Garren laughed harder. “Old, am I? How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty years, at least.”
He was greatly amused. “Thank you for the compliment, but I am nothing of the sort.”
“Oh. How old are you, then?”
“Thirty-one years.”
Her jaw dropped, just as quickly shut. “Good Heavens. I had no idea….”
“That I was as old as God himself, eh?”
She shrugged; he grinned. Garren turned back to the night sky, noting that the wind was picking up.
“It is getting rather cold,” he said. “Mayhap you should return to your chamber.”
“You did not answer my question.”
“What is that?”
“Why have you not married?”
“I have never had the time or the inclination. Had my father not set up this betrothal, I would not have considered it.”
“Why not?”
“I just told you. I have never had the time nor….”
Derica looked at him, then. “You mean to say that you have never met a woman you have wanted to marry? Not even in all of your travels?”
It was Garren’s turn to shrug. “I have met a few interesting women in my lifetime. But it would have been unfair to marry any one of them and then leave her while I go about my vocation.”
He could see the thoughts racing through her mind. “Then you are telling me that you plan to give up your vocation? That you are ready to stay in one place? Is that why you have agreed to our betrothal?”
He could sense something behind her questions, something he couldn’t quite single out. “I agreed because my father went to a lot of trouble to secure this marriage for the future of my family lineage,” he said carefully. “At some point, I will need to produce an heir to carry on the le Mon name.”
It wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “So that’s all I am? A breeding cow?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”
Derica wasn’t quite sure what she had been driving out, but the breeding stock line hadn’t been it. She felt insignificant theway he described his views on the marriage. Pushing herself off the wall, she headed back toward the tower and the stairs. Garren called after her.
“Lady Derica?”
She didn’t answer. With every step, she felt more and more distress and had no idea why. Garren called out to her again and she whirled on him just as she reached the steps.
“I am not breeding stock, Garren le Mon,” she nearly shouted at him. “If all you wanted was a brood mare, you should have had your father select someone else. I am not interested.”
She had a lot of fire, Garren would admit. He moved away from the wall and walked towards her, slowly, watching her body language. He was a man who had made a living from watching the twitches of others and he could tell just how furious she was, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Isn’t that what marriage is, my lady?” he asked. “To perpetuate the family lines, to strengthen allies? If there is something else involved, then I am ignorant of it.”
Derica felt as though she had been slapped. She didn’t understand why she suddenly felt so hopeless. He had entirely logical views of their marriage. She wasn’t sure what her views were at all.
“As am I.”
Garren watched her fade down the steps, into the darkness of the tower. He knew that somehow he had offended her, but wasn’t sure how. Still, he wished he knew her well enough to ask for her forgiveness for whatever it was that he had said. At this moment, he felt the distinct twinge of regret for something he didn’t fully understand.
