Fergus shook his head in amazement. “Quite a brood, I must say,” he was still in disbelief. “And they are all grown. Has it been so long between us, Garren?”
Garren nodded slowly, so very glad to see the man. “It has been too long,” he murmured, his expression growing intense. “Tell me why you have come.”
Fergus took a deep breath; he was still amazed with Garren and Derica and all of their children. He could not believe how much time had passed. But he focused on Garren’s question, on the reason for his visit. It was important.
“I come bearing news, Garren,” he lowered his voice. “Much has happened recently.”
“Recently?” Garren’s brow furrowed. “What has happened?”
Fergus clapped a hand on Garren’s enormous shoulder. “The Marshal passed away not long ago,” he replied. “His son is now the new Earl of Pembroke.”
Garren felt a flash of sadness for the man he had once served. He nodded in acceptance, acknowledgement. “I will pray for him,” he said softly. “But never did I doubt my decision to leave his service and, consequently England, was the correct one. I could not have lived in peace had I stayed.”
Fergus sighed faintly, scratching his forehead, eyeing the little girl now peeking out from behind her father.
“He knew where you were, you know,” he muttered.
“Who?”
“The Marshal. He knew where you had gone almost the moment you left. Had he truly been out for vengeance, he could have done it long ago. I would not be too bitter towards him if I were you.”
Garren’s brow furrowed. “How did he know?”
Fergus lifted his eyebrows. “Do not forget that de Poyer and I knew you were alive, as did my father. The Marshal came to Pembroke shortly after you fled England and, after a night and day of drinking, my father told the Marshal everything. So he knew from nearly the beginning.”
Garren’s eyebrows lifted. “And he never sought to find me? Not ever?”
Fergus shook his head slowly. “All he ever said to me about you was that he hoped you were finally happy, wherever you were. No more than that.”
Garren looked at Derica, who gazed back at him with wide-eyes. All of these years he thought he had been hiding from William Marshal when the truth was that the Marshal knew where he was the entire time. Upon reflection, it didn’t surprise him. The Marshal made it a habit of knowing everything. He turned back to Fergus.
“So why have you come?” he asked. “Surely not to tell me of the Marshal’s passing. It is of no consequence to me, truly. My life is here at Beaucaire and I have no intention of leaving.”
Fergus wriggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But I have not come for that reason alone. I have also come to tell you that your father passed away last month. You are now the new baron of Anglecynn and Ceri. Chateroy Castle is now yours.”
Garren stared at him a long moment, feeling Derica’s hand on his arm comfortingly. “My father passed away?”
“Aye. I am sorry, Garren. I know you loved him.”
Garren nodded faintly, saddened by the fact that his father would never get to see his strong grandsons or beautiful granddaughters. But he had known that the moment he fled English soil. Still, it was a sad moment.
Fergus could see the sorrow in his expression but he continued. “There is more,” he said softly. “I have brought with me documents from the Marshal. He told me to give them to you should I ever see you, so I suppose now is the time. Do you recall that he granted your wife lands and title upon your death at the Battle of Lincoln?”
Garren nodded vaguely, not particularly remembering the details. “What of it?”
Fergus’ bright blue eyes began to gleam. “He never took them back, you know. Once he gave them to Derica, they became hersforever. She is a very wealthy heiress of the Buckton Marcher lordship that stretches from Hopton Castle on the east, Adforton to the south, Craven Arms to the north, and includes four towns, two fiefdoms, and about five thousand vassals. She also has possession of Clun Castle, four hundred soldiers and ten thousand gold marks. William Marshal the Younger is holding all of this for your return, should you ever decide to return.”
Garren and Derica stared at him with big eyes before turning to each other, a thousand unspoken words between them. Garren finally shook his head and turned to Fergus, confused and bordering on irritation.
“So you come to France to tell me of my father’s death, the Marshal’s death, and of vast wealth awaiting my wife and I should we return to England?” he reiterated. “Fergus, you could have done yourself a favor, remained in England, and simply sent me a missive. All of this does not change the way I feel about my life; I have been deliriously happy for the past twenty three years and have no intention of returning to England.”
Before Fergus could reply, Derica put her hand on her husband’s arm.
“But your family home is now yours, Garren,” she said quietly. “Do you not want your sons to return to Chateroy to continue the le Mon legacy? Surely you do not want it to die out with you.”
Garren looked at her; Derica had only grown more beautiful with the years, her lovely face hardly lined and her green eyes just as bright. She was literally his heart and soul. He didn’t know what he would do without her.
“Are you not happy here?” he asked softly. “Must we uproot our family because of old ties and old memories?”
