Lady de Sherrington smiled. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “But I still do not know your name.”
Alexander glanced at the lad with his same name, now running in the field with his dog, shooting his bow and arrow. As he watched, the child reminded him very much of Andrew and Adam and he had to grin when the boy tripped and fell, right into the mud. Oh, the memories that vision brought back.
Good ones.
“Your son and I share the same name,” he said. “I wish you well, Lady de Sherrington. Peace upon your home and your family.”
She simply nodded as Alexander helped Christin mount her palfrey. He swung himself onto his own horse, gathering the reins and giving Lady de Sherrington a nod as they headed out.
The woman stood there for a moment, watching him go and thinking that he looked an awful lot like Phillip. Around the eyes, she thought. But perhaps it was her imagination.
Returning to her garden, she could not have known that her son’s destiny remained intact due to the unselfish act of a man and his wife who had been inquiring on her dead husband. She could not have known, in any case.
But Alexander knew. And wherever his father was, he knew, too.
Finally, Alexander de Sherrington had found the peace he so desperately needed.
And a future to be proud of.
Children of Alexander and Christin
Andrew
Adam
Gabriel
Nicholas
Liam
Maxim
Sophia
* THE END *
THE WHISPERING NIGHT
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
CHAPTER ONE
The month of January
1197 A.D.
Chepstow Castle was a bastion that sat along the edges of the Wye River, protecting the English borders like a great lion. It was a foreboding place, with dungeons and soldiers and a feel about it that reeked of power.
On this night, the moon hung low in the sky and there was ice in the air. Sentries walked the wall, watching the surrounding countryside for hints of danger. There was a light in the keep, a single glow emitting from a lancet window near the top of the structure. It was the only warmth in the silence of the dead, cold night.
This was William Marshal’s fortress. He was the Lord Chancellor of England, appointed by Richard the Lion heart. From this place, William issued commands and directives that controlled most of the kingdom. He was the law while the king was away battling the infidels in the Holy Land. Until Richard returned, there was no man more powerful in England, save the king’s brother. And therein lay the danger.
In the solar of the great keep, smoke curled up from the hearth in ribbons of gray and white. The Marshal sat near the heat, in a chair that was designed for a much larger body; his weight tended to rise and fall with the seasons. He was an old man and his health suffered at times. But in his youth, there had been non stronger in the land. Those were the days of old, when men were larger than legends, fighting for the new country and living to tell the tales.
Now, this man of legend had eyes that were yellowed with years. He still counseled men, great men in the current day. He sat in the chair, gazing across the room at a familiar figure lurking in the shadows; it was a man who had the potential to be one of the greatest of his time. A protégé of the Marshal, groomed with the greatest of care. Bright silver glints of mail reflected off the figure in the corner; every time there was movement, the Marshal could hear the grate of the armor. It was a tense, uneasy sound.
“So you have no comment on my suggestion?” William finally broke the silence. “It would be a tremendous opportunity and a tremendous honor for you. Have you nothing to say?”
The profile in the shadows waited a nominal amount of time before emerging into the light. A massive knight materialized, moving with the stealth of a panther, stalking the older man huddled before the fire. He didn’t speak, but the expression on his handsome face said enough. He was displeased.
The Marshal fought off a grin at the sight of him. “So you do not like the idea of marriage.”
“That is not true.”
“Then you like it?”
“Under the proper circumstances.”
“And you do not consider these the proper circumstances?”
The warrior pursed his lips. “When I entered the knighthood, I was prepared to die for my liege. When I came into your service, I was prepared to die for my king. I am not, however, prepared to marry for him.”
“So you consider that a fate worse than death?”
“It could be,” the man shot back softly. In truth, he was off-guard by the Marshal’s suggestion and fading fast. When he had been summoned this night, a marriage, especially his own, had been the last thought on his mind. “You are speaking of something far beyond the call of duty, my lord.”
“How?”
The knight was frustrated to realize that he could not adequately debate the subject. “Simply that. To fight, to kill, and to die for one’s king is honorable and expected. But to marry for the king… I am, after all, only a knight, the son of baron, and….”
“The barony of Anglecynn is older than England herself and you will inherit it when your father dies. You are descended from Saxon kings. Your forefathers conquered England with William the Bastard and married Saxon princesses.” The Marshal’s voice tightened. “You are Sir Garren Beaupre le Mon of Anglecynn and Ceri, heir to an ancient and rich kingdom had we not been united by the Normans. You’re more than suitable for this task.”
The Marshal made it sound as if he was someone of importance. But Garren knew differently. “Then if you place such significance on my heritage, let me point out that the woman you suggest is no one of any particular consequence.”
William jabbed a wizened finger at him. “She is the daughter of one of John Lackland’s most powerful supporters. Her father serves the Earl of Norfolk. To position you within the House of de Rosa as her husband puts you in direct communication with her father.”
“And the prince’s plots.”
“That is the hope.”
Garren fixed the Marshal with an icy stare. He was a big man, will over six feet in height, with shoulders so broad that he sometimes had to turn sideways to enter a door. He was accustomed to using his size as an intimidation tactic, but that particular method failed to work on William. The old Marshal had battled kings and princes and was not about to be put off by a mere knight, no matter how large or powerful.
“Your father knows Bertram de Rosa,” William said steadily. “They served together as young knights under Henry the Second, and, as I recall, supported the sons against their father in their quest for the throne.”
“Until my father realized what an unscrupulous character John was.”
The Marshal knew all of that and nodded his head. “Yes, yes, and then he married your mother and withdrew from politics all together, which is no easy feat in this world.”
“And what makes you think that Bertram will be at all receptive to my father and his suggestion of betrothal?’
“Because your father saved Bertram’s life once, and any honorable knight will consider that a life debt.” William pointed his finger at him. “You will bring your father to me and I will tell him what is to be expected.”
Garren growled low in his throat and turned away, stomping off across the room. He knew the decision had already been made no matter of his protests. Ignoring the tantrum, William picked up his pewter chalice and swirled the last of the red liquid, watching the dregs at the bottom of the cup. Had he been a fortune teller, perhaps he could have divined the future of this particular venture. There was much at stake.
“Garren,” he said quietly. “When you became an agent for the king, it meant that your life was no longer your own. We must do as we must to preserve England and Richard’s throne. Your particular calling in this is a great one that I cannot leave to a novice. It requires your wisdom and skil
l.”
“Marriage requires no wisdom and skill,” Garren rumbled. “It requires the hide of an ox and the loins of a rutting bull. We have a number of younger men in the king’s service that could do as well as I or better.”
“Untrue,” the Marshal countered. “I have known you for eighteen years. You have served me and your king flawlessly with your strength and cunning. This could be perhaps the most important task you have yet to undertake. Can you not see that, lad?”
Truthfully, Garren could. Going into the de Rosa lair was an enormous risk. But he would have rather faced a thousand rabid men in battle all by himself than plunge into matrimony.
“My lord,” he tried to soften his tactics. “I am not the marrying sort. My life has been dedicated to the service of the king. I am not a lover, nor am I particularly comfortable with women. Although I appreciate the seriousness of this mission, as Bertram de Rosa is indeed a formidable supporter of John’s, I sincerely believe there are others better suited to a marriage.”
William wasn’t swayed. “You are perfect, foremost because your father and Bertram fostered together when they were squires. They have known each other many years. What could be more natural than your father proposing a marriage contract between his son and Bertram’s daughter? There is no one else I can trust with such a coincidental connection. Bertram will never suspect a thing.”
“That you’re planting a spy in his midst.”
“For all he knows, he is simply gaining a son.” He put his cup down and sat forward, his yellowed eyes intense. “Can you not see the importance of this? What we learn from de Rosa could quite possibly bring about the end of John. For months the prince has been working towards something big, a move against his brother that we cannot seem to determine. With you in the de Rosa stronghold, it is more than possible that you can discover the prince’s plans and put an end to all of this. Is that not what we are all fighting for?”
Garren took a long, deep breath. He ran his fingers through his short, sand-colored hair, trying desperately to contradict William’s assertion. But he could not. The Marshal was correct, and Garren saw the logic of it. Being a logical man, it was difficult for him to continue resisting. He was dedicated to the service of Richard, and if the king required him to marry to aid his cause, he was sworn to obey.
“Christ,” he finally hissed. “I could handle this task very well if it did not involve a woman. Useless, petty, clinging….”
William put up a quelling hand. “The Lady Derica de Rosa is a beautiful woman, so I am told.”
“A viper can also be beautiful until it bites you.”
William could do nothing more to convince him. The man was set. William stood up, his back curved with age. Once, he had almost been as tall as Garren himself. Now he found himself looking into the man’s chin.
“You will bring Allan le Mon to me by the end of the week so we may discuss this proposal,” he said with a finality that could only come from William Marshal. “I plan to have you wed to Derica de Rosa by late spring. Do you have anything further to say?”
“Would it do any good?”
“No.” William was moving toward the door of his solar, a strong indication that their meeting was over. “I shall look for your father in a few days to discuss the arrangement.”
Garren was angered, resigned to his future. The most important task of his life would probably also be the most taxing. He wasn’t fearful of the mission in the least; what concerned him was a spiteful, suspicious, conniving wife. It would cause him to be on his guard on both fronts, and he did not relish the thought. It would make the undertaking twice as dangerous. When he paused at the door to bid the Marshal farewell, he noticed an odd look to William’s eye.
“There is something more I should probably tell you, Garren,” the old man said, “and though I am reluctant to do so, it is only fair. The Lady Derica is the only female in her family for generations. I am told they treat her as if she is the Virgin Mary incarnate. She is protected, pampered, and coddled.”
Garran rolled his eyes. “I knew it. A spoiled, petty female. Of all the….”
“Wait,” William laid a wrinkled hand on his arm. “I am not finished. She has three uncles and three brothers in addition to her father, and I am told they guard her with the ferocity of a pack of wolves. You must know that acceptance as her husband will not be a simple thing. There will be much trial and tribulation with it and you must be amply prepared.”
Garran snorted, an ironic smile on his lips. “Nothing about this is going to be simple. What is one more obstacle?”
“You must be ready for the scrutiny, on all sides.”
“Could I not be assigned a simpler task? Abducting the Pope, perhaps?”
William shook his head. “Garren….”
“Or perhaps you would like me to march into Windsor and, announcing I am a spy for his brother, challenge John to a game of ‘catch me if you can’?”
“You jest,” William smiled weakly. “Good. As long as your sense of humor remains intact, I know you will be successful. It takes humor to temper the serious nature of this endeavor and keep your sanity. I hesitate to suggest it may be the most important one of your life.”
There was something in William’s tone that caused Garren to sober. “You have already done that.”
“I know. But I will suggest it again.”
Garren left Chepstow in the dark of night, wondering if he shouldn’t keep riding until he reached the sea and still, keep going. He suspected that his life was going to change dramatically. He wasn’t used to feeling uncertain about any task he was preparing to undertake, but this particular venture had him reeling. Give him battle, gore, blood, and men set to kill him, and he was in his element. But suggest a marriage in the line of duty, and he felt like a novice.
Above him, a bird of prey hovered against the night sky, calling to its mate. Garren glanced up, noticing the bird was directly over him as if preparing to swoop on his head and peck his eyes out. It couldn’t be a good sign. Bad omens abounded in the whispering night, and for the first time in his life, Garren le Mon thought he had a true taste of fear.
CHAPTER TWO
Spring was in full bloom. It was a clear day, if not cold, with great puffy clouds scattered across the sky. The land below was growing green with new sprigs. Norfolk was lovely country in the spring with its gentle fields and relatively flat lands, conducive to the farmers that plowed into the thawed earth. Everywhere there were signs of life, peasants going about their chores, and animals in the field. It was a lovely place to live.
The hulk of Framlingham Castle dominated the landscape, its cold stone facade a strong contrast to the brilliant life surrounding it. It was the only bastion for several miles and the gates remained open for the peasants who conducted business within the walls. And massive walls they were; fourteen enormous towers linked the curtain wall nearly thirty feet in height, creating a huge circle around an equally large inner ward.
Each tower was designed to function autonomously should the castle fall under siege. Two of the towers were particularly large, one on the middle section of the western wall, and one on the east. They were longer, more spacious, and the tower on the western wall harbored a great hall. There were also several outbuildings and stables to house the four hundred men-at-arms needed to maintain the safety and structure of the castle.
Framlingham was the property of the Roger Bigod, second Earl of Norfolk, but the earl chose to live at Norwich Castle to the north rather than in the wilds of Framlingham. He entrusted his castle to Bertram de Rosa, a knight who had served his father, Hugh, for many years. Bertram and his sons were essentially part of the earl’s family and the castle belonged more to them that to the earl himself. They took great pride in the place and ran it with power and efficiency.
On the third floor of the larger western tower, a lone young woman sat in her chamber running a brush through long, honey-colored hair. She had been listening to sobs and wails all morni
ng. Had she not known better, she would have suspected the person emitting them to be in some manner of horrible pain or grief. But she knew too well of the dramatics behind them. As the day wore on, it grew annoying and her patience waned.
The young woman sighed, making a face that no one would ever see, expressing her irritation at the screeching. The brush strokes grew more furious as she used her hand to form curls from the strands that cascaded down her back. She scrunched up her pert nose when a particularly loud cry pierced the air, rolling her eyes in disbelief.
In the corner, a serving maiden was sewing on a gown of pale yellow and silver. When another chorus of cries filled the air, she slapped the sewing in her lap.
“I cannot take this any longer,” she groaned. Into the air, she thrust the needle. “I would sew his mouth shut, my lady!”
The young woman glanced over her shoulder, an expression somewhere between tolerance and agreement.
“Weddings always affect him so,” she sighed heavily. “Especially mine.”
The serving maiden’s countenance softened. “Forgive, my lady. I did not mean to….”
The woman shook her head. “You did not upset nor offend me, Aglette. Do not worry. I have had months to come to terms with my future and surely time enough to come to terms with whatever angst I may have felt.”
“Three months, to be exact, my lady.”
The young woman paused in her toilette, gazing at her reflection in the polished pewter mirror before her. A sweet oval face looked back at her, bright green eyes with long dusky lashes. She had been called beautiful since the day she was born, yet the term had no meaning to her. It hadn’t for years. Her uncles and brothers and father were bias and she knew it. But there were times when other men had come, a few suitors, and had called her beautiful as well. Still, she wasn’t sure if she believed them, though the reflection said otherwise.
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