“Forgive, my lady,” he said. “’Tis been a long time since I have seen such beauty. I am Emyl de Edwin, and you are welcome in my home.”
Garren removed his helm and pulled off his wet gloves. “I can see that you are indeed Fergus’ father. The gift of flattery must run in the blood.”
Emyl shrugged. “’Tis not flattery, but truth.” He looked at the enormous knight. “And you, my lord. Your name?”
“Garren le Mon. And this is my wife, the lady Derica.”
A flicker came to Emyl’s eye. “Garren,” he murmured. “I remember you as a lad. Now I see you as a fine, strong man.”
Garren smiled. “And I remember you as a loud man who tried to thump us on the head with the butt of your sword on the occasions when you came to visit your son.”
Emyl took Garren’s outstretched hand and held it tightly. “You used to run from me.”
“I am no fool.”
“Did you come to seek vengeance, then?”
“No,” Garren snickered. “Though you surely deserve it. I have actually come for another reason.”
“Name it, then.”
“I would ask that you direct me to Cilgarren Castle.”
Emyl’s eyebrows lifted. “Cilgarren? That derelict, beautiful old woman?”
“Then you know of it.”
“Of course I do. What do you want at that place?”
Garren took a long, slow breath, listening to the rain pound on the walls. “’Tis a long story, my lord, one not worthy of delving into. I would be indebted to you should you tell me the way.”
Emyl was either wise enough not to probe. “Very well. Take the road through the town out to the west. When you come to the River Teifi, go south along the bank. Where the ground rises, look to the sky. You will see the castle above you. In fact,” he pointed a finger at Garren. “I will take you there myself. In this fog, ’twill be difficult to see. I should not want you to get lost.”
“That is not necessary, my lord,” Garren assured him. “We can find it, though your offer is appreciated.”
“Nonsense,” Emyl waved him off. “’Tis the least I can do for Garren le Mon, the boy who once ran from me in terror. I should make up for my bad behavior.”
Derica’s hands were warming, as was her smile as she listened to the conversation. “You must have been an awesome knight, my lord.”
Emyl turned to her. “Indeed, Lady le Mon. I was indeed formidable at one time. But that was before…” he looked slightly uncomfortable. “That was before the ravages of drink and foolishness set upon me. There was a time when I was an honorable knight in the service of the Earl of Shrewsbury. My ancestor arrived at Dover with William the Bastard many years back. Once, the de Edwin name meant something.”
Derica glanced at Garren, uncertain what to say to a man who had apparently ruined himself. “Perhaps it shall again,” she said with soft encouragement. “We plan to live at Cilgarren Castle. Perhaps you could serve Garren and help us make it a fine, strong place.”
“Truly, Garren?” Emyl said. “Have you been granted the lands?”
Garren shook his head. “No,” he said. “Suffice it to say that the lady and I are in need of finding a safe place for a time. Your son suggested the derelict castle of Cilgarren for this purpose.”
“Safe place?” Emyl repeated. “Have you committed a crime, then?”
Garren cast his wife a wink. “Marrying this woman against her father’s wishes is crime enough. We need to find safe haven until his anger cools.”
Emyl laughed. “I see now. Well, I cannot blame you in the least. Were I younger and prettier, I might have done the same thing.” He reached over by the hearth, collecting a large earthenware jug. “A drink, then. Let us toast your criminal activities.”
Emyl took a huge swallow, reminding Garren very much of his son. Derica smirked as her husband reluctantly took the container and ingested a long swallow of the bitter, dark liquid.
“Do I get to drink to my own criminal activities, too?” she asked.
Garren cocked an eyebrow at her but dutifully handed her the jug. Derica took a gulp that spilled over her lips. She coughed and laughed at the same time, making a face at the strength of the liquor. Garren, grinning, shook his head at her and took the jug away. Emyl crowed happily.
