Medieval Master Swordsmen(365)

"Politics are like life, Sir Garren. One cannot escape either."

Garren took a step at that moment by drinking his wine. It was a signal, very cleverly, to his host that some level of communication and comfort was being established. It was a ploy he had developed during his years of service for the king, when a gesture or word could determine the course of his undertaking. He was well adept at such things.

"Agreed, my lord," he replied. "And also like life, Politics can make a man wish he was never born. Sometimes it is better to simply walk away."

It was more brilliant strategy to direct the conversation as Garren had intended. Though he would not come out directly and swear he had no political affiliation, a hint in this regard was enough for the moment. Still, Bertram was shrewd; Garren could see it in his eyes. The man was no fool.

"Sometimes you cannot walk away," Bertram said quietly.

"Sometimes you must."

Bertram acknowledged the statement by slightly lifting his cup in Garren's direction. Perhaps the old man was being particularly congenial because Garren was the son of his old friend. Or perhaps he genuinely agreed with him. In any case, he didn't seem quite as aggressive as Garren had been led to believe. But, then again, it was only their first meeting.

"Then I see that you do have much of your father in you," Bertram said. "He would rather stay out of the political climate than risk himself. There is no shame in that, of course. Sometimes it is more than prudent. But I would have thought a knight like you to be fiercely loyal to the king."

Before Garren could reply, the door to the solar creaked open and a woman burst forth. Apparently oblivious to the fact that there was a roomful of men around her, she planted herself squarely in front of Garren.

The men didn't react initially, but Garren was momentarily taken aback; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And she was glaring at him. He could see, faintly, that she resembled Bertram, for they both had the same pale green eyes. She had her father's expression, too; an appraising sort of look that one had when inspecting a side of beef.

The woman put her hands on her hips, looked up and down the length of Garren, and then turned to Bertram.

"Sir Garren, I presume?" she asked.

Bertram looked at the woman with little patience, yet with the same expression, appeared resigned to her behavior. He sighed heavily. "Sir Garren le Mon, may I present my daughter, the Lady Derica Isabela Fernanda Elspeth de Rosa."

Derica turned back to Garren. Her expression hadn't wavered one way or the other. "Welcome to Framlingham, Sir Garren."

"Thank you, my lady."

A tense silence followed as Garren and Derica sized one another up. "Sir Garren and I were just discussing business," Bertram said. "Perhaps it is best if you leave us, my dear."

Derica, predictably, ignored her father. "Sir Garren," she said. "I understand that you have just returned from the Holy Land."

The woman had the manners of a raging bull, but he almost didn't care. She was positively delightful to look at and at that moment, Garren knew he was in a huge amount of trouble. A mediocre or even ugly woman would have been far easier for him to deal with objectively.

"Aye, my lady," he said evenly.

"Tell me about it."

"What do you wish to know?"

Derica cocked a well-shaped brow. "Well... the women, for instance. I hear they act like a pack of wild animals."

"No worse than a daughter barging into her father's solar uninvited."

Garren heard a few titters, though he could not be sure where they came from. He thought perhaps the brothers. Derica, however, simply cocked her head. A challenging smile creased her lips. "I am welcome anywhere in my father's house, invited or not."

Garren smiled back. They simply smiled at one another, like hungry wolves, a standoff that made Garren want to laugh out loud. She was amazingly audacious. He looked at Bertram.

"Do you raise your daughter to behave so, my lord?" he asked. His gaze disapprovingly returned to Derica. "No wonder she has had no husband yet."

Before Derica could verbalize her outrage, Bertram spoke. "She knows how to behave, I assure you. At the moment, she chooses not to."

Derica would not be left out of the conversation. "I am not in any way insolent. It is my right to inspect the man who would be my husband, is it not?"

"It is not," Bertram said flatly. "Leave us now. We will send for you when the time is correct."

"I will not be discarded, Father. I have every right to inspect Sir Garren just as you are."

"Later, Derica. Do as I say."

"I will not. I have every right to...."