“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 acold, misty morning. Garren had awakened before Derica 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 thepretty 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 worldwhere 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.
“Are you hungry?” Garren kissed her temple.
Derica yawned, snuggling against him. “Always.”
He kissed her again. “Then let us break our fast and depart. As much as I would love to languish with you all day in bed, I am afraid we cannot spare the time.”
They dressed in warm silence. The lamb’s wool gown was absolutely stunning on Derica’s figure. The nuns had even managed to stir up a pair of warm hose for her, which she gladly put on even though they were a bit too small. She braided her hair, smiling shyly when she caught her husband staring at her. By the time she pulled on her soft slippers and swung the cloak over her shoulders, Garren had everything packed and waiting for her.
There were bodies sleeping in the tavern below, strewn about the floor and tables. It smelled of smoke and urine. Derica wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell as Garren sent a servant to bring about his charger and procured a hunk of bread from the serving woman. He handed the food to his wife, who promptly tore off a piece of the bread and chewed happily. Garren wondered aloud if there would be anything left for him to eat and she shook her head playfully.
It was misty and cold when they stepped outside. Derica pulled the hood of her cloak around her tightly to ward off the chill. The destrier was brought around by the same sleepy lad who had taken him the night before. Garren loaded their bags on the steed and lifted his wife into the saddle. Derica put a piece of bread in his mouth to thank him for his efforts. He gathered the reins and was preparing to lead the horse off when a figure approached through the mist. Neither Derica nor Garren saw until it was too late.
“Derica,” came a familiar voice.
Derica nearly jumped out of her skin. Uncharacteristically startled, Garren made an instinctive move for the broadsword strapped to the front of his saddle.
Hoyt de Rosa emerged from the shrouding fog, covered with a black cloak and looking like the Devil himself. Derica and Garren immediately noticed something different; the flamboyant de Rosa was dressed in armor and not the usual fine silks. He looked as he had before his accident, an enormous knight to be feared and hated. Their anxiety deepened.
Hoyt came to a halt several feet away. Garren put himself and his weapon between the elder de Rosa and his wife, bracing himself for what was surely to come.
“I wish no trouble, my lord,” he said. “But another step and I will be forced to defend myself.”
Hoyt’s gaze moved between his niece and Garren. He shook his head, long with hair that he had not cut in years. Without the rouge and eye makeup, he looked quite masculine.
“Do you have any idea how worried your father is?” he asked Derica. “We have been searching for days.”
Derica was torn between shame and defiance. “How did you find us?”
