“In all of the years my family has lived there, they have never seen it inhabited except for immediately after its completion. Legend has it that the place is haunted, and the princes of Dyfed will not go near it. And, being that nearby castles like Cardigan and Carmarthen are far more threatening, the English have no desire to claim it at this time. They have got their hands full with manned castles much less unmanned ones.”
Garren felt better than he had in some time. A plan, a place. With Fergus to help him, he was positive the outcome would be favorable. Now to the get man to Framlingham and claim the prize. He suddenly snorted, softly.
“Cilgarren,” he muttered. “It is fate that I go there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the castle bears my name.”
Fergus grinned. “Indeed it does,” he agreed. “Perhaps in the years to come, people will forget the ‘Cil’ altogether and simply call it Garren’s Castle.”
Garren nodded vaguely, his mind mulling over Fergus’ advice. “Your clear thoughts and suggestions are much appreciated, my friend,” he said. “Strange thing about Love; it muddles your head like fog. I have not been able to think objectively about any of this. I needed you more than I realized.”
“My offer still stands to beat it out of you.”
Garren laughed softly. “I think when you meet Derica, you will change your mind.”
Fergus stroked his chin. “Is that so? Then perhaps I will abduct her for myself.”
Garren cast him his best intimidating glance. “You will rue the day you were born, I assure you.”
“Very well. That threat, coming from you, is enough to cause me to reconsider. I shall stay the course and then you shall name your first born son after me.”
“Fair enough.”
“Then let us make this so, my friend. Time waits for no man.”
Fergus’ confidence reassured Garren. But deep down, he was anxious for something that would be completely out of his hands until the moment Derica appeared at Yaxley. Until then, all he could do was wait and ignore the nameless fears that attempted to seduce him. So many things could go wrong and thinking such thoughts would surely drive him mad. All he wanted to do was see Derica again, and truly hold her for the first time. If he thought about it, he’d never done anything more than kiss her hand. The longing to touch her, hold her, experience her, was almost more than he could bear.
He didn’t like waiting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was alazy day. The sun gave muted warmth, accompanied by the rising humidity that came with summer. It was early in the year to experience the moist heat, but it was present nonetheless. Perhaps it was an indication of the unbearable summer to come.
Derica lay on a day couch, fan in her hand. Her chamber was warm and damp. Every so often, the fan would wave back and forth and then collapse against her breast. The bright green eyes were half-lidded, with thought and boredom, staring into the room as if her mind had been spirited away somehow. Ever since that dreadful day, nearly a week ago, that she had made the bargain for Garren’s life it was as if something had left her. The spirit that was normally present had vanished. Those who knew her well were unsure if it would ever return.
Aglette had long since hidden away the yellow wedding gown that she had worked on so diligently for all those months. She thought about burning it simply to erase the memories, but she wasn’t sure that would be wise. She was currently working on a summer gown for her lady, a pale blue garment made of light fabric. They had purchased the material last year at a fair in Bury St. Edmunds. Yards of it had lain in Derica’s chest, disregarded, until Aglette rediscovered it. She thought that a new gown was something her mistress might need at this time. Anything to brighten the dark days they were all suffering through.
Derica wouldn’t see anyone but Uncle Hoyt and her brother Daniel. They were the only two members of the family who didn’t represent Garren’s departure. Her Uncle Hoyt had spenta good deal of time with her, brushing her hair, stroking her back, talking to her about things like goddesses and flowers. Any mention of anything remotely romantic would send Derica into fits, so Hoyt avoided the mythological love stories he was so fond of. Cuchulain and the other Celts who had fought so hard for love and kingdom were put aside in favor of discussions on roses and lavender. It was all Derica could tolerate. Hoyt hurt for her, but deep down, he could not truly understand what she was going through. None of them did.
Daniel’s visits could be particularly brittle because he almost always carried a message from the rest of the family. As the brother who stayed the furthest away from any manner of politics or family squabbles, he had been coerced into playing peacemaker. He would bring her meals to her and sit with her while she picked at the food, discussing things like the weather and the quality of the spring foals.
Unlike her emotional outburst in the vault of Framlingham from the week prior, she had reverted back to her normal character of controlling her emotions, only now it was darkly so. There was no emotion in her face whatsoever. She mostly lay upon her day couch, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring everything around her. She had no use for her family at the moment, those people who had ruined her life.
Aglette had stuck to her with the faithfulness of an old dog. She had known Derica her entire life and had never seen her so miserable. It was difficult to comprehend that she was making herself ill over a man she had known less than a full week. Aglette had seen suitors come to Framlingham for weeks on end and Derica had never so much as said more than two words to them. Garren le Mon, clearly, had been different. They all knew that now.
So the little maid sewed the blue dress and chattered, even though she knew she would receive no answer. Eventually, shegave up chattering all together and simply sewed. In fact, the pretty blue dress was almost done save hemming the length. Perhaps now was a good time to focus her mistress on something other than her misery.
“There we are,” Aglette stood from her stool and held the dress up. “What do you think of this, my lady? Beautiful, is it not?”
Derica didn’t respond, though the fan lifted and waved back and forth a few times. Aglette tried not to become discouraged.
“My lady,” she said, more firmly. “I will need for you to try this on so that I may hem the bottom. Will you do that, please?”
Derica continued to fan herself. Aglette was about to try again when Derica’s head moved, very slowly, towards the dress. The green eyes that focused on it were lifeless.
“The sleeves are sheer.”
