He ran a finger down her cheek, onto her shoulder. “’Tis difficult to say. Perhaps ten days, perhaps twenty.”
“Twenty days,” she breathed. “Why can I not go with you if you are to be away that long?”
“Because I shall travel much more quickly without you. Furthermore, there are threats on the road I have no desire to expose you to. Bandits and murderers, to name a few. I would rather know you were here, safe, waiting impatiently for me to return.”
She knew he was right, but that didn’t help the tugging in her chest. When he pulled her up and took her in his arms, it only increased the ache. Derica held him tightly, afraid to let him go.
“Promise you will return,” she whispered.
His fingers were in her hair, his mouth against her forehead. “I swear it.”
She kissed him once, twice. “Do you realize that since we were reunited at the abbey, we have never been apart? It will be strange not waking up to you every morning. It has become a part of me, like breathing.”
“I know,” he said. “But after this temporary separation, I shall never leave you again. Ever.”
She was quiet a moment. “But what if William Marshal insists you continue in his service?”
“I have been in his service for many years. I have dedicated my entire life to the king. It is time that I dedicate myself to my own life now and he will have to understand that.”
“What if he doesn’t’?”
“He has no choice.”
She sighed, hearing his determination. But she also knew that he had a strong sense of duty to Richard. A man who would chose to be a spy for the king would have nothing else. She wondered if his love for her would outweigh his sense of duty if he were pressured to make a choice.
“Whatever happens, my love,” she ran her fingers through his hair. “This night belongs to us.”
He couldn’t think of a reply other than to make love to her.
*
The next morningdawned dismal. Rain was coming down in sheets, creating a blurry white landscape. Emyl had loaded Garren’s charger and had it waiting outside the outer wall. Both bridges were still in a state of disrepair and the horse could not be brought any closer.
A fire burned in the crumbling hearth in the great hall, sending smoke to the ceiling and escaping from gaps in the roof. Garren and Derica had eaten a cozy meal near the fire, greedily soaking up the last few moments they would have together until he returned. They kept the conversation positive, talking of trivial things, unwilling to face the fact that time was drawing short.
Derica was in control of her emotions until Emyl came with Garren’s armor and began helping him dress. She sat atop the old table, huddled in the woolens that the nuns had given her asshe watched her husband transform from a strong, sweet man into a terrifying vision of a knight. She well remembered the first time she ever saw him, in her father’s solar. Although he had worn his armor, he had not been allowed his weapons inside the castle; even so, he had been an impressive sight. Having lived in a household full of knights, she had long gotten over being impressed by a bold man in a steel suit. But watching Garren as he adjusted his breastplate, she felt giddy and warm as she hadn’t felt in years.
Garren noticed her watching him and his eyes twinkled. “Why do you look so?”
She blinked at him, puzzled. “How do I look?”
“Like you are day dreaming.”
She grinned. “I am, in a way. Tell me something; why is it that you do not have horns jutting from the armor on your shoulders? Uncle Hoyt used to.”
He snorted. “Because I do not need them. Men with spikes on their armor aren’t merely looking to defend or attack honorably; they are seeking to maim and destroy.”
“Then you say that Uncle Hoyt is dishonorable?”
“I say nothing of the sort. I simply mean that he has them because, I would imagine, he derives a good deal of pleasure at men being terrified by the mere sight of them. ’Tis a good intimidation tactic, mentally unsettling an enemy before the battle has even begun. What sane man would not fear a knight with spikes all over his armor?”
She thought on that a moment. “Father’s helm has a horn that comes out of the center of his forehead, like a Unicorn.”
Garren merely wriggled his eyebrows, in approval or disapproval she could not tell. When Emyl finished struggling with a strap that finally decided to latch, Garren stepped away and shook himself slightly, like a dog shaking its hide. The armor clinked and settled on his big body.
“Your weapon and helm are with the charger,” Emyl said.
Garren nodded at him, then looked at his wife. She was smiling at him, but it was forced. Emyl, sensing the farewell to come, excused himself and left them alone.
