Medieval Master Swordsmen(429)

“But they didn’t follow you,” Garren said. “You’re sure of it?”

“I would stake my life on it.”

Garren didn’t question him further. That was all he really cared about at the moment, and there would be time for more detail later. He slapped his friend on the back. “I, for one, am amazed to see you. We thought for certain the de Rosas had devoured you.”

Fergus stood from the fire, a weak smile on his lips. “Not hardly, though they tried. “ He rubbed the stubble on his face. “Although I would like nothing better than to tell more stories of my persecution, I would truly like a bit of food and perhaps some sleep. It has been a long few days.”

Derica leapt up, rushing around for the leftovers from their morning meal. David and Offa helped her gather the items while Emyl sat at the old table, his old eyes drinking in the sight of his only son.

“’Tis been a long time, lad,” he said. “A long time indeed.”

Fergus was genuinely glad to see his father. “I am a bad son, I know. I stay away for years and only come to you when I want something.”

Emyl shrugged. “If that is all I can have of you, I shall accept it. At least you acknowledge what a rotten lad you are.”

Fergus grinned as Derica placed some cold stew and berries before him. He shoved food in his mouth and continued. “I directed Garren to Cilgarren, you know. It is the safest place for him.” He eyed his friend. “But now I see he is leaving, after all this trouble I have been through. Where are you going, pray?”

Garren had spent many years of his adult life avoiding that question from Fergus. He was quick to make a believable excuse. “I am afraid the de Rosas may go after my father. I intend to go home and scout the situation for myself.”

“And if they have?”

“I shall deal with that situation if and when I come upon it.”

Fergus shoved another bite in his mouth. “Let me finish this feast and I shall go with you.”

“How?” Garren asked. “You have been on the move for weeks, Fergus. You’re so weary with fatigue and lack of food that you can hardly stand. You need to rest and regain your strength. I have enough to worry about without wondering if you are going to drop dead any moment.”

Fergus pointed his stew-covered knife at him. “I have been worse than this. Hell, Garren, you have been worse than this and still rode fifty miles into battle. I have seen you myself.” He turned back to his food. “It is settled. I ride with you.”

Garren didn’t refute him right away. To do so would to have looked suspicious, but he clearly didn’t want Fergus coming with him. He needed a plan. Straddling the old bench, he sat, hearing it groan under his weight. A gloved hand scratched his forehead.

“Fergus,” he said quietly. “I need you here.”

Fergus’ mouth was full. “Why?”

Garren glanced over at Offa and David, talking softly by the smoking hearth. “Do you see that dark haired man?”

Fergus glanced in David’s direction. “That young whelp you introduced me to? The one who has been living here?”

“Aye.”

“What about him?”

“He is fond of Derica. Too fond, if you get my meaning.”

Fergus’ eyebrows rose. Then he laughed. “Idiot. His life shall not be a long one.”

“He is the nephew of an old friend of your father’s. I should hate to have to kill him were he to press his intentions on my wife while I am away. As it stands, only your father stands between my wife and a potential problem. But with you here, there is no doubt that David would be in way over his head were he to attempt something. It would give me more peace of mind than you know.”

Fergus swallowed the last of his food. “So, once again, you expect me to pay nursemaid to your wife.”

“I ask you, my friend.”

“You do not want my sword at your side?”

“I want your sword here, in my stead.”

Fergus signed heavily, wiping at a smear of food on his chin. “Very well. If that is your wish.”

Garren smiled. “Many thanks.”

“But you owe me.”

“The usual?”

Fergus nodded firmly. “A hog’s head of ale, deliverable upon your return.”

Garren stood up and reseated his helm. Derica had been standing a respectful distance away, allowing the men sometime between the two of them, and Garren extended a hand to her. It would be their second painful farewell of the day.

Fergus watched them walk from the hall, Garren’s arm protectively around Derica’s shoulders. He rose from the table, told his father he was going to find shelter for his weary horse, and went out into the yard. His movements didn’t seem so weary anymore. He casually melted into the shadow of a wall, watching Garren and Derica take their leave of each other. When Derica finally went back into the hall, wiping her eyes, Fergus followed Garren into the old gatehouse.