The Whispering Night (42 page)

***

Garren heard the
scream.  It startled the hell out of him. His body jerked as if he had been
struck and his shocked gaze moved to the wall. Though there was twenty feet of
rock and dozens of men in his field of vision, all he could see was a vision in
violet.  

After that, he
remembered very little except an overwhelming need to get to her.  He grabbed
the rope, yanking Fergus by the neck to follow him.

“Come on,” he roared.
“Grab the rope!”

But Fergus still begged
off. “The weight will be too much,” he insisted, shoving Garren at the rope and
waving to the men high on the wall. “If I latch on, chances are neither of us
will survive.  You must go. Your wife is waiting.”

Garren could see de
Rosa’s men rushing at them from the south.  They weren’t firing off as many
arrows as they had initially but they were closer now, swords flashing in the
early morning light. 

He knew Fergus was
correct; God help him, he knew it.  He heard his wife scream again and a grunt
of frustration escaped his lips, turning to her panicked face before looking to
Fergus again.

“Fergus,” he rasped,
feeling the rope lift even as he held on to it. “I simply cannot leave you to
your death.”

Fergus’ blue eyes
glittered. “And so you are not,” he assured him, motioning to the men high atop
the wall to hurry up the rope. “I shall be here when you reach the top of the
wall. There will be opportunity still.”

Garren knew it wasn’t
the truth and his anguish tore at him.   His gaze met with Fergus’ bright blue,
a million words of thanks and friendship passing between them.  This was where
they parted and they both knew it.  The time for heroics was over.

“Get back in the water,
then,” he hissed. “Swim as fast as you can and get out of here.”

The rope was pulling
Garren up, out of arm’s reach.  Fergus gazed up at him, eyeing the de Rosa men
that were far closer now. 

“I believe that would be
wise,” Fergus agreed, darting back down the slope towards the river. 

Garren was several feet
above even the tallest man’s arm reach.  The soldiers on the wall were heaving
him upward, upward still as the de Rosa men swarmed below him.  As he watched,
several took off after Fergus, who had reached the water.   Just as Fergus dove
into the cold, muddy river, two men dove in after him.  As Fergus came up for
air, one man surged atop him and plunged his head under the water.

Upon the wall walk,
Derica screamed again as she watched the man attempt to drown Fergus.  The
second de Rosa soldier reached him and soon, Fergus was being pushed down by
two men.  Derica was positive she was watching the man drown when suddenly, an
arrow sailed by her ear and plowed into one of the men wrestling with Fergus. 

Startled, she looked to
see Keller with a double-shot crossbow in his hand.  His dark eyes were focused
on the second man fighting with Fergus and, as Derica watched, he dropped the
second man with another well-aimed arrow.

Fergus swam away with
only a few men several feet behind him, too far away to do any damage. They
eventually turned back as Fergus kept swimming for the safety of the opposite
shore.  He eventually climbed out and ran off, free as a bird.

Mouth hanging open,
Derica turned to Keller to thank him for assisting Fergus but the man was
already gone.   To her right, the soldiers hauling her husband up the wall had
gotten him to within a few feet of the summit and her focus returned to
Garren. 

She forgot about Keller
and his dead-eye aim, instead rushing to the group of men now pulling Garren up
over the side of the wall walk.  She tried to push her way through the group
but there were too many men, so she hung back, heart in her throat, struggling
for a glimpse of his copper-blond hair.  All she could see was a sea of
soldiers.  But suddenly, the armor parted and Garren appeared, unwrapping the
rope from his arm. The moment their eyes met, the rope fell to the ground.

Derica hadn’t seen him
move; one moment she was standing looking at him and in the next, she was aloft
in his arms. When she realized this, the tears came and she wrapped her arms
around his neck tightly enough to strangle him. 

“You are not dead,” she
gasped over and over. “You are not dead!”

Garren held her so
tightly that he swore he heard bones cracking.  He was only aware of her soft
body in his arms, her hot breath in his ear.   He couldn’t seem to hold her
tightly enough,  closely enough, feeling her hair tickle his face.  It was like
heaven. Before he realized it, he was kissing her cheeks, her nose, her eyes
now wet with tears.  All the while, Derica gasped, something between a laugh
and a sob.

“Nay,” he breathed in
between heated kisses.  “I am not dead. And neither are you.”

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 Marshall 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 Marshall 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 Marshall 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 Marshall 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 Marshall would find you
before I would, sending you missives of my death.”

Derica stared at him,
shocked by the story. “So the Marshall 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 Marshall 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 Marshall 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 Marshall to tell him why he had faked his death.  He
was fairly certain the Marshall 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.