Chapter Nineteen #3
Garren and Derica stared at him with big eyes before turning to each other, a thousand unspoken words between them. Garren finally shook his head and turned to Fergus, confused and bordering on irritation.
“So you come to France to tell me of my father’s death, the Marshal’s death, and of vast wealth awaiting my wife and I should we return to England?
” he reiterated. “Fergus, you could have done yourself a favor, remained in England, and simply sent me a missive. All of this does not change the way I feel about my life; I have been deliriously happy for the past twenty three years and have no intention of returning to England.”
Before Fergus could reply, Derica put her hand on her husband’s arm.
“But your family home is now yours, Garren,” she said quietly. “Do you not want your sons to return to Chateroy to continue the le Mon legacy? Surely you do not want it to die out with you.”
Garren looked at her; Derica had only grown more beautiful with the years, her lovely face hardly lined and her green eyes just as bright. She was literally his heart and soul. He didn’t know what he would do without her.
“Are you not happy here?” he asked softly. “Must we uproot our family because of old ties and old memories?”
She smiled at him, wrapping her arms around him and Lily, was still pressed against her father.
“Of course I am,” she said. “But Chateroy is your legacy and has been in your family for two hundred years. You do not want to see it end with you. As for the rest, well… perhaps it will make a fine gift to our children, don’t you think?
We can divide up the Buckton lordship among them and they will have lands upon which to build their own legacies. ”
Garren didn’t look entirely sure but he respected his wife’s opinion. Still, there was much to talk about. In just a few short minutes, his life had changed dramatically and he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it.
Lost in thought, he failed to notice that the two other men who had accompanied Fergus had dismounted their horses.
Lily had somehow unhinged herself from her father and had wandered over to them, gazing up at them with her bottomless blue eyes.
The two men looked down at the little girl, inspecting her as she was inspecting them.
Lily was not usually so bold with strangers, which made her behavior odd. But she didn’t seem particularly wary of these strangers for some reason. She stared up at them curiously.
“Who are you?” she finally asked.
The men in armor were big, one bigger than the other. The larger of the pair stiffly knelt down in front of Lily, almost eye-level with her. Then he removed his helm.
Hoyt de Rosa’s tired old face gazed at Lily as if she was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth. The old eyes were soft with emotion.
“My name is Hoyt,” he said in his soft, deep voice. “Who are you?”
Hearing Hoyt’s voice brought a gasp from Derica, followed by instant tears when she saw him. But Lily ignored her mother, instead, focused on the very old man in front of her.
“I am Lily Elspeth de Rosa le Mon,” she said her name very quickly and fluidly. “Why are you here?”
“I am your mother’s uncle,” Hoyt replied. “You are very pretty, Lily. You look a good deal like your mother when she was young.”
Lily eyed him a moment, finally pointing to the other young lady who was standing slightly behind her mother.
“That is my sister, Roselyn,” she said. “She is awaiting her betrothed today but my brothers have said he is probably not coming because he is probably marrying someone else.”
“What?” Hoyt roared softly, rising to his feet as he gazed at the very beautiful Roselyn. “How is this possible? Your sister is too beautiful to be jilted. Who is this bridegroom that would shame my grand niece?”
Although he was big and scary, Lily didn’t sense bad from the man.
In fact, she rather liked him. She slipped her hand into his massive gauntlet and continued to study him curiously.
When he looked down at her, she smiled. Next to Hoyt, the last helmed man lifted his visor, revealing his face to the world.
“No man will shame my granddaughter so,” Bertram de Rosa said softly. “Lily, you will tell me his name so that I may champion your sister.”
Derica went from soft tears to great sobs as she rushed to her father, throwing herself into his arms. Bertram, very old and very tired, hugged his daughter tightly.
“Da,” she wept. “How… how…?”
She couldn’t finish and Bertram didn’t let her; he held her back at arm’s length, holding her sweet face in his hands and drinking in the sight of her.
Although his eyesight was failing him and he was nearly crippled, he still felt the need to come and see to his daughter after all of these years.
The past twenty three years had not caused him to forget her. He had missed her every day.
“Every night I prayed for your happiness and safety,” he murmured, watching tears spill down her cheeks. “Every day, I would wonder where you were and if you were happy. I see that God has answered my prayers; you are as happy as you are beautiful, and I am thankful.”
Derica kissed her father’s cheeks, struggling to still her tears. “But how did you know where to find me?” she looked between Hoyt and Fergus and her husband. “I do not understand how.”
Bertram smiled wearily, putting his arm around her shoulder and leaning heavily on her. Derica could see as well as feel how exhausted her father was and it concerned her, overshadowing her joy. Everything aside, he was an old man who had traveled a very long way.
“Hoyt told me,” Bertram said quietly. “He discovered your whereabouts through your husband’s friend, Fergus.”
Derica knew the greater implications of Hoyt’s, and Fergus’, loyalties but she said nothing, Perhaps her father didn’t know their connection; perhaps he did. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter any longer. Loyalties or politics could not trump family and friendship bonds.
“And so you came with Fergus and Hoyt to see me?” she asked softly.
Bertram nodded. “When I caught Hoyt sneaking out in the middle of the night nearly a month ago, I demanded to know where he was going. After much discussion, he finally confessed. I knew I had to come. I know there was much dissention the last we saw each other, Derica… I was hoping that with time you have forgiven a selfish old man.”
Derica shook her head emphatically. “Of course I have,” she assured him. “I am so happy you have come. You have, in fact, come at a most opportune time. As Lily told you, Roselyn is expecting her betrothed any moment. She will be more than pleased to have her grandfather attend her wedding.”
By this time, the boys had begun to gather around the emotional group near the portcullis and Derica took the time to introduce her and Garren’s sons.
It was apparent that the boys were of de Rosa stock and Bertram was deeply touched to be greeted by grandsons he never knew he had.
Roselyn even gave him a kiss on the cheek, causing the old man to get misty-eyed.
Derica watched it all with tears in her eyes, never imagining it was something she would ever witness. Family, and life, had come full circle.
But she could see the sheer exhaustion in her father as he spoke with his grandchildren and she was determined to get him inside to rest. She took his elbow gently, firmly.
“Come along, now,” she urged her father towards the gray-stoned resident hall. “There is all the time in the world to become acquainted later. Right now, I want you to rest and recover. It has been a long trip for all of you.”
Bertram resisted. “I am more interested in meeting my granddaughter’s betrothed,” he said, sounding very much like the Bertram de Rosa of old. “Who is this man? What of his family and loyalties?”
Derica looked at Garren, shaking her head ironically. “Do you remember the last time my father met a bridegroom?”
Garren lifted an eyebrow. “I do indeed.”
“The situation could get ugly.”
Garren merely shook his head and snorted, having a difficult time believing the irony of history repeating itself. Roselyn was at his side, grasping his big hand tightly.
“Tell me, Dada,” she begged. “When was it? What happened?”
Garren looked at his daughter, fearful to tell her. “Well,” he began slowly. “It was….”
“His name is Paul le Velle,” Davin suddenly piped up as they all walked towards the resident hall. “His father is the local sheriff and he comes from a family of all women.”
Bertram looked at his grandson, his eyebrows lifted. “All women?”
Davin nodded eagerly. “His mother is a shrew and his sisters are hags,” he made a face, completely riling his sister. “They live like a pack of animals on the other side of town.”
Roselyn let out a shriek and began chasing Davin around the bailey, swatting at him with her hands.
Lily was tugging on Hoyt, pulling him up the stairs towards the entry, as everyone else followed.
Bertram watched Roselyn make contact with Davin’s head, grinning when the young man began to howl.
When Austin and Weston took up the face-making complete with witch sound effects, all three boys ended up running from their furious sister.
Only Sian was left out of the fun; he was more serious, like his father, and watched the antics as the taunting boys and furious sister made their way into the keep. Derica noticed that her father was grinning from ear to ear.
“Why do you look like that?” she asked.
Bertram shook his head faintly. “ ’Tis as if I am watching you and your brothers thirty years ago,” he replied. “Brothers and sisters never change.”
Derica laughed softly. “Well, those boys had better change or Roselyn will have their hides.”
Bertram lifted his eyebrows. “They have de Rosa blood in them, daughter. They will never change.”
Derica laughed softly. Lily, still attached to Hoyt, reached out to take Bertram’s hand, escorting both elderly gentlemen into the resident hall, leaving Derica and Garren bringing up the rear. Garren smiled down at his wife, wrapping his arms around her affectionately.
“It looks as if Roselyn’s betrothed must endure what I had to go through,” he murmured, kissing her on the forehead. “Four brothers, a grandfather and a grand uncle to scrutinize him like an ibis among alligators. God help us all.”
Derica laughed softly at the old reference, gazing into his strong face, more handsome than she had ever remembered him.
“Thank God that the alligators did not eat the ibis those years ago,” she murmured. “I would have never have known such joy.”
Garren’s features softened. “Nor would I,” he leaned down, kissing her lips tenderly. “We have much to be thankful for.”
When Paul le Velle arrived less than an hour later, he found himself surrounded by a new generation of alligators.
But this time, the ibis wasn’t set upon.
He was scrutinized but not devoured, and Roselyn managed to have a wedding night without nails in the mattress or eggs in the pillow. Her father saw to that.
Garren le Mon never again saw the green fields of England or Chateroy Castle.
But, then again, he didn’t much care. His legacy did not include anything left to him by his ancestors.
A missive sent to his aged sister, Gabrielle, had bequeathed Chateroy Castle to her, which she in turn deeded to Yaxley Nene, and that was how Chateroy Castle became a Benedictine monastery for the next three hundred and forty two years, until fire burned it to the ground.
Garren had created his own legacy, safe in the bosom of Beaucaire Castle, eventually buried in the same crypt as his wife and, as the centuries passed, surrounded by his descendants.
And in Wales, Cilgarren Castle remained standing into the new millennium, still called by its rightful name, no longer bearing tales of Owain and Brendalyn, but of the mysterious Lord Garren and his wife who vanished into the river only to be saved by good faeries.
All of these things were left to the ages by Garren and Derica.
It was the best legacy either could have ever imagined.
* THE END *