“It means that Fergus de Edwin works for me. He has always worked for me. He befriended you on my orders and has been assigned to watch you since he was quite young. He has been my eyes on you, though I never truly believed you needed watching until recent events. It means that, even now, Fergus has orders. I assume he is at Cilgarren, is he not?”
Garren knew that all of the color had drained from his face. “How do you know this?”
“How do you suppose? Fergus suggested the place, and I agreed.” The Marshal’s gaze grew hard. “As you disobeyed me, I was one step ahead of you. Always one step ahead, Garren.”
Something snapped inside Garren and he pushed forward, coming to within an inch of William’s face. The expression on his face was sheer murder.
“If she is touched, I will kill you myself.”
The Marshal wasn’t the least bit intimidated. “She will be fine providing you do as you are told. And what you are told is to ride north at the head of my army. Any premature return to Cilgarren, any glimpse of you within the next six months in return for your wife, and Fergus has orders to kill her. She’ll be dead before you can stop him. This is something you have forced me to do, Garren. As you love your wife, I love England more. I would do anything to protect and serve her, including blackmailing you.”
Garren was struggling not to show his emotion, so much so that his lips were white. Suddenly, everything he had ever believed about his life was a masquerade. People he had trusted and loved did not trust him. He had been betrayed.
His mind began to swirl and he labored to stop the building madness. Had he stood there any longer gazing into William’s eyes, he would have strangled him. With the greatest effort, he pulled himself away and paced the floor, slowly, struggling with every fiber of his being to clear his thoughts. He had to regain control if he was going to get himself and Derica out of this alive.
The conversation he had with Fergus in the gatehouse filled his brain. It was the most peculiar conversation they had ever had. Unspoken words and innuendos had brought Garren to the conclusion that Fergus may have actually worked for the Prince. But that was not the case. He wondered why the deception, the evasiveness. Fergus was trying to throw him off track, yet he had been trying to protect him also. Garren began to realizethat Fergus was trying to steer him away from Chepstow. Fergus knew what was waiting for him. He had been trying to convince him to stay at Cilgarren and stay far away from Chepstow.
Fergus had known. Garren felt like a fool for not understanding what his friend had been trying to tell him.
“Fergus promised me that he would protect her,” he heard himself mutter. “I cannot believe that he would betray his word.”
William could feel himself weakening. He loved Garren like a son and it was a difficult situation. He was a man, too, and could understand the pangs that came with love. But he understood England more, and knew what was necessary to preserve her future. Garren was, and always had been, an integral part of that plan.
“He will protect her as long as you fulfill your duty,” William said quietly. “She could be in no better hands.”
Garren didn’t respond. He was shutting William out, killing all of the feelings of admiration and affection he had ever experienced for the old man. William sensed this.
“Garren,” he got as close to him as he dared, afraid that in his turmoil the knight might actually strike out. “I will promise you this; lead our armies to victory and I will release you from Richard’s service. I will provide you with an army of your own, lands and title, so that you and your wife may live your years in comfort and security. Do as I ask now and your future is secure. Betray me and you shall lose everything.”
Garren looked at him, his eyes full of venom and resignation. He knew he had no choice and there was nothing left to say but the obvious.
“By your command, my lord.”
It had been a struggle to speak the words. Garren’s pride was wounded, his heart damaged, but he knew what he must do. The Marshal was sad and pleased at the same time that Garren’s call of duty meant his liberation and, quite possibly, his death.
“I am sorry it has to be this way, Garren.”
“The hell you are, my lord.”
William returned to his solar without another word, greeted by a host of expectant faces as he resumed covering the plans of battle. Garren came in behind him with no hint of what had transpired in that tiny room. For all the others knew, there had been a detailed war conference between the Marshal and his greatest knight. Garren and William would not let anyone think otherwise.
The stage was set.
*
Fall was uponthe land. The lush hills of Wales were turning shades of golds, some reds and browns, and the heavy fog that was normally so prevalent had been in reprieve a few weeks. It was a lovely time of year.
Derica sat at the top of the hill overlooking the River Teifi. The swollen waters rushed below her, echoing off the rock. She had a basket beside her, filled with wild turnips and blackberries she had harvested from the uncultivated vines that ran along the side of the castle. It wasn’t food that was settling particularly well in her stomach these days, but nothing seemed to be. The child in her growing belly was particular about what he ate, making his mother miserable at times.
The child also made her cry or rage in an instant. Sometimes she could do both at the same time. Fergus had borne the brunt of her hysteria most of the time, in the dismal evenings when she would miss Garren horribly and she would demand Fergus go search for him. Fergus would try to soothe her, as did Emyl and Offa and David, but she would rage at all of them and cry pitifully. Then there would be periods of sunshine when she was the sweetest angel in the land. But the angel was giving wayto the crazed woman more often than not, especially the more time passed and the more Garren did not return. Things were growing darker.
This morning seemed particularly bleak. Derica had done little but sit on the hill for most of it. She felt as if she had a great hole inside of her, impossible to fill except for the sight of Garren walking through the gatehouse. But nearly three months had passed since she last saw him on that rainy morning and the more time passed, the more desperation she felt. It was difficult to be continually optimistic, and to have faith in his promise. On this sweet morning, her confidence was in danger of disappearing completely. She had sat on the hill and cried.
She heard footsteps behind her, jolting her from her bleak thoughts. Quickly wiping her cheeks, she wasn’t surprised to see David’s dark eyes gazing shyly down at her.
“I thought I would take the basket from you,” he said. “It looks like a fine harvest.”
Derica smiled weakly, handing him the goods. “My thanks.”