Fergus’ mouth was full. “Why?”
Garren glanced over at Offa and David, talking softly by the smoking hearth. “Do you see that dark haired man?”
Fergus glanced in David’s direction. “That young whelp you introduced me to? The one who has been living here?”
“Aye.”
“What about him?”
“He is fond of Derica. Too fond, if you get my meaning.”
Fergus’ eyebrows rose. Then he laughed. “Idiot. His life shall not be a long one.”
“He is the nephew of an old friend of your father’s. I should hate to have to kill him were he to press his intentions on my wife while I am away. As it stands, only your father stands between my wife and a potential problem. But with you here, there is no doubt that David would be in way over his head were he to attempt something. It would give me more peace of mind than you know.”
Fergus swallowed the last of his food. “So, once again, you expect me to play nursemaid to your wife.”
“I ask you, my friend.”
“You do not want my sword at your side?”
“I want your sword here, in my stead.”
Fergus sighed heavily, wiping at a smear of food on his chin. “Very well. If that is your wish.”
Garren smiled. “Many thanks.”
“But you owe me.”
“The usual?”
Fergus nodded firmly. “A hog’s head of ale, deliverable upon your return.”
Garren stood up and reseated his helm. Derica had been standing a respectful distance away, allowing the men sometime between the two of them, and Garren extended a hand to her. It would be their second painful farewell of the day.
Fergus watched them walk from the hall, Garren’s arm protectively around Derica’s shoulders. He rose from the table, told his father he was going to find shelter for his weary horse, and went out into the yard. His movements didn’t seem so weary anymore. He casually melted into the shadow of a wall, watching Garren and Derica take their leave of each other. When Derica finally went back into the hall, wiping her eyes, Fergus followed Garren into the old gatehouse.
“So I finally get you all to myself.”
They were sheltered from the elements in the dank passage. Garren stopped walking and turned around. “So it seems.” He moved back towards Fergus. “I assume you have information for my ears only.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just do. I know you, Fergus. There’s something else.”
“Perhaps,” Fergus regarded him. “I have a question for you.”
“Ask it.”
“Where are you really going, Garren?”
It was more a statement than a question. Garren answered evenly-. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. You’re not going back to Chateroy, are you?”
“I said I was. What makes you think otherwise?”
Fergus’ pale blue eyes glittered. “Something that one of the de Rosas said to me.”
