“I know. But I will suggest it again.”
Garren left Chepstow in the dark of night, wondering if he shouldn’t keep riding until he reached the sea and still, keep going. He suspected that his life was going to change dramatically. He wasn’t used to feeling uncertain about any task he was preparing to undertake, but this particular venture had him reeling. Give him battle, gore, blood, and men set to killhim, and he was in his element. But suggest a marriage in the line of duty, and he felt like a novice.
Above him, a bird of prey hovered against the night sky, calling to its mate. Garren glanced up, noticing the bird was directly over him as if preparing to swoop on his head and peck his eyes out. It couldn’t be a good sign. Bad omens abounded in the whispering night, and for the first time in his life, Garren le Mon thought he had a true taste of fear.
CHAPTER TWO
Spring was infull bloom. It was a clear day, if not cold, with great puffy clouds scattered across the sky. The land below was growing green with new sprigs. Norfolk was lovely country in the spring with its gentle fields and relatively flat lands, conducive to the farmers that plowed into the thawed earth. Everywhere there were signs of life, peasants going about their chores, and animals in the field. It was a lovely place to live.
The hulk of Framlingham Castle dominated the landscape, its cold stone facade a strong contrast to the brilliant life surrounding it. It was the only bastion for several miles and the gates remained open for the peasants who conducted business within the walls. And massive walls they were; fourteen enormous towers linked the curtain wall nearly thirty feet in height, creating a huge circle around an equally large inner ward.
Each tower was designed to function autonomously should the castle fall under siege. Two of the towers were particularly large, one on the middle section of the western wall, and one on the east. They were longer, more spacious, and the tower on the western wall harbored a great hall. There were also several outbuildings and stables to house the four hundred men-at-arms needed to maintain the safety and structure of the castle.
Framlingham was the property of the Roger Bigod, second Earl of Norfolk, but the earl chose to live at Norwich Castle to the north rather than in the wilds of Framlingham. He entrusted his castle to Bertram de Rosa, a knight who had served his father, Hugh, for many years. Bertram and his sons were essentiallypart of the earl’s family and the castle belonged more to them that to the earl himself. They took great pride in the place and ran it with power and efficiency.
On the third floor of the larger western tower, a lone young woman sat in her chamber running a brush through long, honey-colored hair. She had been listening to sobs and wails all morning. Had she not known better, she would have suspected the person emitting them to be in some manner of horrible pain or grief. But she knew too well of the dramatics behind them. As the day wore on, it grew annoying and her patience waned.
The young woman sighed, making a face that no one would ever see, expressing her irritation at the screeching. The brush strokes grew more furious as she used her hand to form curls from the strands that cascaded down her back. She scrunched up her pert nose when a particularly loud cry pierced the air, rolling her eyes in disbelief.
In the corner, a serving maiden was sewing on a gown of pale yellow and silver. When another chorus of cries filled the air, she slapped the sewing in her lap.
“I cannot take this any longer,” she groaned. Into the air, she thrust the needle. “I would sew his mouth shut, my lady!”
The young woman glanced over her shoulder, an expression somewhere between tolerance and agreement.
“Weddings always affect him so,” she sighed heavily. “Especially mine.”
The serving maiden’s countenance softened. “Forgive, my lady. I did not mean to….”
The woman shook her head. “You did not upset nor offend me, Aglette. Do not worry. I have had months to come to terms with my future and surely time enough to come to terms with whatever angst I may have felt.”
“Three months, to be exact, my lady.”
The young woman paused in her toilette, gazing at her reflection in the polished pewter mirror before her. A sweet oval face looked back at her, bright green eyes with long dusky lashes. She had been called beautiful since the day she was born, yet the term had no meaning to her. It hadn’t for years. Her uncles and brothers and father were biased and she knew it. But there were times when other men had come, a few suitors, and had called her beautiful as well. Still, she wasn’t sure if she believed them, though the reflection said otherwise.
She wondered if she would hear the same praise from her new husband. Certainly she was curious about him as well, as she had never even seen him. His father, an old friend of her father’s, had initiated the betrothal proposal and she had never once seen hide nor hair of her Intended. All she knew was that he was a knight of independent wealth, newly returned from the Crusades. And they would be wed in one week.
A well-arched brow lifted. “The Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon. Has a rather musical sound to it, does it not?”
“It does, my lady.”
“The House of le Mon is an old, distinguished family.”
“It ’tis, my lady.”
“I shall be a baroness someday.”
“Indeed, my lady. Most honorable.”
Derica thought she sounded very much like a woman trying to convince herself that everything would be all right. With Aglette echoing everything she said, she realized they were both trying to comfort her. She set the brush down and stood up. Her long day-robe trailed along the cold floor as she went to her maiden to see how her wedding dress was coming along.
“What if he is hideous?”
Aglette looked up from her work. “Who, my lady?”
“My husband… what if he is hideous?”
Aglette could only shrug. “I suppose we shall find out soon enough, my lady.”