Derica scowled. “That’s not true.”
“Shhh,” Fergus snapped softly. “Keep your voice down unless you want those two brutish brothers to hear you.”
She lowered her head, trying to make sure every identifiable mark was covered. Her blue gown, unhemmed and long, trailed out from underneath the cloak.
“My gown,” she hissed. “They’ll see it!”
Fergus could feel his apprehension rise; he was close now and to fumble with her gown would be to draw attention to them. Carefully, he set the cart down and pretended to adjust his load of straw.
“Pull it up,” he whispered. “If I touch you, it will look too obvious.”
Derica fumbled with the gown as much as she could without being too noticeable about it. She was feeling her panic but forced herself to calm, knowing that it would do no good to fallapart. With a pull and a tug, she managed to toss a length of cloak over the escaping pale blue. Fergus collected the handle of the cart, lifted, and began to push again.
Derica lowered her head and closed her eyes, saying a soft prayer. Gradually, she could hear Daniel’s voice. She didn’t dare look over. Peering up from the edges of the hood, she could see Dixon’s boots as they passed by. It was too close, and too nerve wracking. Her palms were moist with anxiety. But they went unnoticed through the gates and down the road, and Derica lifted her head slightly to watch the great open gates of Framlingham slip further and further away. She felt, not strangely, as if a part of her life was slipping further and further way, too.
“I think we are safe,” Fergus broke into her thoughts. “I shall push the cart into those trees. My horse is about a quarter of a mile into the woods.”
Derica was bumped around as the cart rolled over the grass and into the trees. Fergus set it down and she slid off. Her eyes were on the silhouette of Framlingham, half-hidden through the trees. Fergus could see where her thoughts lay.
“’Tis difficult to leave the only life one has ever known,” he said quietly.
She shrugged. “’Tis not so much that,” she said. “I love and respect my father and brothers, but sometimes, they cannot be reasoned with. This is one of those times. Although I am not happy to disrespect their wishes, I feel very strongly that they are wrong in this case. Garren is a good man with a good heart and to the Devil with the politics of the king and his brother. I hate politics.”
“Politics are a fact of life in this day and age, my lady.”
“That may be. But I do not have to be a part of it. The only reason they will not allow Garren and I to wed is because someone told them that he was a spy for William Marshal. Theywill not tell me who; therefore, I say they are wrong. They are wrong to destroy my happiness based on their prejudice.” She caught Fergus staring at her when she had finished her little speech. “Why do you look at me so?”
“Because the peasants were right; you are a spitfire.”
She made a face at him, quickly gone. “Am I wrong?”
“I am not sure there is any right or wrong in matters of the heart.”
After a moment longer, Derica turned away from the only home she had ever known. She refused to dwell on the regrets she might have; all that mattered was that soon, she would be with Garren. Fergus had her by the elbow, helping her walk through the heavy grass, when they suddenly heard the thunder of hooves.
Fergus immediately pulled her down, as if they could hide behind the thin green stalks. His hawkish gaze caught sight of a host of chargers at the gates of Framlingham and they could hear shouting in the distance. The men-at-arms were mobilizing. He knew immediately what had happened.
“Run.”
He grabbed Derica’s arm and pulled her along with him, the both of them flying through the trees and into the bramble.
“They’ve discovered me!” Derica gasped as they tore through the grass.
Fergus didn’t answer her; he knew their luck had been too perfect. If they guarded the lady as much as Garren had told him, then they had lived on God’s good graces for all of this time they had not been discovered. He had taken the chance, quickly, and now he wasn’t at all sure that had been wise. All he could think of was getting to his horse and on to Yaxley Nene Abbey before they were stopped.
He prayed that God’s good graces lasted just a bit longer.
*
“You are pacingis like the roll of wagon wheels, Over and over again, never ending, never….”
“I get your meaning. I shall sit if it will stop your complaining.”
Gabrielle suppressed a smile, listening to her brother’s grumpy mood, and knowing he had a very good reason for being anxious. She was simply trying to eliminate some of the tension.
“You should have gone on to Wales, as Fergus suggested,” she said, her hands feeling at the sewing in her lap. In spite of her complete blindness, she sewed extremely well by touch. “To come back here, simply to wait, will drive you mad.”
Garren glanced over at her; it was sunset, on the seventh day since he had left Framlingham. He’d left Fergus five days ago with the intention of riding to William Marshal to inform him of the change in his mission. But a day into that journey, he had turned back for the abbey; he wasn’t so sure the Marshal would allow him to return for Derica. The man was driven and forceful, and Garren was his vassal. Whatever the Marshal ordered, he was obliged to follow, and he could not risk an order that took him far away from Yaxley and far away from Derica. So he had decided to return to the abbey and wait for Fergus to bring her. He wasn’t sure how long that would take, but after four days of waiting, he was beginning to show distinct signs of impatience. All he wanted to do was hold a woman he had never held before.
