“Garren,” Fergus took a step after him. “I wish you wouldn’t. It is a trap.”
“Be that as it may, my father would not be in trouble were it not for me.”
Fergus watched him until he was nearly out of the gatehouse. “Garren, there’s something else. Another message from the de Rosa brother that saved my hide. He said that if I speak it, you will know the truth.”
“What?”
“I am sorry, my friend. So sorry.”
Garren came to a halt. “For what? Fergus, I don’t have time for this.”
It was odd how the expression on Fergus’ face had changed. Garren had never seen such a look, something between wisdom and sorrow. It was an expression that cut through Garren like a knife.
“For this,” he whispered. “La lealtà alla morte. Onorare soprattutto.”
The sledgehammer hit. Garren was confused and suspicious. Had Fergus been an agent for William, Garren would have known long ago. Or perhaps he wouldn’t; there were those in service that even Garren didn’t know about. Something wasn’t right and his guts churned with dread. It occurred to him that the probing Fergus had been doing was for a definitive reason, an overshadowing motive that Garren was slowly coming to understand. Something told him not to respond.
“What does that mean?”
“Your phrase, my friend.”
“The last I recall, I don’t speak Italian.”
“You are obligated to respond.”
“Fergus, what are you talking about?”
Fergus gazed at him without saying a word. Then, he smiled weakly. “Nothing,” he said. “Forget about it. In fact, it is best you do not respond.”
“Why not?”
“Because… well, because ’tis best, that’s all. I do not want to know that you know what I know.”
Garren could have done of two things at that moment; he could have continued his ignorant charade, or he could have let his guard down. He had known Fergus far too well and long to let it go.
“What in the hell are you talking about, Fergus?” he rumbled.
Fergus shrugged weakly. “Nothing, my friend. Nothing at all. ’Tis simply… stay away from Chepstow, and stay away from Chateroy. Stay here, with your wife. ’Tis the best place for you.”
Garren felt as if he were walking the edge of a cliff, unwilling to look down, but being inexplicably drawn towards the danger. “I cannot stay here,” he said, wanting off the subject, unbalanced by the entire conversation. “My only concern, beyond my father, is that Derica is protected in my absence.”
Fergus nodded. “I will protect her with my life. You know that.”
“I know that,” Garren said. “But it shan’t be for long. I shall return as soon as I can.”
“Christ, I hope not,” Fergus muttered.
“What’s that you say?”
“Nothing,” Fergus said quickly. “And if you do not return, Garren? What then?”
Garren forgot about the past few moments of conversation, Fergus’ oddly murmured words. He looked at Fergus as his oldest, closest friend. “Then I will trust you to take care of her, for all time. Will you do this for me?”
“Without question.”
Garren left without another word.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN