Medieval Master Swordsmen(436)

Derica gazed at him, torn between horror and hope. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Oh… Fergus,” she whispered. “He is fighting for William Marshal, isn’t he?”

Fergus put his hands on her shoulders. “I believe so.”

“This civil war I heard you speak of,” she said. “Richard and John are fighting for rule of the country?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “I cannot explain how it is that I know, but I can promise you that William Marshal has ordered Garren in to battle.”

“You serve the Marshal, too.”

His expression softened, winking at her when he was sure the others could not see. “You must trust me, Derica. I have to go find Garren and help him.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “War,” she murmured again, her knees suddenly weakening. Fergus took a good hold of her and helped her sit. “It is possible that he is already dead. That is why he has not returned to me.”

“And it is equally possible that he is still fighting,” Fergus would not give in to her gloom. “Wars have many battles. They move around like an army of ants, scuttling about, fighting, then pulling back to regroup and fighting again. I have seen your husband in battle, my lady. He is the one man that I have truly believed to be invulnerable.”

“What do you mean?” she sniffled.

Fergus thought a moment; what he would tell her would not be embellishment on his part. It would be the truth. “There is something about your husband that draws men to him. He has a quiet strength about him, a power that is beyond mere mortal strength. When he gives a command, men trust him and they follow him. He has never been wrong that I have known. When he wields a sword, it is as if St. George himself is living through him. He is as clever as he is deadly. That is why the Marshal has ordered him to fight; the old man knows that with le Mon in command, victory is very nearly assured.”

“He is a great warrior, then?”

“There has never been another like him.”

Derica felt better, but she also felt worse. Her heart ached for Garren in a way that she could not describe. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear his voice, feel his touch, and smell the warm musk of his skin. The simple possibility of losing that delicious joy made her tears fall faster, no matter how Fergus tried to comfort her.

“Fergus,” she sobbed gently. “Please… please find him. Help him fight his battles so that he may return to me.”

“I swear on my life, my lady. I will do this.”

Surprisingly, she wasn’t hysterical. The tears on her face were from pure emotion, the hole in her heart bleeding for her husband’s plight. Fergus held her hand as she rose, holding on to her soft flesh until she walked out of his reach. The men watched her leave the hall, wondering if one of them should follow her but opting not to. She needed time to regain her dignity and deal with the events in her life over which she had no control.

Derica sobbed quietly as she wandered to her favorite spot on the hill overlooking the river. Her sobbing deepened as she remembered Garren following her around on the slope, holding on to her skirt so she would not slide down the cliff and into the river.

Four months ago, she had been living a spoiled life at Framlingham, catered to by her father, uncles and brothers, living day by day without a care in the world. It seemed like an eternity ago. She remembered the day that Garren le Mon had come into her life. It was the day she had been reborn, though she hadn’t known it at the time. All she had known was that the enormous man with the square jaw and sandy-copper hair intrigued her as no one else had. She couldn’t remember the exact moment she had fallen in love with him, yet she couldn’t remember when she hadn’t love him. It seemed like always.

Her tears faded as she wandered down the slope, hearing the river rushing below. Thoughts of Owain and Bryndalyn came to her, recollecting the story Emyl had told her. Bryndalyn had thrown herself into the river upon hearing of her husband’s demise, her grief far too strong for her to bear. Derica could now fully understand the woman’s despair.

She tried to take heart in Fergus’ words, rubbing her hand over the small bulge in her belly, praying that her unborn child would have the chance to know his father. Fergus said that Garren was a great fighter and that she should have faith in him. She must believe that. The more she wandered down and across the slope, the more her tears faded. She did have faith. She believed Garren would return to her. Somehow, somewhere, they would be together again. She knew it as surely as she knew he loved her.

It was her last pleasant thought as her footing gave way and she plummeted down the side of the cliff, into the churning waters of the River Teifi below.