“I must go and search for her,” Garren said.
“What of the Marshal? Surely he will not….”
Garren cast him a glare so deadly that Fergus swallowed the remainder of his words.
“This is where William Marshal and I come to an end,” Garren growled. “I was foolish and weak to have let it come this far, but I did. I am going to find my wife and not all of the armies in England can stop me.”
“But.…”
“You are either with me or against me, Fergus. If you are against me, I will kill you where you stand.”
“I am with you, of course. What can I do?”
Garren had a clear picture of what must happen. “We will go to the battlefield,” he said in a low voice. “We will find a body; anybody that is near my size. If it is recognizable, then we will make it so that it cannot be identified. Onto this corpse will go my armor, my clothing, my weapon…. “
Fergus’ eyes gleamed. “We will make it as though you were killed in battle.”
“This man will be me. To the Marshal, I shall be dead.”
“And then you can search for Derica without fear of reprisal.”
“As much as I do not relish defacing a man who has given his life in battle, there are times when sacrifice is necessary. He will have died for two just causes this night.”
Garren and Fergus blended into the night, like wraiths, completing their gruesome work with silence and efficiency. By morning, they were far from the battlefield as word of Garren le Mon’s death spread like wildfire. When Hoyt de Rosa awoke to the news, he wept.
***
She didn’t know how long she had been awake. She realized she was staring at the ceiling, a dense mixture of rushes and straw, woven tightly to create a barrier against the elements. When she tried to move, her entire body ached as if she had been pummeled. It was her groan of pain that stirred the others.
“Are ye awake?’
It was a soft female voice. Derica blinked her eyes, rolling her head with much effort to find herself gazing into a pair of pale blue eyes. She blinked again, disoriented, wondering why her head hurt so much.
“Who… where am I?” she rasped.
The woman smiled, reaching for a wooden pitcher. She poured something into a cup. “Here,” she helped Derica lift her head. “Drink.”
It was water, cool and clear. Derica took a sip, then gulped until she almost choked. When the coughing died down, she saw that the woman’s face had been joined by two smaller ones. Derica gazed into children’s eyes.
“Hello,” she said softly.
The children, a boy and girl perhaps three and four years, respectively, giggled and did not reply. They were dark-eyed, dark haired little ones. They looked at their mother, who continued to smile.
“How do ye feel?” the woman asked.
Derica thought a moment. “I am not sure,” she finally said. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Ye are in my house,” the woman replied. “We found you.”
“Found me?”
The woman nodded. “Aye. On the river bank. Ye were nearly dead when we came upon ye. How did ye get there?”
Derica tried to recall. “I do not remember.” She put her hand to her head, wincing when she brushed the large lump on her forehead. “How long was I unconscious?”
“A few days,” the woman replied. “Do ye remember where ye came from?”
“I… not really. A castle, I think.”
“Ye’re a lady, then.”
“I… I do not know.”
“I am sure ye are, by the look of ye. But ye canna remember what castle ye came from?”
“Nay.”
The woman didn’t ask any more questions. Derica’s mind was shrouded in a foggy mist; it was alarming to realize that, until this very moment, she couldn’t recall much of anything. Her memories were an enormous blur for the moment.
“Where is this place?” she looked around the small, neat hut. “What village is this?”
“It is called Rhos-hill,” the woman said. “Do ye recognize the place?”
“Nay,” Derica shook her head. “What is your name?”
“Mair,” she said. “My children, Sian and Aneirin.”
Derica smiled weakly at the children, who were still hiding behind their mother. It was apparent that Mair was waiting for Derica to introduce herself. A wisp of a name sprang to mind, familiar yet not. It hung there, like an unvoiced thought. Derica spoke it, not even sure if it was true.
“Bryndalyn,” she whispered. “I… I think that is my name. But I am not… sure. I cannot seem to recall much of anything at the moment.”