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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Garren smiled humorlessly. “You could not do it then, even when you outnumbered us two to one. What makes you think you can do it now?”

  De Claare’s gaze moved to Derica, standing on the steps above her husband. He pointed at her. “Your lady wife, I presume?”

  Garren’s sword came out faster than the blink of an eye. “I was merciful on the battlefield at Corfe. Mention the lady again and my mercy is at an end.”

  The two knights laughed in sinister fashion. Behind Garren, Derica came down to stand behind her husband. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

  “Come with me, now,” she murmured in his ear. “We’ll bolt the door and wait for them to go away. Please, Garren.”

  “She is a delightful morsel, le Mon,” de Claare said. “A gift for your faithful service, no doubt.”

  Garren knew there would be no getting rid of them until someone’s blood was spilt. “Go back to the room and lock the door, sweetheart,” he told her. “Do not open it for anyone but me, and do not come down here no matter what you hear. Is that clear?”

  Derica’s heart filled with terror. She’d been around warring men too long and knew what they were capable of. And she was also smart enough to know that her presence was a distraction in a vocation where distraction could be deadly.

  “Please, Garren,” she was beginning to cry. “Come with me. Leave them here.”

  Garren could feel her fear. “I cannot. Please, go. I beg you.”

  Derica would not argue with him, though she desperately wanted to. She looked at the men threatening her husband, hating them with every fiber her small body possessed.

  “Then if you are to fight him, allow him to regain his armor,” she said strongly. “You are fully protected and fully armed. There is nothing honorable about fighting a knight without his protection.”

  Garren took his eyes off his opponents in an attempt to hush her, but de Claare spoke first.

  “The lady knows something of knights,” he said. “Have you, perchance, had much experience with them?”

  Torres and a few men surrounding them snickered lewdly. Derica could feel her anger outweighing her fear.

  “My father and uncles and brothers are knights,” she growled. “The House of de Rosa is well known for their fighting.”

  De Claare’s smile vanished. “De Rosa?” he repeated. “You are of the House of de Rosa?”

  “Bertram de Rosa is my father.”

  The knight was clearly puzzled. He looked at Garren. “You married into the House of de Rosa?” he asked, incredulous. “Le Mon, could it be that your loyalties have changed?”

  “They have not.”

  “But you married your enemy’s daughter.”

  “I married a woman whom I adore. And our marriage is none of your affair.”

  De Claare and his knight were confused. They wanted Garren in the worst way, yet they were unwilling to provoke the wrath of de Rosa. Anyone who supported John Lackland, as Leicester and Norfolk did, knew of the warring de Rosa clan. To attack a member of that clan, even a daughter’s enemy husband, would cause problems and it was a chance de Claare did not want to take.

  With a long look, the knights backed away. Sheathing their swords, they quit the inn without another word. Garren stood, sword still in hand, watching the door to make sure they did not return. He was not surprised the de Rosa name had held such weight with them.

  “Come on,” Derica said quietly. “Let us return to our room. They will not come back.”

  Garren’s eyes lingered on the door a moment longer. When he turned to follow his wife up the stairs, she was already half way to the top. Entering their room on her heels, he closed the door quietly and bolted it, wondering what he was going to say to her in explanation to she had just heard. He prayed that she would understand.

  Carefully, he set his weapon against the wall. “Derica,” he began hesitantly. “I know you heard things that might have confused you. I would like to explain, if you would allow me.”

  Derica stood by the window, peering through the oilcloth as her husband had done earlier. “I think they have left.” She let the oilcloth fall back and looked at him. “I told you once that it didn’t matter to me if you were a spy or not. It still doesn’t.”

  He felt more relief than words could express, but she deserved to know all of it. He sat down on the mattress and motioned her over. When she came close, he pulled her down onto his lap and held her tightly, just for a moment.

  “Whether or not it matters, you deserve to know all of it,” he said quietly. “Few people know what I am about to tell you, simply because my life would be in jeopardy if the truth were widely known. But as my wife, it is your right.”

  Derica curled up on his lap. “Is it awful?”

  “That depends.”

  “Was my father right about you being a spy, then? Did I unwittingly lie for you?”

  He paused. “Aye.”

  Surprisingly, she wasn’t upset by the knowledge. He was being honest with her, for better or for worse.

  “I have been in Richard’s service for many years,” he said. “In my younger days, I fought for him in France as well as in England. I fought for him against his father, against his brothers, and in support of both his father and his brothers. Sometimes royal families have a strange sense of loyalty.”

  “Go on.”

  “Some time ago, I went into the service of William Marshal. William is not only Richard’s chancellor, he is his most ardent supporter. In doing so, he retains experienced knights like me for tasks he considers vital to Richard’s rule.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything that conventional means cannot accomplish. I do what is necessary to further Richard’s cause, be it on the battlefield or in a more covert venue.”

  Derica thought a moment. “My father is a supporter of the king’s brother.”

  “I know.”

  “Then I would guess that your coming to Framlingham was in the line of duty. You were sent to spy on my father.”

  “Aye.”

  “And you were to marry me to accomplish that.”

  He looked her in the eye. “That was the original plan,” he said. “But, as you can see, it did not turn out that way. Somewhere in the process of accomplishing my mission, I fell in love with you and my motives for the Marshal were forgotten. For you, I am willing to risk everything I have ever been, everything I have ever believed in. I could not and would not betray you, not even for the sake of my king.”

  Derica fell silent, her mind whirling with this new information. She stroked his neck, the back of his head, feeling his soft hair drift through her fingers.

  “Richard,” she murmured.

  “What about him?”

  She lifted her shoulders, weakly. “I was simply thinking that all of the talk that you were in the Holy Land with the king was a lie.”

  “For necessity’s sake, it was.”

  “And your father; was he in on the deception?”

  “It was difficult for him to be less than truthful with his friend, your father, but he was indeed a part of the deception for my sake. It was by sheer coincidence that my father and your father knew each other.”

  “Then I suppose I should be angry about all of this.”

  “I would not fault you if you were.”

  Her expression grew thoughtful as she tried to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “And Fergus? Does he work for the Marshal, too?”

  “No. He has no knowledge of the truth of my vocation and I prefer to keep it that way.”

  She looked at him, his strong face and beautiful eyes. After a moment, she simply shook her head. “It is my opinion that politics are a deadly game and something I have no use for, and it does not please me that you are involved in such intrigue. But I understand that you must do as you must.” She smiled, timidly. “Perhaps I am a stupid woman and simply cannot see past my emotions, but I cannot hate you for this.”

  It was more than he had hoped
for. With a sigh of relief, he kissed her deeply. “I am so sorry I lied to you in the vault,” he murmured against her lips. “I did not want to, but I saw no other way at the time. Your father was prepared to hang me.”

  “I do not care about any of that,” she whispered. “All that matters is that you are truthful with me now and will forever be so. Promise me, Garren.”

  “I swear it.”

  They held each other, tightly, and Garren thanked God for the sense to marry this amazing woman. He settled back on the bed with her clutched against his chest, thinking about nothing in particular beyond what had just occurred. He knew there would be other nights like this one, coming up against people who wanted to see him come to harm. He was glad Derica knew the truth, and tremendously glad for her strength. He knew he would need it in times to come.

  “Garren?”

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “Does the Marshal know what’s happened? With me, I mean.”

  “No.”

  “You must tell him.”

  “I will as soon as I am able. But my greater concern right now is getting us to a safe haven.”

  Derica sat up, looking at him. She suddenly looked like a child, small and vulnerable. “I am afraid,” she said. “What will happen if…?”

  He put his fingers on her lips. “Hush, now,” he murmured. “No fears. The Marshal will be sated and your family will eventually come to terms. Everything will turn out fine, given time. We simply need to let the situation cool a bit.”

  Derica lay back down against his warm, comforting chest. She didn’t want to voice her doubts. Though she heard his words, she wasn’t sure she agreed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I shall not ask again.”

  He’d been burned, beaten, poked, slapped and moderately cut. Tied to a gnarled oak tree somewhere south of where the de Rosa’s had caught up to him, Fergus hadn’t yet become impatient with the situation. For the moment, he was tolerant. Bertram de Rosa was missing his daughter and he was understandably brittle. Besides, Fergus had suffered worse wounds at the hands of scorned women. Most of what he’d received thus far had been child’s play.

  “If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times,” Fergus said patiently. “I know nothing of your daughter’s disappearance. I am a bachelor knight in the current service of Somerset. I was attempting to return home when you and your brigands ambushed me.”

  “You are a liar,” Donat snarled in his face; the middle de Rosa brother had inflicted most of the torture. “We know you were at Framlingham. We found your handcart by the side of the road and followed your tracks.”

  “I have no knowledge of any handcart, though I was in the vicinity of Framlingham. I have friends in Saxmundham and was passing through. That is why you found my tracks.”

  “Liar! What did you do with her?”

  “I have done nothing.”

  “If she is lying dead somewhere in a ditch, you will curse the day you were born. I swear it on God’s Holy name.”

  “If she is lying dead somewhere, it is not by my hand.”

  Donat shoved his fist into Fergus’ stomach once again. It was the latest blow in a long line of many. Fergus coughed in pain, trying to convince himself it wasn’t so bad. He’d felt worse. But when a strike came to his face, he saw stars and thought, perhaps, that it was indeed bad.

  Bertram stood with Lon and Alger, watching Donat beat their prisoner senseless. Dixon helped his brother now and again by thumping the captive on the head when he was particularly uncooperative. Only Daniel stood off by himself, watching the beating without emotion. He had tried to intervene once to suggest reasoning was a better method of interrogation, but he had been ignored. Now he said nothing. If his brothers beat their only suspect into oblivion, then they would never get any information out of him. Their brutal methods would cause their failure.

  Bertram was already feeling failure. Five days without Derica suggested that the trail was growing cold. He suspected that le Mon had everything to do with her disappearance. When they had asked their captive about le Mon, they had received nothing by way of answer. It was becoming a maddening game. Watching his son split the prisoner’s lip, he turned to his brothers.

  “I wish we had Hoyt with us,” he muttered. “He had a knack of being able to gain any information he wished.”

  “That is because he used methods that Donat has yet to aspire to,” Lon said. “A hot poker up the arse has a way of making a man talk.”

  Bertram grunted. “Aye, but my sons still feel that beating a man is the only way. Pure strength.”

  “They’re young. They will learn.”

  “Learn indeed. But they will not learn from the best.”

  Bertram had flashes of his larger brother in times past, pouring scalding water on a man’s eyeballs in order to gain vital information. Before the blow to his head, Hoyt invented new ways of creating pain to all those who opposed the de Rosa will. Bertram found himself cursing that day when Hoyt took a blow so hard in the tourney that his helm had to be pried from his head. He was never the same after that. He could have used the old Hoyt now, very much.

  “If they want to learn how to dress and fold laundry, Hoyt can teach them very well,” Alger mumbled.

  Bertram sighed. “I had hopes when he chose to ride from Framlingham in search of Derica, in the manner of days of old. But the moment we tracked down this thief, he disappeared without the stomach for doing what needs to be done.”

  “Where do you suppose he went?”

  “Who can say? To the nearest town to buy fabric, or perhaps he went home. I do not know. I am coming not to care any longer.”

  The senior de Rosa brothers nodded in silent agreement. The continued to observe as Donat pummeled the hostage. It was having no effect. Finally, Bertram himself moved forward. He was tired of waiting. Grabbing his captive by the hair, he looked into the swollen blue eyes.

  “I shall make this brief,” he said. “If I do not receive the answers I seek, then I will allow my son to do whatever he wishes to you. Keep in mind that he young, lacks discipline, and had a fondness for creating as much pain as he can. With that said, I will make you a proposition; whatever le Mon has promised to pay you, I will double it if you tell me where my daughter is.”

  Fergus didn’t reply; he continued to stare at him. Bertram’s attempt at good will was fading. “Have you no answer for me?” he pressed.

  Fergus didn’t say a word, and it was clear that he was not going to. Bertram let go of his hair and turned towards the men.

  “Lon, Alger, backtrack his trail and leave no stone unturned,” he snapped. “If there is a house, search it. If there is a town, raid it. Take enough men-at-arms with you to satisfy that.”

  The uncles moved for their horses, shouting to the company of soldiers that had accompanied them. Ten were singled out for the hunt. Bertram turned back to his sons.

  “Daniel,” he addressed his eldest. “Go back to Framlingham. Mobilize two hundred men and prepare them for a march to Chateroy Castle. We are going to pay my old friend a visit and see if he knows the whereabouts of his son.”

  Daniel didn’t say a word as he turned for his horse. Bertram watched him a moment, wondering if he would actually do as he was bade. The man was the least violent of the de Rosas and the most likely to disobey his father in that regard. When Daniel rode off, Bertram turned to Donat and Dixon.

  “As for this one,” he tilted his head in Fergus’ direction. “Do what you must to wrangle information from him. But be mindful that he is our only link to your sister.”

  For the first time, Fergus felt a distinct sense of despair as he watched Bertram de Rosa walk away. He knew that the old man had been the only thing stopping the sons from unleashing on him. He glanced at the two de Rosa brothers; they stared back with the eyes of something without a soul. In that moment, Fergus knew that he was in a good deal of trouble.

  It was a cold, misty morning. Garren had awakened before Deric
a and had built a fire to warm the freezing room, but it hadn’t been nearly warm enough by the time she rose. Hissing with chill, she went in search of her clothing. With the coverlet wrapped around her, she looked like a giant baby in too much swaddling. Garren grinned as she banged about, pulling out the pretty blue lamb’s wool gown that the sisters had given her. It was very warm, something she desperately needed at the moment.

  “Cold, is it?” he quipped.

  She groaned, trying to hold the dress with one hand and keep the coverlet about her with the other. Garren took mercy on her.

  “Let me help you,” he said. “I shall hold the coverlet and you hold the dress.”

  Derica’s teeth were chattering. Garren took hold of the coverlet, pulling it back just enough to get a peek at her nude body as she fumbled with the gown. It was too much for him to take.

  “I know how to warm you, and quickly,” he said softly.

  She was having a hard time manipulating the dress with her quaking hands. “H-how?”

  He dropped the coverlet entirely and put his arms around her. She squealed as he pulled her down on the bed, but quickly succumbed to his heated kisses. He explored her with his burning hands, stroking her nipples that were hard from both his touch and the chill. His body was big and warm, enveloping her. Derica surrendered to him, each sensation new and wonderful. He seemed to take delight in stroking her inner thighs, feeling her quiver and laughing softly when she did so. When he finally took her, it was tenderly and far more slowly than it had been the previous night. Now, he could be patient and experience everything he had been too crazed to experience their first time. In reflection, he had been selfish. He would not be selfish now.

  For Derica, it was as if they had been making love for a sweet eternity, yet it still wasn’t long enough. When the rapturous spasms overtook her body once again, she was disappointed and elated at the same time. Garren’s rapture came shortly thereafter, and they lay entangled in sweat and glory in a world where time had no meaning. They were only aware of each other and their bliss. But, as it did so often in their world, reality settled as the day grew light around them.