The Whispering Night (16 page)

On the afternoon of the
third day they stopped at a stream that transected a small, lush valley. There
were trees about, offering shelter and shade from the sun that had decided to
appear. In truth, it was pleasant and they needed the rest. Derica immediately
took her slippers off and waded out into the stream, hooting at the freezing
water. Fergus watered the horse, grinning at her, trying to keep his eyes
averted from tantalizing flashes of ankle.

“Fergus,” Derica called
to him as she hopped onto a slick rock.

“My lady?”

“Tell me something.”

“Anything, my lady.”

“You have known Garren a
long time, have you not?”

“Since we were squires.”

“Tell me what he was
like back then.”

Fergus let the horse
graze. “He was a somewhat small boy, very quiet, very sharp. He never needed to
be given an order twice.”

Derica hiked her skirt
higher as she stepped from the rock back into the water. “Garren was small?”
she giggled. “I cannot imagine that. He is absolutely enormous.”

“That happened very
quickly,” Fergus said. “Because he was small and quiet, some of the other
squires used to taunt him. But the moment he entered youth and his voice
deepened, it was as if he woke up one morning a head taller than even the
knights. From working with the sword and other weapons, his arms and shoulders
grew enormous. Woe betides those who had teased him when he was small.”

“He punished them?”

Fergus smiled at the
memories. “In very subtle ways. They never knew they had been punished until it
was all over.  But he made sure each and every one had their day.”

“But he is not a
vengeful or wicked man.”

Fergus looked over at
her; she was standing in the stream, the filtered sunlight glistening off her
hair.  He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“No, my lady,” he said
quietly. “He is not a vengeful or wicked man. In fact, Garren is one of the few
men I know that will be honorable ‘til the death.  He is what every knight
hopes to be but seldom is. I have nothing but respect and admiration for him.”

Derica smiled, thinking
of Garren, her heart swelling with happiness and longing. “I hope to find that
out for myself.”

“As you shall. You are a
most fortunately woman, Lady Derica.”

She knew that. Gathering
her skirts closer, she timidly picked her way out of the stream.

 “Then we should not
keep him waiting any longer,” she said. “The sooner we get to Yaxley, the
better.”

Her foot slipped on the
bank before the last word was out of her mouth. With a whoop, she tumbled into
the chilly water, landing flat on her backside. Horrified, Fergus dropped the
horse’s reins and rushed to help her, but she just lay there and laughed.

“Are you all right?”
Fergus asked. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Derica shook her head.
“Of course not. But I am as wet as a mud hen.”

Her laughter was
infectious. Fergus was smiling as he reached down and pulled her out of the
water.  “I can see that,” he picked up the edges of her gown and tried to wring
some water out of it. “You don’t have a change of clothes, my lady. I am
sorry….”

She cut him off. “Don’t
be silly. I shall dry if you spur the horse fast so that the wind swishes
through the material like a storm.” She made wide, sweeping motions with her
arms and they both laughed.

“I shall do my best to
create the tempest.”

“Good.” Pulling away
from him, Derica found her slippers and, drying her feet off on the dry
portions of the cloak, put them off. “Come along, Fergus. I want to get to the
abbey before dark.”

“Aye, my lady,” he shook
his head, thinking she was very adept at giving orders and knowing that Garren
would have his hands full with her. He was about to help her onto the charger
when shouts in the distance caught his attention.

They both froze, ears
peaked, listening with the trepidation of the mouse awaiting the cat. The
shouts came again and Fergus didn’t wait to interpret them.

He tossed her up onto
the horse and mounted in front of her. Spurring the charger through the trees,
he struggled through the stream and rocks in an attempt to wipe clear their
trail.  Behind, Derica clung to him fearfully.

“They’ve found us,” she
hissed.

Fergus nodded to the
obvious. “They must have undoubtedly heard your scream when you fell in the
water.”

“Sweet Lord,” she
murmured. “I am so sorry, Fergus. I didn’t know….”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“What are we going to
do?”

“Create that tempest I
promised.”

Fergus reined the steed
out of the stream and into the forest.  The horse began to thunder through the
bramble, plowing a path and leaving a host of broken branches in its wake. It
was an obvious trail to follow, one plowed with furious speed.

“We’re close to the
abbey, perhaps a few miles,” Fergus said after several moments. “I am going to
leave you there and then try to lead the search party away. Perhaps they will
follow my trail and bypass the abbey all together.”

“You’re going to be a
decoy?”

“I did not come all of
this way simply to have them grab you before you can enter the abbey walls.”

Small branches were
whipping her in the face; the green of the trees whizzed by her head as the
horse galloped through.  She held on tightly, praying that they would reach the
abbey before her family caught wind of their trail. She was sickened to think
they had come this far, this carefully, only to be discovered at the last
possible moment.

Closing her eyes, she
could see Garren’s face and she prayed, harder than she had ever prayed in her
life, that she would see him again. It was with certainty, she knew, that if
her family caught up to her she would be sequestered the rest of her life. She
couldn’t bear to think of what they would do to Fergus.

Derica couldn’t hear
anymore shouting but she wasn’t convinced that her father wasn’t right behind
her. Fergus thundered across a meadow and skirted what looked and smelled like
a bog.  Derica kept her face buried in his back, holding on tightly, trusting
that he would get them safely to the abbey. She lost track of time as they
raced along, through the trees and, at one point, across a farmer’s field. But
suddenly, they emerged onto a road and Fergus let the horse have his head.

Rocks pelted Derica’s
legs and feet. The wet part of her dress lay across the back of the charger,
sticking to the horse. Abruptly, the horse slowed and began to lope in a
strange, sloppy gait. Fergus looked about the animal in a panic before pulling
it to a sharp halt.  He leapt off the horse.

Derica’s gown, unhemmed
and long, had wounds its way around the horse’s back legs.  Fergus unwound the
dress and pulled Derica off the animal.

“Listen to me,” he made
sure she was looking him in the eye before pointing over to his right. “The
abbey is through those trees and down a small hill. If you cut through, it will
keep you off the road while I lead them on a wild goose chase. When you get to
the abbey, you are to ask for Sister Mary Felicitas. Do you understand?”

Derica nodded, the fear
in her eyes momentarily replaced by gratitude. “Fergus, I cannot possibly
express my thanks adequately. What you have done is….”

“Is nothing more than
Garren would not do for me.” Fergus smiled at her, briefly. “It was a pleasure,
my lady. I wish you and Garren all of the happiness in the world. He is an
extremely lucky man.  Now, off with you and don’t look back.”

Impulsively, he kissed
her on the forehead and mounted the steed.  With the charger hurling down the
road, Derica tore into the trees as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.

***

Nine days. Nine long,
miserable days.

Garren knew that, in the
grand scheme of things, nine days was a trifle. He would trust Fergus and his
judgment completely as to the right time to whisk Derica from Framlingham, so
it was quite possible that he was looking at weeks. It was a depressing
thought. He didn’t know if he could take it.

It was an hour before
sunset. He had been in his sister’s chamber since just after sunrise. Over the
past nine days, they had spent an indeterminate number of hours talking about
so many things he could hardly keep track. It was the most time he had ever
spent with his sister at one time and, in spite of the circumstances, he had
enjoyed it. Gabrielle had kept him calm and occupied and, for that, he was
grateful.

          But on this
ninth day, He is spent his waking hours resigning himself to a long wait. When Gabrielle
was summoned to help with the evening meal preparation, Garren excused himself
and wandered to the entry hall of the abbey. He wasn’t allowed anywhere else.
He stood there a moment, muddled and unfocused. Thinking that he should perhaps
check on his horse to occupy himself, he opened the door and stepped out into
the fading sunlight.

The horse was tethered
with some other animals in a small shelter the abbey used for a stable. Garren
wandered through the ward, glancing up into the trees when he heard a hawk cry.
The branches over his head were thick with greenery and moisture, filtering the
weak rays of the sun. He was nearing the stables when he heard the abbey gate
swing open and shut heavily. Knowing some of the nuns had been out in the trees
gathering mushrooms, he didn’t give the squeaking gate a second thought. He was
learning to control those impulses that had him running to the door every time
he heard the iron-clad sound of the gate.

The horse’s hindquarters
were facing him. He put his hands on the beast and shoved it sideways. Ever
since his trip to Framlingham, the horse had shown a tendency to come up lame
on the right front leg and he wanted to check it again. The horse was still
favoring the leg, but not nearly as it had been. He was deep in his inspection
of the fetlock when a voice filled his ears, a sweet note that he thought he
surely must have dreamt. He heard it again, louder this time, and some familiar
part of him inside ignited like a roaring flame. Someone was calling his name.
He looked up from the horse’s leg and turned around.

Derica stood several
feet away, dirty, disheveled, with tears streaming down her face. She said his
name again, so choked she could hardly speak, and Garren nearly came apart.

Somehow, he managed to
stumble over to her. It was odd how everything seemed so dreamlike, as if time
itself had slowed. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. But the moment
he touched her, the dream burst and she was very real and very warm. He pulled
her into an embrace that threatened to crush her.

“Derica,” he whispered.
“My God… are you real?”

She was sobbing. “I am.”
Her arms were around his neck so tightly that she was in danger of strangling
him. “Garren, I have missed you so. I did not know you would be here. Fergus said….”

His bruising lips cut
her short. In a short matter of seconds, his mouth was on hers, kissing her as
if he had been doing it all of his life. She was sweet and soft and he kissed
her until she gasped for breath.

 ‘You have no idea how I
have longed for you, how much I have thought of you,” he murmured in between
heated kisses. “The day I walked from Framlingham I was sure that my life was
over.” He paused, holding her face in his hands, drinking in the sight of her.
“My God, you are more beautiful than I had remembered.”

She smiled through her
tears, running a finger over his delicious lips. “I could not believe it when
Fergus came for me,” she murmured. “He said that you wanted to marry me.”

He kissed her furiously,
again, because he could not get enough of her. “If you will have me.”

“I will have none
other.”

He squeezed the breath
out of her. For an eternity of sweet moments, they said nothing. Their words
were in their kisses, in their touch.  Garren was so delirious that it took him
some time to realize the entire back of her dress was damp and cold. Like a man
waking from a dream, he struggled to get a grip on reality. And the reality was
that she was cold and wet. He let her go long enough to turn her around to see
just how bad off she really was.

“Why are you all wet?”
he asked.

Derica was swooning with
happiness and exhaustion. “I fell into the creek when Fergus…,” her eyes
suddenly grew wide with fear. “Garren, Fergus is in trouble.”

“What trouble?”

“My family has been
chasing us since we left Framlingham, three days ago,” she said. “They almost
caught up to us earlier today. Fergus sent me on to the abbey while he went to
lead them off our trail.”

Reality settled more
firmly on Garren; were they to leave the safety of the abbey while the de Rosa
patrols were still in the area, they risked running into them. However, as the
only abbey in the area and place of safe haven, it would be inevitable that, at
some point, the de Rosa band would come knocking at the door. Even though
Derica could claim sanctuary, still, it would make for an ugly situation,
especially if they knew that Garren was with her. He couldn’t risk being
discovered.