Her expression turned wistful at the thought. “How long will it take you to reach Cilgarren?”
“Unless I find a horse, it should be at least seven or eight hours. I can run fast, but it is still several miles away.”
Derica had to be realistic. “Then let us hope you find a horse so you don’t run yourself to death before you get there.”
Fergus could only nod in agreement; he wasn’t keen on running the full thirty miles to Cilgarren.
“Hold off your father as best you can. Garren will think of something.”
They stood there a moment, a silence filled with uncertainty. There was so much to say in this fragile situation but neither of them knew where to start. Sian left his cart and horse over the corner, coming to stand beside Derica. He gazed up at Fergus, the big man with the bright blue eyes. It was the first time the child had dared to as much as look at him.
“You are a knight?” he asked Fergus.
Fergus smiled gently. “I am, little man.”
From behind his back, Sian brought out the small wooden sword that Keller had given him. He held it up for Fergus to see. “I have this.”
Fergus pretended to examine it. “So I see. A fine weapon,” he said, and Sian lowered it. “What name do you answer to, little man?”
“Sian,” he child whispered.
“Sir Sian of the Dark Woods,” Derica reminded him, smiling.
Sian grinned at her, embarrassed, pushing his face into her skirt to hide. Aneirin wandered over, not wanting to be left out. She, too, had not had the courage to look at the strange man, but her brother emboldened her. Fergus studied both of the children.
“Garren will undoubtedly feel the loss of the child you carried,” he said quietly, “but I can almost assure you that these two moppets will help ease his pain. Perhaps they have been left to you for a reason.”
Derica looked at him, surprised. “Garren knew about his child?”
“I told him.”
She felt sad, trying not to dwell on what could not have been helped. “I can hardly wait to hold him again, Fergus,” she murmured. “When you see him, give him something for me.”
She reached up and kissed him on the lips, something so soft and sensual that Fergus lost his balance. But he knew it wasn’t a kiss directed at him; it was full of warmth and love and longing for Garren. He could feel all of that and more. It made his heart pound as he gazed back at her.
“I understand your meaning perfectly,” he muttered. “But you can wait and give that to him personally. And I swear that you shall.”
They left the severe women with the children. With a silence filled with apprehension and determination, Fergus escorted Derica down to the bailey. There were soldiers everywhere, prepared for battle, their grim faces set. Derica tried not to look any of them in the eye, fearful that they would accuse her of condemning them to their fate. All of this was because of her. Keller saw her from the battlements and descended the stairs in the northwest tower down to the ward.
“Your father and two men are waiting just outside the gates,” he told her, then looked at Fergus. “One of my men will lower you over the west wall. He’ll keep watch there for your return with Sir Garren. ‘Twill be the easiest way in and out of the castle.”
“Excellent,” Fergus nodded. With the plans solidified, there was nothing more to say and he looked at Derica. “Good luck to you, my lady.”
“And to you, Fergus.”
One of Keller’s knights went off with him, moving to the eastern wall with plans to carryout. Keller, with a deep sigh he hoped she didn’t see, held out his hand. It would probably be the last time he would be able to do so. When she put her warm palm in his, he stole a split second to enjoy a feeling that would very quickly leave him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” she replied.
He took her to the outer concentric wall facing east. The de Rosa army lay beyond, like locusts on the land. It would have been foolish to open the gates and lower the drawbridge, even during the course of a negotiation. It left Pembroke too vulnerable. He continued to hold her hand until they reached the top of the battlements of the great gatehouse. Nervous, feeling slightly ill, Derica looked to the ground below.
In the dusk, she could see her father, her Uncle Lon and her Uncle Alger. They were atop their chargers, clad in colors of Norfolk. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she had missed them. Keller stood there, watching her, waiting for her to summon both courage and composure.
“I am here, Father,” Derica called from above.
Three helmed heads snapped up. Bertram removed his helm, his face as naked with emotion as Derica had ever seen. It took all of her self-control to keep from turning sentimental.