“Tell them you were not trying to have your way with me or they’ll nip at your heels like dogs for the rest of your life,” she told him.
Garren distracted Alger with a thrust while managing to get his foot in behind the man. Alger tripped and fell heavily, and his sword went into the mud.
“Gladly,” he said, hardly winded. “I was not trying to have my way with your niece. I was simply talking to her.”
Alger was furious and humiliated. “You are a liar. We saw you touch her.”
“Her hand,” Garren lowered his sword. “You saw me touch her hand. Harmless, I assure you. And if I wanted to ravage her, do you think I would do it out here in the bailey for everyone to see? I would have taken her somewhere where no one could find us.”
Alger struggled up from the mud, glowering. It was enough of a distraction to allow Lon to race down the steps and leap onto Garren’s back. Derica shrieked, unwisely entering the melee bytrying to pull Lon off of Garren. Garren had no idea she was behind him until he brought his sword up in an attempt to dislodge Lon and ended up striking Derica instead.
She cried out, the upper portion of her right arm sliced by the weapon. The men forgot their battle, their eyes wide at the sight of her blood.
Garren was the first one to Derica’s side. “Let me have a look,” he took her arm gently. “Come on… that’s a good girl. Let me see what I have done to you.”
There were tears in her eyes, making their way down her cheeks as he peeled the tatters of her sleeve away. The wound hurt tremendously and she wasn’t very good at hiding it. “I am sorry, Garren.”
Garren’s expression was warm and reassuring as he examined the injury. “Sorry for what?” he asked gently. “I am the one who struck you, therefore, I am the one who is sorrier than words can express.”
“But I got in the way….”
“You were attempting to help me. That is noble and courageous, and I am indebted to you.”
Lon had bolted off, screaming that Derica had been mortally injured. Alger remained, trying to gain a look at the injury.
“It is a decent cut,” he said. “Better to take her inside to clean it.”
Garren agreed; it was a long nick and somewhat deep. It was going to need a few stitches. He swept Derica into his arms and carried her into the tower. By this time, the place was in a panic and there were several anxious faces to greet them. Garren ignored the worry, more concerned with tending Derica than answering foolish questions. He snapped orders to the servants and sent them running for healing supplies, ignoring Derica’s family as they tried to stop him and inspect her injury for themselves.
“What happened?” Bertram demanded. “How was she struck by your sword, le Mon? Give me answers, I say!”
Garren growled at him. “She was trying to save me from your foolish brothers. If you have anyone to admonish, better spend your breath on them. Were it not for their stupidity, none of us would be in the position we now find ourselves in.”
Bertram cast Lon a long look. Alger refused to look at him at all, appearing more concerned with his niece. Garren shoved past Bertram and the others, mounting the steps to the upper floor; he would have been angry about the blockade were he not more concerned about Derica’s mental state at this moment. She was pale and weepy, trying to be brave. He doubted she could have handled a confrontation of any kind.
Once in her chamber, he laid her upon the bed. The menfolk were crowding in behind them and once she was out of his arms, he was more forceful about chasing them back. Aglette squeezed in through the door, bearing water and witch-hazel.
“I will see to my daughter, le Mon,” Bertram insisted. “You will not stop me.”
Garren was not to be trifled with. “I have no time to waste with you, so I will make this clear. Derica does not need a gaggle of men hanging over her right now and I can guarantee that I have treated more battle wounds than you have seen in your lifetime. Leave her to me and trust that she will be properly cared for.”
Bertram glared at him. “She is my daughter. You have no right to touch her, in any fashion, more than I.”
“She is my wife, in the eyes of law if not yet in the eyes of God. But that, too, shall be reckoned two days hence.” He planted a big hand squarely on Bertram’s chest and pushed the man back, through the chamber door. “Be gone. I shall send word when she is well enough for visitors.”
He slammed the door and bolted it before Bertram could respond. Ignoring the raving on the opposite side of the door, he returned his focus to Derica.
She was sitting up in her bed, pale, but the tears had subsided. Garren smiled gently as he approached, all but shoving Aglette aside and taking the stool from her. He peeled away the remaining material as Derica sucked in her breath, pained by his touch.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I know it hurts.”
She shook her head, biting her lip and looking away from the blood that stained her gown. “Not much, it doesn’t.”
He knew she was lying but he would not contradict her. He inspected the wound more closely, seeing bits of material in it. He had to clean it out quickly and sew it up.
“Derica,” he said softly. “I need to clean the wound and put a few stitches in it. Be brave just a while longer and we’ll be done with this foolishness. Are you with me?”
Derica had tended wounds before like this, on her brothers and uncles. She knew they healing sometimes hurt worse than the injury, but she nodded to his question.