The rain was falling harder. Water formed in puddles all around the small, mud-brick dwelling. A heavy thatched roof dripped rain onto the ground as Garren walked up to the warped door and rapped on the splintering wood with his great gloved fist. Derica sat astride the charger, her lips unnaturally bright in the freezing weather, trying not to let Garren see that her teeth were chattering. He glanced at her when he received no immediate answer, winked, and rapped on the door again. He almost pounded on the head of the man who swiftly opened it.
Garren took a step back, noting the shock in the man’s eyes. “Emyl de Edwin?” he asked.
The man had Fergus’ eyes. They were bright blue and suspicious. “Who asks for him?”
“Fear not, my lord,” Garren said. “I mean you no harm. I am a friend of Fergus’.”
The man looked slightly less suspicious. “If you are looking for my son, I do not know where he is. He could be in France, or perhaps the Holy Land. If he owes you money, be assured that I have none to pay his debts. If I had, do you think I would be living here?”
Garren had to smile. He put up his hand to silence the man. “My lord, I come not to collect a debt your son owes me, though I am not surprised you have had experiences like that. Fergus had been known to make a promise or two that he had no intention of keeping.”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “Ah, well, I see that you do indeed know my son.”
“Well enough not to lend him money, my lord. May we speak?”
“That depends. What about?”
Garren glanced up at the sky. “I would prefer not to discuss business out here in the rain. My wife is freezing and I would hope to gain her some shelter.”
The old man’s eyes drifted to the charger, to Derica sitting cold and wet in the saddle. “No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t suppose you have come here to collect any debt with your lady in tow. ‘Twould be bad manners. Bring her in by the fire.”
The old man stepped back inside the cottage. Garren lifted Derica off the horse, carrying her across the mud and into the cramped, warm quarters. Closing the door behind them, he helped her pull back the soaking cloak. Near the hearth, the old man motioned them over.
“Take the cloak off and give it to me,” he held his hands out. “I shall dry it by the fire. Lady, sit here, on the stool. ‘Tis warm here.”
Derica gratefully took the offered seat. Her hands were blue with cold and she held them up before the flame. The old man laid out the cloak, glancing at Derica with appreciative eyes. She caught his stares and he shrugged sheepishly.
“Forgive, my lady,” he said. “’Tis been a long time since I have seen such beauty. I am Emyl de Edwin, and you are welcome in my home.”
Garren removed his helm and pulled off his wet gloves. “I can see that you are indeed Fergus’ father. The gift of flattery must run in the blood.”
Emyl shrugged. “’Tis not flattery, but truth.” He looked at the enormous knight. “And you, my lord. Your name?”
“Garren le Mon. And this is my wife, the lady Derica.”
A flicker came to Emyl’s eye. “Garren,” he murmured. “I remember you as a lad. Now I see you as a fine, strong man.”
Garren smiled. “And I remember you as a loud man who tried to thump us on the head with the butt of your sword on the occasions when you came to visit your son.”
Emyl took Garren’s outstretched hand and held it tightly. “You used to run from me.”
“I am no fool.”
“Did you come to seek vengeance, then?”
“No,” Garren snickered. “Though you surely deserve it. I have actually come for another reason.”
“Name it, then.”
“I would ask that you direct me to Cilgarren Castle.”
Emyl’s eyebrows lifted. “Cilgarren? That derelict, beautiful old woman?”
“Then you know of it.”
“Of course I do. What do you want at that place?”
Garren took a long, slow breath, listening to the rain pound on the walls. “’Tis a long story, my lord, one not worthy of delving into. I would be indebted to you should you tell me the way.”
Emyl was either wise enough not to probe. “Very well. Take the road through the town out to the west. When you come to the River Teifi, go south along the bank. Where the ground rises, look to the sky. You will see the castle above you. In fact,” he pointed a finger at Garren. “I will take you there myself. In this fog, ‘twill be difficult to see. I should not want you to get lost.”
“That is not necessary, my lord,” Garren assured him. “We can find it, though your offer is appreciated.”