The Whispering Night (36 page)

“I understand your
logic,” Garren said steadily. “But if nobody has been located, then there is still
hope. I have seen too many incidents of alleged death in my life to be so
easily convinced that death has come. Show me her body and I shall believe it.”

Emyl cast his son a long
look before turning away. He was too old to give in to false hopes.  Fergus,
however, had been listening to unrealistic expectations for the better part of
a week. 

“We’ll go look for her,
you and me,” he told Garren. “Perhaps, somehow, she made it out of the water
and was kidnapped by peasants. Perhaps she is being held hostage somewhere. Who
knows?”

“Nonsense!” Offa
snorted. “More than likely, if she made out of the water, she is in the hands
of bandits who will…”

A deadly look from
Garren stopped him. Fergus smoothed the situation. “There is a possibility she
escaped your search,” he said. “Garren is like a hound. He’ll track her until
he finds her.”

“What if he doesn’t find
her?”

It was David’s soft
question. They all looked at him, the tall, slender man with the haunting dark
eyes, knowing how smitten he had been with Derica. He had, so far, looked the
most for her out of all of them.  Even with her husband returned, the enormous
knight with the recent battle scars, he was still feeling her loss and was
inadequately hiding his feelings.

“Unless God himself has
reached down and pulled her into the heavens, I will find her,” Garren growled
at him.

No one had the courage
to say another negative word. Garren was exhausted from battle, exhausted from
riding for days on end, and in no mood to be disputed. He wouldn’t even wait to
eat and rest, as Fergus had strongly suggested.  Finally reaching Cilgarren had
empowered him, renewed his resolve to find Derica alive. He was back where he
had left her, and he could feel her presence as strongly as if she was standing
next to him.  Nothing was going to stop him from finding his wife. In a flash
of armor and steel, he quit the hall.               

Fergus followed him
outside, as did the others. Near the kitchens, he slowed to observe the sloping
hillside that abruptly disappeared into the river below.  The weather had long
since worn away any clues that might have told him what had happened to his
wife on that fateful day.  Still, he inspected the slope, walked among the wild
garden, glancing down to the murky riverbed.

“She was here, we
think.”

Garren turned to Fergus,
who was standing very close to the edge of the cliff.  The man was looking
sadly into the gray waters. He made his way over to the place where Fergus
stood and paced around, inspecting the rim.

“Had it been raining
that day?”

“It had been raining for
weeks.”

“So the ground was
slippery.”

“Verily. Which is why I
am more inclined to believe that she did not throw herself into the river as
much as she slipped in.”

Garren took a long, slow
breath, his mind working. “Damn her for standing so close. Too many times did I
warn her.”

“We all did. She was
fearless about it, unfortunately.”

Garren was quiet a
moment. “The fall itself should not have killed her,” he said. “My concern is
that perhaps she hit her head somehow and was knocked unconscious.”

“And drowned,” Fergus
was barely audible.

Garren couldn’t refute
the obvious.  He turned away from the cliff, heading back towards the bailey.
“It is my hope that we will find out,” he said with more determination than he
felt. “I intend to comb down river inch by inch until I find something that
leads me to believe she is either alive or dead.”

“That could take time,”
Fergus followed him. “If we only had more help.”

Garren paused. “Your
father and Offa and David have already been through this,” he said. “We will
use them again to search, as futile as they believe it may be. And…”

“And what?”

Garren suddenly looked
thoughtful. “The nearest garrison is Pembroke. You could ride there and ask for
assistance.”

“Pembroke is held for
the Marshall. Won’t some of those who serve there know you on sight?”

“Probably.”

“If they see you
alive….”

Garren put up his hands,
moving forward again in search of his horse. “I know, I know. All would be for
waste if someone from the garrison saw me and reported back to the Marshall.
But they don’t know you, and I could direct their efforts through you.”

“True enough,” Fergus
agreed. His steed was nearby and he wearily sought the animal’s reins. “Very
well, then. I shall ride to Pembroke for help. Perhaps a dozen men or so to cover
more ground than you and I can alone. But you need to stay out of sight.”

“I will.”

“I shall return as
quickly as I can.”

Garren watched him ride
out, mounting his own charger and fighting his exhaustion as he did so. He felt
better knowing that aid was coming, hoping he was that much closer to finding
his wife.  He could only pray it would be soon enough.

***

Derica had never had so
many gifts. As if the floodgates of a mythical Aladdin’s Cave had suddenly
burst open, she had more jewelry and belts and dresses and shoes than she knew
what to do with.  Keller apparently thought that the best way to ease her grief
was to ply her with gifts, and he did so with exhaustive efficiency.  Not a day
passed that he didn’t present her with something soft, shiny, or otherwise.  It
was becoming an endless parade.

Sian and Aneirin had
more possessions than they had ever known to exist, too. Toys, food, clothing
was all theirs for the squandering if they wished it.  Keller had taken a
particular liking to Aneirin, and she to him.  Since Derica was distant, he
lavished attention on the little girl instead. He wished he could lavish it on
Derica, but he knew he had to be patient with her. She wasn’t remotely ready
for his interest, so he bided his time with the brown-haired little girl. Sian
seemed more intent to be Derica’s shadow, no matter how much Keller tried to
interact with him.

On a morning during her
second week at Pembroke, Derica awoke to a bright day and the children playing
silently near her bed. They had been up for hours. Yawning, she climbed from
the bed, kissed them both, and went about preparing herself for the day. She
had always been one to rise and dress immediately, not to lag about lazily. 

One of the severe women,
whom she had yet to be able to tell apart from one another, brought her warmed
rosewater to wash the sleep from her face with.  She brushed her teeth with a
soft reed brush and rinsed it with a breath sweetener.  Pulling off her woolen
night shift, she replaced it with a shift of soft lamb’s wool. Over that, she
donned a long sleeved linen shift of deep blue and a sleeveless surcoat of
contrasting pale blue broadcloth.  It was some of the less ornate clothing she
owned, but highly fashionable and very comfortable.

Her dresser was overflowing
with belts and jewels that Keller had given her. The severe servant encouraged
her to wear something rich and gaudy to compensate for the plain dress she
wore, but Derica pushed her suggestions aside and chose a simple gold cross on
a golden chain that hung between her breasts.  When the servant attempted to
braid her hair in an elaborate style, Derica insisted on one simple braid that
draped over one shoulder.  Every time the woman tried to dress her up, she
would dress down.

The children were ready
to go outside and run about. They had been caged in the bedchamber far too long
since awakening and were bouncing about like animals.  With one child in each
hand, Derica ascended to the hall below and was met by the majordomo of the
castle, a kindly man named Sims. He ushered her to one of two heavy dining
tables that lined the hall of Pembroke and quickly ordered the morning meal
delivered. Within a very short time, there was more food than they could
possibly eat covering the table.

Derica sipped the boiled
water with a hint of rose and apples in it; she didn’t like ale for breakfast,
which was a common drink. It made her sleepy.  She nibbled on a wedge of white
tart cheese while the children gobbled gruel with honey.  Her mind, for the
first time in several days, didn’t seem gripped by anguish this morning.

All of the agonizing
grief she felt had dulled to a throbbing ache at the moment, but the tears were
still close by. They were always near the surface, ready to be released at the
slightest provocation.  She dare not look at the silver band around her finger;
it was a sure-fire trigger, yet she refused to remove it. She was sure she
would never be able to.

“I see that you are
eating this morning,” Keller had come up behind her, silently. “A good sign, my
lady.”

Derica glanced up into
his weathered face, realizing whatever appetite she may have had inexplicably
fled. “I suppose it would not be good for me to starve myself to death.”

Keller smiled timidly.
“May I sit?”

“Of course.”

He sat down on the bench
beside her, a proper distance separating them.  It had been two days since he
had promised to go in search of Garren’s body and Derica couldn’t help but
notice he’d not yet left. Every time she saw him, she wondered when he was
going to go about fulfilling his vow. Even now, as he sat next to her, she
realized her curiosity was turning to bitterness. Perhaps he had no intention
of going, after all, and had only agreed to stop her tears.

“I was hoping to see you
this morning before I left,” he said.

Derica wondered if he
had read her mind. “You are leaving?”

He nodded. “I have a
long journey to Chepstow before me. I apologize that I did not leave right
away, but there were some issues at hand that needed my attention.”

She began to feel guilty
that she had thought badly of him. “What issues?”

“Nothing to worry over.
Local grumblings, ‘tis all.”

It occurred to her what
local grumblings might mean. “The Welsh are planning to attack?”

He laughed softly. “Not
so much as that. Besides, they could never breach Pembroke. Our position is so
strategic that it would take intervention by God himself on their behalf. But
they are unhappy as of late. That is normal. Their moods surge with the moon,
it seems, and I find myself in the position of soothing local chieftains.”

Aneirin wriggled her way
onto Keller’s lap, bread in hand. He squeezed the girl affectionately.  Derica
watched the two of them, thinking that they would all make a fine family one
day and feeling torn that she wanted no part of it. She wanted the children, of
course; with Mair’s death, they had understandably fallen under her care.  But
Keller seemed more than willing to impart himself as their father and it was
that thought she had such difficulty with.

Aneirin suddenly jumped
up, with Sian on her tail. They ran over by the great hearth where the dogs
were gathered. One mutt had a litter of puppies and the children scooped up
happy armfuls of licking tongues and wagging tails.  Derica watched them,
wishing she could be so happy and carefree. The only time in her life she had
ever felt that way was when she had been with Garren. Dear God, she missed him.

The ever-threatening
tears filled her eyes and she looked away so that Keller would not see. But he
caught the gesture.

“My lady, do not fret,”
he said quietly. “I shall return as soon as I possibly can. I promised you that
I would find Sir Garren, and I shall. Have no doubt.”

She wiped her eyes,
struggling for control. “I have faith in you, Sir Keller.”

“I am glad,” he said.
“Would you do me the honor, then?”

She looked at him, not
sure what he meant. “For what?”

“Escort me to the door
of the keep. I would like my last vision of this place as I leave to be your
lovely face.”

Derica surmised it was
the very least she could do. Rising from the bench, she accepted Keller’s arm
when he offered it.  As they proceeded across the hall, a distant horn sounded
signaling that a rider had entered the through the main gates. Neither Derica
nor Keller spared the noise any heed.  By the time they reached the door,
Derica glanced up into the blue sky and thought it was an exceptionally lovely
day. She decided to escort him down into the bailey because she felt like
walking in the sunshine. By the time she and Keller were halfway down the
retractable wooden staircase, she glanced up into a familiar face in the midst
of the bailey. Derica stopped dead in her tracks.

“Fergus!”

Fergus thought he was
seeing a ghost. But no ghost ever looked so lovely. Before he could stop
himself, he leapt up the stairs and threw his arms around her. He almost fell,
roughly pulling her from Keller’s grip. Derica shrieked in delight, which
Keller took to be a scream.

The sword came out in
the blink of an eye. “To your death, fool,” he snarled.

Derica caught the flash
of metal. “No!” she cried. “Sir Keller, I beg you! I know him!”