“Get to the point.”
“What do you know of your daughter’s intended, my lord?”
Bertram’s temper flared again. “Alberic, if you do not tell me your meaning, I will throw you from this room. You waste my time.”
The spy cocked a long, dirty eyebrow. “I think not, my lord,” he said coolly. “I think you betray your prince.”
Bertram moved for him, but Alger stopped him. In spite of the insult, he suspected there was true motivation behind it. “Explain yourself before I let my brother gut you.”
“Gut me and you will not know who your daughter’s intended truly is.”
“Le mon?” Bertram glanced at his brother, a thousand unspoken words of doubt and fear in his expression. “Who is he?”
Alberic put his filthy hood back on and turned for the door. His plan was to go directly to the prince with what he had just seen. But he would do de Rosa the favor of letting him know that his fate would soon be sealed, and his loyalties questioned.
“That man,” he said slowly, “works for William Marshal.”
*
“My lady?” Camethe whisper. “My lady, are you awake?”
Derica heard the murmuring, a soft voice in her ear. She sighed deeply as she emerged from her warm slumber, opening her bleary eyes to see Aglette’s pale face. Blinking, she struggled to orient herself in the bright room.
“Aglette?” she yawned. “What is it? What time is it?”
“’Tis nearly noon, my lady,” Aglette said. “Something awful has happened!”
“What’s so awful?” She gasped as she moved her arm the wrong way; it was stiff and sore but, thankfully, had no signs of poison yet. She looked around the room. “Where is Sir Garren?”
Aglette was obviously distraught. The more lucid Derica became, the more she realized her servant had been crying.
“He is in the vault,” Aglette whispered.
“What for?”
Aglette burst into sobs, struggling to contain them. “I have heard they are going to kill him!”
Derica was instantly awake. “What on earth for?”
The maid shook her head. “I do not know, my lady. I only heard from the soldiers that your father and brothers captured him early this morning and placed him there.”
Derica was seized by confusion and anger. Sitting up, she bolted from the bed as fast as she could, looking for some manner of clothing to wear. The room was swaying and moving was difficult, but she would not let it stop her. She had to find out what had happened to Garren.
“Please, my lady,” Aglette begged. “You are unwell. Perhaps you should….”
Derica waved her off harshly. “I swear that my family is no better than a pack of mad dogs. The moment Garren is alone, they descend upon him like vicious beasts.”
She yanked off the gown she wore with the tattered, bloodied sleeve and struggled to step into a garment of soft gray lamb’s wool. Aglette rushed to help her, both of them struggling to pull the sleeve over her bandaged arm. Fortunately, the sleeve was loose enough that it fit, but barely. The tight material caused Derica some pain, but she fought it. She had no time for her discomfort.
Aglette tried to run a comb through her long, tangled curls, but Derica would have no part of it. Fumbling a pair of slippers onto her feet, she moved from her chamber as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. Aglette stumbled behind her, fastening the dress so that it would stay on her mistress. By the time they entered the ward, Derica was flushed and weak, but herdetermination speared her on. The day was bright and cool, and she received some curious looks from soldiers and peasants alike as she sprinted across the bailey in a disheveled mess.
The vault of Framlingham was located in the bowels of the gatehouse tower, an enormous place that smelled like rot. A soldier guarding the entrance tried to keep her away, but she ignored him and descended the narrow stone stairs.
The steps came to a leveled room, cold with stone and mold. Torches lit the walls and there were several people standing about, making the small chamber crowded. Two iron-grated cells were at the far end of the room and a hole in the floor held a pit dungeon. Derica’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, recognizing her father and uncles.
Bertram spoke first. “Derica! What…?”
She cut her father short. “Where is he?”