Medieval Master Swordsmen(469)

Upon the wall walk, Derica screamed again as she watched the man attempt to drown Fergus. The second de Rosa soldier reached him and soon, Fergus was being pushed down by two men. Derica was positive she was watching the man drown when suddenly, an arrow sailed by her ear and plowed into one of the men wrestling with Fergus.

Startled, she looked to see Keller with a double-shot crossbow in his hand. His dark eyes were focused on the second man fighting with Fergus and, as Derica watched, he dropped the second man with another well-aimed arrow.

Fergus swam away with only a few men several feet behind him, too far away to do any damage. They eventually turned back as Fergus kept swimming for the safety of the opposite shore. He eventually climbed out and ran off, free as a bird.

Mouth hanging open, Derica turned to Keller to thank him for assisting Fergus but the man was already gone. To her right, the soldiers hauling her husband up the wall had gotten him to within a few feet of the summit and her focus returned to Garren.

She forgot about Keller and his dead-eye aim, instead rushing to the group of men now pulling Garren up over the side of the wall walk. She tried to push her way through the group but there were too many men, so she hung back, heart in her throat, struggling for a glimpse of his copper-blond hair. All she could see was a sea of soldiers. But suddenly, the armor parted and Garren appeared, unwrapping the rope from his arm. The moment their eyes met, the rope fell to the ground.

Derica hadn’t seen him move; one moment she was standing looking at him and in the next, she was aloft in his arms. When she realized this, the tears came and she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly enough to strangle him.

“You are not dead,” she gasped over and over. “You are not dead!”

Garren held her so tightly that he swore he heard bones cracking. He was only aware of her soft body in his arms, her hot breath in his ear. He couldn’t seem to hold her tightly enough, closely enough, feeling her hair tickle his face. It was like heaven. Before he realized it, he was kissing her cheeks, her nose, her eyes now wet with tears. All the while, Derica gasped, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Nay,” he breathed in between heated kisses. “I am not dead. And neither are you.”

Derica laughed joyously, meeting his feverish kisses with delight. Her hands were on his stubbled face as he literally kissed every pore on her face. He didn’t seem to want to do anything other than kiss her. But as the initial shock of delirium began to fade, Derica wanted answers.

“What happened?” she asked in between furious kisses. “Why did the Marshal send me a missive telling me of your death? Fergus said that he was mistaken. How could he make a mistake like that?”

Garren sighed, his kisses slowing considerably. It occurred to him that they were on the wall walk, not the best place to be in the midst of a battle. He stopped kissing her long enough to look around, noticing the nearby turret and taking Derica along with him as he made haste for it.

His arms were around her as they entered the cool shelter of the tower. His hands moved to her face, touching her reverently as if to confirm that she was indeed real. He still couldn’t believe it. But the question hung in the air between them, the massive implications becoming reality. He didn’t even know where to start.

“What else did Fergus tell you?” he asked softly.

Derica shook her head, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Not much more,” she told him. “He simply said that the Marshal was mistaken about your death. But how can this be?”

Garren thought on that question, taking her hands between his own and kissing them reverently.

“I told you that nothing could keep me from you,” he murmured. “Not the Marshal nor your father nor even death. I meant it. Fergus came to me when I was on the battlefield at Lincoln to tell me that you had disappeared from Cilgarren. At that moment, there was nothing more important on earth than finding you and I was determined to do so. Dead or alive, I would find you. But I knew the Marshal would not let me go so easily so I faked my own death so that I would be free to return to Wales to search for you. I had no idea that the Marshal would find you before I would, sending you missives of my death.”

Derica stared at him, shocked by the story. “So the Marshal still believes you are dead?”

He nodded slowly. “If he finds out that I faked my death, then my death might not be such a mistake after all. He will not be pleased.”

Derica clutched at him. “What are you going to do?”

He kissed her fingers again, still gripped between his two enormous palms. “Truthfully, I had not thought on it. My only focus has been to reclaim you. Now that I have you, I suppose I must make plans for our future.”