“I suppose.” Derica’s gaze moved from the exquisite gown to the young serving woman she had known her entire life; Aglette’s parents had both served the de Rosa household for many years. Derica reached out and stroked the girl’s red head before turning away, wandering across the chamber with no true destination in mind.
“Garren le Mon has been fighting in the Holy Land for several years,” she said, more to herself than to Aglette. “He could have been injured, or disfigured somehow. Mayhap that is the reason he did not come with his father during the betrothal negotiations. Mayhap… mayhap his father was afraid I would refuse if I saw what his son truly looked like.”
Aglette looked up from her fine stitching. “I believe you were told that Sir Garren was not yet returned from Jerusalem during the negotiations. He has only just set foot back on English soil.”
“Ah, or so they would have you believe,” Derica held up a finger as if correctly surmising the situation. “Or, if he is not disfigured, mayhap he is an ogre. Or a simpleton. Or he has a great pimpled face that frightens young children.”
Aglette giggled. “Anything is possible, my lady.”
“I shall wager there is something wrong with him. There has to be.”
“It matters not now. The contract is done.”
Derica’s composure took a hit. She was always in control of herself, sometimes unnaturally so. Being a woman, it was expected that she would be an emotional creature. But not Derica. Growing up among men had given her that element.
“Aye,” she agreed softly. “It is done.”
“Are you afraid?”
Derica thought a moment. Was she? “I am not. But I am apprehensive. And a bit surprised. I truly never thought I would ever wed.”
Aglette smiled; she knew the reasons behind that well. “Your new husband will have his hands full with your male kin.”
“It ’tis the truth.”
They smiled at each other. Perhaps that was why Derica was not frightened of her marriage; any hint of abuse or threat from her new husband, and her brothers and uncles would take care of him directly. There was comfort in the thought. But more than that, she did not have a fearful nature.
Sounds of a commotion wafted up through the lancet window. It was enough to catch their attention. Crowding around the thin slit, Derica and Aglette struggled to catch a glimpse of what was going on; they could see a flurry of activity around the open gate. There was the glint of armor that passed across their line of sight that was just as quickly gone. From the sounds of shouting, the women correctly surmised that the mysterious Garren le Mon had just made an appearance.
From mild apprehension to a case of full-blown panic, Derica moved away from the window, her heart in her throat. The sounds of the wailing, momentarily ignored, was suddenly back with a vengeance. Aglette looked at her mistress, fear in her own eyes. The moment they had waited for had come all too soon.
“I must be strong,” Derica struggled to regain her control.
“Aye, my lady,” Aglette agreed fervently. “You will be.”
“He must know that I am a woman to be respected.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Yet I will also be respectful.”
“Aye, you will.”
Derica stopped pacing and looked at her. “There is only one thing to do.”
Aglette blanched. “Saints help us,” she whispered. “I am afraid to know what that may be.”
*
“You heard mecorrectly. I would see my bride before we wed.”
Bertram de Rosa was looking into the face of a very large, very stubborn man. He could see a bit of his friend in the son’s expression, but for the most part, Garren le Mon had a look and feel all his own. Having never met the man before, Bertram wasn’t sure what to think. But he certainly sounded like a man who was eager to get a look at his fair English bride after having spent the past two years in the sand and sun with only dark women to view. In that respect, he could hardly blame him.
But he was careful with his reply. In the solar of Framlingham where the castle business was conducted, the only move he made was to pour himself a cup of wine. There was no desk, and only one chair. Bertram usually took it, leaving whomever he was conducting business with to stand and be scrutinized. It worked amazingly well. But he did not take his seat this time. Even with his three sons and two of his three brothers in the solar with him, Bertram wasn’t at all sure he would hold the advantage.
“Allow me to introduce your future relations,” he said evenly. Moving from his left, he indicated the men standing. “These are my brothers, Alger and Lon. And next to them stand my sons, Daniel, Donat and Dixon.”
Garren had stormed into Framlingham as if he were lord and master. He, his father and the Marshal had determined that it would be the only way to give himself a level playing field against the aggressive de Rosas. He was an aggressive man naturally, so the strength he put behind his manner was hardly an act.
