“’Tis been a while since I have tasted battle with the English,” he said. “Let your father attack if he wants to. Frankly, when the Welsh catch wind of a battle, it may very well anger them and your father could find himself fighting on two fronts. I will wager your father is in a good deal more danger than Pembroke is. We can hold out.”
He sounded so sure. Derica was moved by his chivalry. “You are a good man, Keller. I want you to know that if Garren was not alive, then I should have been very proud to be your wife.”
“Then never have I been more tempted to commit murder.”
He meant it as a joke. Derica smiled at his attempt, worried over the fate of Pembroke and praying that Fergus would reach Garren to deliver the news. So much could happen to ruin all she hoped for. Keller sensed her distress and took her by the elbow.
“Come,” he said softly. “I would have you retreat to the keep so that I may accept your father’s invitation to dance.”
“Invitation to dance?”
“Battle is like a dance, carefully planned, carefully executed. It all depends on who will lead and who will follow.”
She thought on that. “An interesting comparison. I have been around knights my entire life and have never heard it put quite that way.”
He took her to the steps of the keep. “There is one thing your father doesn’t know about my dancing skills, however.”
“What is that?”
His expression took on a shadow of dark determination. “I can trip a partner in that careful choreography. He’ll hit the ground and lay there, dazed and vulnerable, before He is even realized He is fallen.”
Derica hesitated. “Keller,” she said softly. “This is my father. I do not wish him… killed if it can be helped. I just want him to go away.”
“I understand and shall do my best to accommodate your wishes.”
She smiled in thanks. With nothing more to say to a man she was deeply grateful to, she impulsively leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek. Keller grasped her face before she could pull away and covered her mouth with his own, overwhelming her with his power and desire for a flash of a moment. When he released her, it was as quickly as he had taken her. Derica stumbled back, her eyes wide at him. Keller looked equally surprised but managed to shrug weakly.
“I had to know what I would miss.”
It was as much as an explanation as he could give her. Derica, having no reply, went up the stairs to the keep and disappeared inside. Keller stood there, watching until she vanished.
He probably would have been better off if he’d not kissed her, for his own sake.
*
It had startedraining again the moment Fergus left Pembroke. It had been rather harrowing being lowered over the western wall into the sea cliff below, but they had intentionally waited until low tide so he wouldn’t be swept away by the pounding surf. Still,he was wet and cold by the time he slipped along the cliffs and beaches to the north before daring to make his way back up onto the land.
It was dark as he made his way inland, racing through the shadowed landscape as fast as his freezing legs would carry him. With the cloud cover, there was no moon by which to see. More than once he tripped over something, muffling his curses as he stubbed a toe or whacked a knee.
Fergus had always had a knack for physical activity and running did not tire him easily, but the conditions were cold and wet and he could feel his muscles tightening after a few miles. Pushing on at the pace he was, he reckoned that it would take him between seven and eight hours to reach Cilgarren, thirty miles to the northeast. However, if he kept crashing into things in the dark, no telling how much longer it would take, if he made it at all. Settling himself down into a rhythm, he moved along at a steady pace.
He was glad when the rain eased. The supper hour came and went because his stomach was rumbling and it was never wrong. He kept running, unable to tell the difference now between the sweat rolling off his body and the blobs of rain still pelting him. On the outskirts of Jeffreystown, he slowed his pace, thinking now would be a good time to borrow a horse. It was by sheer luck that he passed near a tavern, the occupants barricaded in for the night. There was a stable behind the tavern and he silently made his way to it. It was pitch black inside when he opened the door, careful not to wake the lad sleeping just inside. The boy was snoring. Keeping his eyes on the lad, Fergus took the nearest horse he could find, good or bad or indifferent, and quietly led it from the stall.
It was a hairy brown steed, fairly well fed. Fergus took a rope hanging on the side of the fence and fashioned a bridle out of it. Slipping it over the horse’s ears and nose, he leapt ontothe animal’s back and inaudibly walked it from the barn and through the grass. When he reached the trees near the road, he spurred the animal into a run.
He reached Cilgarren by midnight. Unable to cross the destroyed drawbridge on the horse, he tethered the animal and plunged into the muck-filled ditch, climbing up on the other side and into the gatehouse. He raced across the outer bailey and into the inner bailey. Suspecting Garren would be in the great hall, he barreled into the cavernous room and shouted for his friend. In a moment’s breath, he sensed a body behind him and whirled in a start.
Garren’s blue eyes glittered at him in the light of the dying hearth. He had a dagger in his hand, aimed at Fergus’ midsection.
“Christ, Fergus,” he hissed, lowering the knife. “I heard you coming. I thought we were being raided.”
Fergus put both hands on Garren’s massive arms, bracing him for the news to come. “Garren, I found her.”
Garren dropped the knife in shock. “Is she…?”
“She is alive and well at Pembroke Castle.”
The information was coming too strong, too fast. Garren nearly choked on the breath in his lungs, wanting to shout his joy but unable to form a coherent thought. After making a gagging sound in an attempt to speak, he settled for a snort of pure relief.
