“Not since last eve, my lord. As far as we know, there is heavy fighting in and around the castle. They are expecting us as soon as this unpleasantness at Lincoln is finished.”
Garren knew that. He was always expected somewhere, ready for battle at a moment’s notice. It was one encounter after another, a never-ending parade of castles, villains, allies and action. Somewhere it had ceased to be a war between Richard and John and become an endless conflict between countrymen. When Garren had led the first charge at Tick Hill Castle, he was foolishly hoping that whatever battles there were would be short-lived, and that he could return to Derica within a few short weeks.
But the weeks had stretched into months. Two months, three weeks, three days, fifteen hours, and an odd number of minutes. He remembered to the last detail. He knew Derica would be frantic, thinking of committing herself to Yaxley Nene Abbey if she hadn’t done so already. He felt a great deal of comfort in that, truthfully, for no matter how long the war waged, he knew where to find her, and he knew that she would be safe. He was desperately sorry that she would have to go through so much emotional turmoil in the meanwhile, thinking he was dead when he was very much alive and thinking of her every minute of every day. He longed for her as he had never longed for anything in his life.
But thoughts like that were useless. They simply made him hurt more. Pulling himself from the brink of emotional decline, as he had done so many times over the past several weeks, he drained his cup and reached for a piece of bread.
“We should be finished here tomorrow,” he told the squire. “I do not anticipate Lincoln Castle taking any more of our time. We ship the prisoners south and move the army north by midday. Spread the word to whatever commanders I have left. Arrange a meeting in my tent in one hour.”
The squire nodded and fled. Garren returned to his meal, emitting a heavy sigh as he forced himself to eat. After two bites, his thoughts turned to his pallet and a short nap before his officers arrived for conference. As he took one last drink from his cup, someone entered his tent.
Expecting the squire, it took Garren longer than usual to recognize Fergus. When recognition dawned, he stared at the man as if he had grown two heads. Fergus, seeing the shock, the suspicion, the anxiety, wasted no time.
“Garren,” he muttered, true satisfaction in his voice. “They told me you were here. Thank Almighty God you are alive.”
Garren wasn’t sure how to react. He didn’t know where to begin. But one thing was foremost in his mind; if Fergus was here, then….
“Where is my wife?”
The weary smile faded from Fergus’ face. “My father heard about the wars between Richard and John. I knew you would be in the midst of them. I promised your wife that I would find you and make sure that you were safe.”
Garren couldn’t help but notice that his question hadn’t been answered. “Where is she?”
There was no room for pleasantries or idle talk. Garren’s expression was taut with anticipation. Fergus had hoped to ease his friend into the predominant reason for his visit, but he could see it would not happen. What he had to say would be the hardest words he ever had to bring forth.
“She is gone,” he said quietly.
Garren stood up, his stool toppling over. “Gone? What do you mean?” He suddenly reached out, grabbing Fergus around the neck. “Did the de Rosas capture her?”
Fergus couldn’t breathe, and there was no way he could contend against Garren’s strength. “If you kill me, you will never know the rest,” he gasped, and the grip loosened. “Nay, Garren, her family did not capture her. Please, won’t you sit? ‘Twould be better for us both if you did.”
Garren’s grip tightened again. “Damn you, Fergus, if you do not tell me what has happened to my wife, I will kill you where you stand and worry of the consequences later.”
He meant every word, Fergus knew that. But he was not making this any easier. “Garren, please,” he begged, trying to loosen the hold on his neck. “You must be calm, my friend.”
“Fergus!”
Fergus could see there was no alternative than to tell him, quickly. “She knew you had gone to battle with the Marshal. She heard my father and me speaking of the civil wars. I tried to reassure her that it did not necessarily mean your death, but she was greatly distressed. She is easily distressed these days.”
“What does that mean?”
Fergus’ manner softened. “She carries your son, Garren. The child has turned her into a whirlwind of emotion.”
Garren felt as if all of the wind had been knocked from him. A gambit of emotions raced over his features, delight and terror and everything in between.