The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Then the last time I see you will not be with a sword against your gut,” he said softly. “Take it away and let me see you one more time the way you were meant to be.”

  That was all it took for Derica to throw down the sword. She wanted to run to him and throw herself in his arms, but she dared not. It might set her father off and she had no way of knowing. They gazed at each other, a thousand unspoken words between them.

  “You haven’t asked me if it is true,” Garren said.

  “If what is true?”

  “If I am a spy.”

  She shrugged weakly. “That is because it doesn’t matter. You are Sir Garren le Mon of Anglecynn and Ceri, a man who came to me with kindness and compassion such as I have never known. That is who you are to me.” She could read the longing in his eyes and her heart was broken. “Now, go. Please. While there is still time.”

  “I shall not forget you, lady.”

  “Nor I, you.”

  His expression said everything that his lips could not. Derica watched him walk from the cell, listening to his boots until they faded away. Her father, uncles, brothers stood there, unable to move, unwilling to say anything. Everyone stood in a dark, brooding mass.

  “Derica,” Daniel said softly. “You must understand that Father was only doing what he thought he had to. To protect you.”

  Derica held up a hand to him, a gesture to be silent. She was not prepared to speak to any of them at the moment, not even the eldest brother who seemed to go against the grain of the de Rosa personality traits. Now, she simply wanted to get away from all of those who had turned her once-happy future into a nightmare in a matter of hours.

  When enough time had passed, she wandered from the vault and into the sunshine. Garren had long since passed through the gates. She stood there, in the middle of Framlingham’s massive ward, watching the green countryside beyond the gates as if expecting him to reappear any moment. She was beyond tears, beyond exhaustion, and every fiber of her being cried for the future she would never have.

  It was difficult to comprehend what this short week in her life had brought to her. Nothing seemed worth the living any longer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Yaxley Nene Abbey

  Leicestershire

  As a child, the place had always frightened him. A dark structure, made from dark stone and covered with dark ivy, it always appeared like something out of a religious nightmare. He had come here with his father on a yearly pilgrimage when very young. Even at his advanced age, he came still on that pilgrimage, now more from a sense of wanting than a sense of duty.

  Tonight, it was a different sort of pilgrimage. It was important that he come because he could think of nowhere else to go. He had been riding for an indeterminate number of hours and his charger, the great red beast with the pale eyes, was exhausted. There was a wall around the abbey and a gated opening that reminded Garren of the gate to hell; sharp spikes jutted up from the iron grate like fanged teeth. Garren shuddered involuntarily as he passed through, as he had since he had been a child. It was as though the gate had eaten him alive with all of those sharp teeth.

  The moon had disappeared by the time he arrived. Dawn was near. Garren left the charger grazing on the grass near the wall as he approached the great oak door that kept the secular world from the women inside. He rapped on the door, heavily, and waited.

  A pale face wrapped in white appeared. Garren announced himself and the tiny nun allowed him entrance. Garren knew what was expected of him and he stopped just inside the door and planted his big feet, unmoving. He was not permitted to go anywhere inside the structure unless the nuns indicated. Right now it was a waiting game, and his patience, fed by exhaustion, was brittle.

  Yet he knew he would be waiting awhile, so he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the musty scent that reminded him of his days as young boy. The carefree days of his youth came back to his weary mind in bits and pieces, remembering the father who doted on him, the mother who died when he was so young that he could barely remember her. He remembered a pet goat he had when he was perhaps three or four years, the one who had butted him and trampled him until he grew big enough to outrun it. His eyes opened, and he found himself smiling about that idiotic goat. He had named it Henry, after the king, much to the amusement of his father.

  Revelry took his mind off his wait. He remembered having to leave the goat to foster at Sandhurst Castle, more crushed about leaving the animal than his father. He remembered some of the other pages teasing him because he used to cry in his sleep for the goat. His memories began to drift towards his days as a squire, when he outgrew the boys who teased him and turned into their worst fear. He smiled wearily at that memory, too, until soft footsteps roused him from his daydreams.

  The small nun in the white garments returned. She didn’t say a word, but she motioned for Garren to follow. He did so, listening to his heavy boots echo off the walls as they entered a darkened corridor. Two doors down, there was a room; the nun indicated for him to enter, which he did.

  The chamber was completely dark but for a small taper burning on a well-scrubbed table. As he eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a figure seated near the wall.

  “Garren?”

  He knew the voice very well. Dropping the saddlebags he had slung over one massive shoulder, he went to the silhouette and dropped to one knee.

  “ ’Tis me,” he said. “I am sorry it is so early.”

  The figure moved into the light; an older woman with fine features surrounded folds of white material. “You needn’t apologize, little brother. Early morning or midnight, I care not. I am most thankful for your presence.”

  She smiled, her hands reaching for Garren. He smiled in return, kissing her hands before embracing her. The former Lady Gabrielle le Mon, or now more correct Sister Mary Felicitas, put her arms around her younger brother’s neck.

  “Garren,” she gasped, patting his shoulders. “You grow larger by the year. Have you found a wife to feed you well, then?”

  He shook his head even though she could not see him. Gabrielle had been blind since birth, committed to Yaxley Nene Abbey at eleven years of age, months after her brother, and only sibling, was born. Though they were far apart in age and had never lived under the same roof, the yearly pilgrimages to Yaxley had seen them form a bond that ran strangely deep. Garren adored her.

  “No wife,” he said. “Not yet, at any rate. But let’s not talk about me. I want to know about you; how have you been?”

  “Well, little brother,” she held his hands in her warm, tiny ones. “And you?”

  “Well enough,” he said. “I have been quite busy, but I have written to you some.”

  Gabrielle lit up. “Diaries!” she exclaimed softly. “You know how much I look forward to your visits when you read to me the chronicle of your life. How long has it been? At least a year since you were last here. I am sure so much has happened since then.”

  “Much indeed.”

  Garren left her long enough to retrieve small rolls of vellum from his saddlebags. His sister was the only outsider, other than his father, who knew his true role in the scheme of Richard’s cause. He knew his secret was safe with her and made it a point to write letters to her, chronicling the adventures that his life sometimes took. It was dangerous writing should it fall into the wrong hands, but he never left any identifying marks on the parchment other than a name here and there. Certainly nothing traceable. Settling his bulk beside her, he unrolled a spool of yellowed parchment.

  “I am not sure where to start,” he said. “I spent some time in London, but there is not much to say about that other than a grand feast I attended where a woman wore jewelry she said was smelted for the gods. She had this necklace in the shape of a vulture and many colored stones to adorn it. She also wore solid gold rings in the shape of bugs.”

  “Bugs?”

  “Strange, is it not? But she said ancient kings used to wear these adornments and she was quite proud to show them off.
”

  “Garren?”

  “Aye?”

  “What is wrong?”

  He paused in his chatter. “What do you mean?”

  Gabrielle took his hand again. “I know you well, my baby brother. Something is troubling you. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I am not sure what you mean.”

  “I am not a fool. When you come to me before dawn, when your voice trembles and you talk too much, something is wrong. What is it?”

  Garren felt a huge sense of depression sweep him. He had indeed come for a reason, not simply to see his sister. She knew that, and he felt doubly guilty. He set the vellum down.

  “It is that obvious?”

  “Tell me.”

  He felt as if he was at confession. He had truly meant not to delve into the problems in his life immediately, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Gabrielle was soothing, comforting, and wise. Before he knew it, everything from the past week was spilling out and he could hear the anguish in his voice as he spoke. It frightened him. Gabrielle held his hand and never said a word. By the time he was finished, exhaustion claimed him and he leaned back against the wall, positive he would never rise again.

  “It would seem that much has happened, little brother,” Gabrielle said softly.

  Garren snorted at the irony of it. “I can face any battle with confidence. Give me a sword and I shall emerge the victor. But give me emotion, give me a woman whom I am undeniably attracted to, and I fall apart like a weakling. My heart hurts and I cannot repair it; my anger knows no bounds, yet it is directionless. I have no one to blame, yet everyone to blame. I feel as if I am in everlasting damnation, in love with a woman I should have never loved in the first place.”

  Gabrielle didn’t say anything for a moment. “And your Lady Derica,” she murmured. “Does she feel the same for you?”

  “I see it in her eyes every time she looks at me.”

  Gabrielle nodded silently. Garren prayed that she was thinking through the situation far more logically than he could at the moment. “Then I suppose the question is, what do you want?” she said. “To marry her? Have you thought on the consequences of that action, my dear?”

  “I want to marry her, yes,” Garren said quietly. “I want to get her out of Framlingham and take her some place safe.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “I do not know. I cannot go to Chateroy, as it is the first place they would look. Father must not know anything of my actions.”

  “For his own safety, I agree,” Gabrielle said. “But what will happen to her if you take her from her family and marry her? Do you intend to continue in the Marshal’s service? You know as well as I that your service takes you all over England and beyond. Do you expect your bride to stay alone, hiding from her family the rest of her life, while you go about your duty?”

  Garren removed his helm and ran his fingers through his short hair. “I will resign my service to the Marshal,” he muttered. “I would rather be with Derica, hiding from her family until the end of our days, than be away from her for one more minute. I serve a king who has not spent a day of his reign in England. I fight and fight for a man who is not even here to know that we are all fighting for him. He battles the infidels in the Holy Land while we battle for his very life as a monarch at home. Am I tired of it? No. But I have seen something, felt something, I never thought I would see or feel, and although I love my king, I want to love Derica more.”

  “Truly now, Garren?”

  “Truly.”

  Gabrielle was thoughtful. “I have never known you to speak of any woman, much less one you wish to marry. Are you sure this is not an infatuation, quick to flame, quick to pass? The thoughts you voice would surely end your illustrious career.”

  “Well I know it,” he said. “And, no, I am sure this is not an infatuation. I felt something different for Derica from nearly the moment I met her, something I have not felt before.”

  “Feelings enough to incur the Marshal’s wrath?”

  Garren sighed heavily, gazing up at the dark ceiling. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, soft gray light coming through the lancet window.

  “I begged him not to send me on this mission,” he murmured. “God, I begged and pleaded until I could say no more and, still, he sent me. I would love to blame William for this mess, but I cannot. The fault is my own.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “Do you believe in the Will of God, Garren?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you surely must know that this was planned for you a long time ago. You begged and pleaded with the Marshal not to send you on this mission, but still he sent you. You knew from the moment you met the lady that there was something different about her and in the matter of a week, you have found yourself hopelessly entangled in something that men only dream of. Perhaps this was meant to happen, all of it. Perhaps you were indeed sent on a mission, simply not the one you had planned for.”

  Garren was interested in what she was saying. “What do you mean?”

  “Precisely that. You stated that your mission was to infiltrate the de Rosas in the hope of discovering the movements of Prince John’s rebellion. What if… what if your true mission was to simply marry Derica de Rosa and, as a result, perhaps affect Richard’s opposition in a way you never dreamed possible.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Nor do I at the moment. Sometimes we cannot see God’s Wisdom until well after the fact.”

  She had a point. Garren mulled her words, watching the room turn shades of gray and white as the sun continued to rise. There was fog outside, shrouding the countryside, dampening his mood. Finally, he pushed himself from the wall and rose wearily. Gabrielle’s sightless eyes tracked him.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  He lifted his arms in a helpless gesture. “The only plan I can come up with is storming the castle and spiriting her away, which is not particularly wise. I am too tired to think right now.” He looked at his sister. “Tell me; what would you do?”

  “Do you truly wish to know?”

  “I would not have asked otherwise.”

  She smiled faintly, a gesture shaped somewhat like her brother’s. “I would suggest you plan carefully for this, Garren. You must not make any rash decisions.”

  “What plans do you suggest?”

  Gabrielle folded her hands. “You cannot return to Framlingham for her. They would kill you. You cannot storm the castle, as you cannot amass enough men in a short amount of time. So it is logical that perhaps you know of someone, a trusted friend or knight, who could infiltrate Framlingham and whisk her from the castle. Do you know of someone?”

  Garren was listening intently. “I do. Then what?”

  “Have them bring her here, to me. That way, if her family tracks her, it would lead to the abbey and not even the de Rosa’s would dare breach the sanctity of the abbey. I will keep her here with me until you come for her.”

  “Where am I going to be?”

  “After you tell the Marshal that you no longer wish to be an agent for the king, you will find a place for you and your wife to live. You cannot run the rest of your lives. Find a place in Scotland or Wales, something well off the path and fortified, and take her there. Swear fealty to whichever king you wish, raise a sizable force and recruit bachelor knights, and live there with your lady for the rest of your life. If that is what you wish, Garren, then make it so.”

  Garren just stood there and smiled. “A sound enough plan, madam. How is it that your mind works so?”

  “My brother taught me.”

  Garren knelt down beside her again, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I am glad to have come to you,” he said softly. “You help me to think clearly when my entire world is in turmoil.”

  Gabrielle patted his hand. “You have no time to waste, Garren. I suspect even now that your lady is living anxiously. If she supported you against her family, she cannot be in their good graces. The sooner she is removed from F
ramlingham, the better. The sooner you are reunited with her, the better.”

  Garren collected his saddlebags, his mind was racing with possibilities, of hope, where moments before there had been none. He had another mission now, perhaps greater than any he had ever undertaken. He took his sister’s hand, trying to think of the proper words of gratitude.

  “To express my thanks seems quite inadequate,” he said simply.

  She waved him off. “None needed, Garren.”

  “I do not know when I shall return. I do not know when Derica will arrive. Of the future, I can say nothing for certain. Only that I will do my very best.”

  “I know you will. And I shall be prepared for any event. I shall welcome it.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze before quitting the room, marching into the early morning light with more purpose he had ever felt in his life. Back in the small chamber, Gabrielle swore she could hear his charger race off even though she knew she could not. She sat there, wondering if she had given him advice that would end his life. But the man’s heart was in turmoil, and she gave the only advice she knew she could.

  There was nothing to do now but wait.

  Garren had known Fergus de Edwin since they had been boys. They had fostered together at Sandhurst Castle and had formed a friendship that had lasted all of these years. They had served together, and at times had gone years without seeing one another, but somehow they always found each other again. Garren knew, in any circumstance, that Fergus was the only man who would postpone his own funeral if Garren needed him. That manner of friendship was few and far between, and Garren valued it.

  Fergus was a bachelor knight and something of a free spirit. His fealty shifted from time to time with different lords. His cause also happened to be any cause that Garren had, and at the moment, Garren needed his friend desperately for a cause that he never thought he would support. In this crisis, Garren could only turn to one man.

  Fortunately for Garren, he had last heard that his friend happened to be serving Walter de Lacy at Longton Castle in Herefordshire. The nearby village, Haverhill, was a two-day’s ride from Framlingham. Garren had taken a room in a tavern in Haverhill and found a youth to run a message to the castle. It was the middle of the night by the time he sent the message.