“Derica,” came a familiar voice.
Derica nearly jumped out of her skin. Uncharacteristically startled, Garren made an instinctive move for the broadsword strapped to the front of his saddle.
Hoyt de Rosa emerged from the shrouding fog, covered with a black cloak and looking like the Devil himself. Derica and Garren immediately noticed something different; the flamboyant de Rosa was dressed in armor and not the usual fine silks. He looked as he had before his accident, an enormous knight to be feared and hated. Their anxiety deepened.
Hoyt came to a halt several feet away. Garren put himself and his weapon between the elder de Rosa and his wife, bracing himself for what was surely to come.
“I wish no trouble, my lord,” he said. “But another step and I will be forced to defend myself.”
Hoyt’s gaze moved between his niece and Garren. He shook his head, long with hair that he had not cut in years. Without the rouge and eye makeup, he looked quite masculine.
“Do you have any idea how worried your father is?” he asked Derica. “We have been searching for days.”
Derica was torn between shame and defiance. “How did you find us?”
Hoyt crossed his arms thoughtfully. “’Twas not a matter of finding you, but following you.” He looked at Garren. “My brother captured the man you hired to abduct Derica.”
Garren’s heart sank, thinking of his friend Fergus and remorseful that the man’s loyalty had gotten him killed. “Did his death bring you the information you sought?”
“I do not know. I did not interrogate him. While my nephews were intent on inflicting pain, I rode back along his trail and found small footsteps branching off into the forest. There was an abbey over the hill. So I lay in wait and was rewarded, the next day, to see you both ride from the abbey. As I said, it was simply a matter of following you and biding my time.”
“I am not going home, Uncle Hoyt,” Derica wasn’t sure how to address him, but it didn’t seem right calling him Lady Cleo Blossom when he was dressed in armor. “Garren and I were married yesterday. I am his wife and I am staying with him.”
“I suspected as much.”
Garren watched his body language carefully; he was armed, but had yet to unsheathe his sword. It hung at his side. In fact, he’d made no aggressive moments at all.
“If you have come to take her home, you have wasted your time,” Garren said. “You may report back to her father than she is well and happy, and we intend to have a good life together.”
Hoyt shook his head. “I have not come to take her home, nor do I intend to tell my brother anything at the moment.”
“Then what do you want?”
Hoyt was silent a moment, as if contemplating something very deep. “Garren,” he said slowly. “Does the Marshal know what you have done?”
Garren’s guard went up, higher than ever. He was very good at denying his true vocation and used that experience.
“So you still think I am a spy, is that it?”
“Games are not necessary, sir knight. I know that you are sworn to William Marshal and that he sent you to Framlingham to spy on my brother. Did he not tell you that there would be another set of eyes at Framlingham?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
Hoyt smiled ironically. “I thought you would not,” he said. “But do you know this? La lealtà alla morte. Onorare soprattutto.”
Garren stared at him, long and hard. He had no idea how Hoyt de Rosa would know that unless the Marshal had told him. There was a code with the Marshal’s men, something that identified them to one another. Each man had what was termed his ‘phrase’, a specific combination of words that another agent would speak to him to let him know he was an ally. In a startling twist, Hoyt had just spoken Garren’s phrase, and there was only one reply possible.
“Lungo vive il re,” Garren said softly.
“Then you believe me.”
Garren wasn’t sure how to reply. Although he did not lower his sword, his manner was less defensive and more curious. “Why did you not identify yourself earlier?”
“I did not want to give myself away, so to speak,” Hoyt replied. “I am sorry I could not be of help when my brothers’ persecuted you. Had I intervened any more than I did, surely they would have suspected something. I could not risk it.”
Garren lowered the sword. He glanced at his wife; he wanted to see how she was reacting to all of this. From her expression, it was clear that she was shocked.
“But…,” Derica hardly noticed her husband looking at her. “I do not understand, Uncle Hoyt. Do you mean to say that you serve William Marshal?”