Emyl sneered. “Dim wit! Of course it is me. Can you not see that through those bloodshot eyes?”
“I cannot see anything at the moment,” Offa shook his head again. “The lady was true in her aim.”
“Emyl,” Garren cut into the conversation. “Who are these people?”
Emyl looked ill, as if a horrible situation had suddenly been made clear to him. “Offa van Vert was a knight, Garren. He served Cadell ap Gryffud. We grew up together, in this region. I simply haven’t seen him in years.” He glared at the muddy knight. “I thought you’d died, you old goat. What are you doing here?”
Offa struggled to one knee. “The Welsh rebellion hasn’t much room for an aged knight. My youth is gone and so is my money. I knew of this place, too. My nephews and I have lived here for three years.”
Emyl looked at Garren; he didn’t know what more he could say. The entire circumstance was sickening. Garren stood there a long while, watching David grieve over his brother. Finally, he sheathed his sword.
“Your brother did not have to die,” he said quietly. “You should have determined my motives before attacking us.”
David wiped his eyes. “My delay might have given you the upper hand had you been intent on killing us.”
“Are you a knight?”
“No.”
By now, Offa was on his feet and walking unsteadily towards his nephews. “My sister married a common man. There was no opportunity for the boys to foster in a proper house. I have schooled them the best I can.”
Garren took a few steps, retrieved David’s old sword, and extended it to the man.
“You have done an admirable job,” he said. “I am impressed with David’s skill and strength.”
Offa knelt beside his other nephew, putting a tender hand on the lad’s head. “Guy will never know his potential,” he whispered ironically. “He could have been great.”
Garren glanced at his wife, seeing the sorrowful expression on her face. He was feeling guilty when he knew he should not. “An unfortunate happening.” He came as close to an apology as he could.
“Unfortunate indeed,” Offa stroked the dark hair. “It was my fault. I am a foolish old man. Foolish and stupid. The boys fought against me in their training and I most always allowed them to win, giving them a sense of confidence. It was Guy’s undoing.”
Emyl sighed heavily, making his way to the man he had once known. His gaze moved between the dead lad and the uncle.
“You did as you felt best, even as you moved to defend your home,” he tried to comfort him. “You did not know our intentions were peaceful. But Garren is correct; you could have determined them first. ’Twould be best to teach David that lesson today. A costly lesson though it might be.”
Offa nodded his head silently. Emyl stood over him, knowing there was nothing more he could say. Observing the scene, Derica slipped her wet hand into her husband’s.
“We should help him bury his nephew,” she said softly.
Garren gazed down at her, her sweet face pinched pink with cold and wet. She did not understand the warring ways, the event that one did not usually bury his enemy, but he knew this was a different case. In spite of himself, he was beginning to feel very guilty about the whole thing. The Garren of old never knew the meaning of the word.
“As you wish, my lady,” he said softly.
He helped Offa and David dig the grave. By the time the sun settled, the rain had let up somewhat. Still, it was the end of a very long day, and a very long trip. As he fell asleep beside his wife later that night in the shadows of the old great hall, he felt a sense of peace for the first time in days. But he knew that would be short-lived.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Ithought Ishould inform you. I doubted He is had the opportunity yet.”
William Marshal sat at his great desk, listening to the words. Many times over the years he had heard news, good or bad, from this exact spot. Tonight, the news was not encouraging. He felt disappointment deep in his gut.
The old man sighed, scratching the chin with a day’s growth of white stubble. He tried to remain calm. He should have seen this coming, and in a sense he had. He had tried to discourage a man who had never known the joys of love from exploring the temptation of it. He thought he’d been firm enough, candid enough. But apparently his words had been in vain. Of all the men in the world to succumb to insubordination, he never thought he would live to see the day it would be Garren le Mon.
“So he married her.” It was more of a statement.
“Aye, my lord.”
“Against Bertram’s wishes?”