh that surrounded the water gate on the northeast side of the castle.
There was no way to cover that area without getting too close to the castle and too close to the archer’s range.
Bertram saw no reason to cover the old, mossy iron grate that sat half-buried in the water, instead choosing to focus his attention on the south and west sides. The decision would cost him.
By the cover of darkness as the sliver moon barely illuminated the velvet expanse of sky, Garren, Derica, Aneirin and Sian escaped in the chest-deep water that filled the swamp.
Garren carried both children in his arms and his wife was tethered to him with a rope that Keller had tied about the two of them.
Fortunately, Aneirin and Sian were good swimmers and when Garren told them to hold their breath, they did.
Into the river they went, through the dark and murky water to safety on the other side.
Keller watched the four heads cross the ghostly gray river in the dead of night, more sorrow in his heart than he could comprehend. But seeing the joy in Derica’s face, and seeing the love in Garren’s, told him that he was doing the right thing. Heartbreaking or not, it was the correct thing to do.
Bertram de Rosa laid siege to Pembroke for four more days before finally giving up and going home.
He knew he would never see his daughter again.