Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"I am not going to sup," Derica said. "You may tell Father that I am feeling ill."

Dixon de Rosa was thirteen months older than his sister. They had always been exceptionally close. He watched her as she sat before her vanity mirror, the slow movements of her hands as she braided her long hair, and knew something was wrong with her. Illness had nothing to do with it.

"He'll not disturb you, I promise," he said. "Garren le Mon is an arrogant buffoon. We'll chase him away before the night is out, just as we have done the others. You will see."

Derica's expression was pensive, thoughtful, as she braided the ends of her hair. Her fingers would move quickly, then slow, then speed up again, then more slowly as her thoughts progressed.

"I have a feeling he'll not be run off," she said after a moment. "He is not like the others who have come to call upon me."

"Of course he is. We'll have him gone in the blink of an eye."

Derica cast her brother a long look in the reflection of her looking mirror. "You cannot run him off, Dix."

"Why not?"

"Because we are betrothed." She secured the end of the braid and turned around. "The other suitors that have come were merely that– suitors. Sir Garren and I have a contract to be married, legal and binding. You cannot get rid of him, no matter how much you want to."

Dixon chewed his lip angrily. "Hoyt will."

"He doesn't like to be called that and you know it."

Dixon rolled his eyes. "I have never been able to call him that."

"What?"

"That."

Derica fought off a smile. "He is not been right since that blow to the head three years ago, has he? It still takes some getting used to."

"I cannot call him Lady Cleo Blossom, no matter how much he wants me to."

Derica stood up, facing her brother. "It matters not what you want. What matters is that if we do not call him Lady Cleo Blossom, he will become quite angry and, you will recollect, quite violent. He is perfectly harmless as long as you do as he wishes."

Dixon put up a hand. "I know, I know," he sighed. "For the greatest warrior among us to take a blow to the head at a tourney and wake up thinking he is a woman is… is…."

"I have heard this before, darling."

"It is tragic!"

"I know. But it 'tis God's will that our beloved Uncle Hoyt has become the Lady Cleo Blossom. We may not know the reasons now, but perhaps in time, it will become clear."

Dixon grumbled. "Woman or not, he still packs a wallop. And as protective as he is over you, perhaps Sir Garren will feel that wallop before the night is out. The beauty of it is that he wouldn't dare strike a woman back."

Derica didn't say any more. Her brothers and uncles were always hostile where suitors were concerned. Normally, they had her blessing to do anything necessary to drive the fools away. But Sir Garren was different; half of her wanted him to leave, but the other half was quite interested in him.

She thought about him, standing on the battlements, the soft breeze blowing through his hair and the moonlight reflecting off his features. He had laughed at one point and the sight of his smile had made her feel strangely weak. No man had ever had that effect on her, and she'd known many to come to Framlingham on the quest to gain her hand. They'd tried every known trick, every known charm. But she hadn't fallen for it.

What made Garren different, she didn't know. But she didn't feel like seeing him this eve. She didn't want him to go, she didn't want him to stay, she didn't want to speak with him, yet she felt the strange urge to be in the same room with him. She decided, at that moment, that she was going mad.

"Go down to the hall and give father my message," she didn't want her brother standing there watching her in her moment of dementia. "Tell him I have retired for the night."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely." She smiled at her brother's dubious face. "Please. Go now."

He left, reluctantly. Aglette slipped in when Dixon left and began preparing Derica's bed for sleep. One of her duties was to brush out her mistress' hair. Even though Derica had recently done just that, she was so lost in thought that she hardly realized when Aglette unbraided her hair and began running the comb through it again.

*

"I fear I have said something to upset you."

The voice came from the shadows. Derica was so startled that she nearly fell off her chair. She'd been dozing by the fire in her chamber, having no idea how long she'd been in the twilight between thought and sleep. She knew it was le Mon before she even saw him. When he finally emerged from the darkness, her heart leapt into her throat.

"You…," she gasped, patting her chest to restart her heart. "How did you get in here?"

He came to a halt, a respectful distance away. "Forgive me for startling you. But when your father told me you were feeling ill, I knew it was not the truth."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"How did you get in here?"

His blue eyes twinkled and he gestured at the door. Derica, calming somewhat after her initial fright, slowly shook her head. "That door was locked. I bolted it myself."

"I did not say I came through the door."

"But you pointed to it."

"I did not. I merely pointed to the obvious."

She was becoming irritated. "The obvious door? You're not making any sense."

He remained cool, almost amused. "Does it matter how I got in? I would say that you should be more concerned as to why I am here."

Derica was still looking over at the door, almost hidden in the darkness. There was a lancet window near it, the oilcloth partially peeled back. It took her a moment to realize that the window was what Garren had meant. Her eyes widened.

"Do you mean to tell me that you came in through the window?" she was astonished. "I am four stories up. How in God's name did you climb up the side of the keep?"

He smiled faintly. "I came to apologize if I said something to upset you when we met on the battlements. Whatever it was, I did not mean to. I sensed that you were perturbed when you left, and then when you did not appear at sup, I knew I must have offended you."

She eyed him. "Are you always so evasive?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to know how you came in through the window, and you want to discuss some silly conversation we had on the battlements."

"It wasn't a silly conversation at all, I assure you. It was the first true conversation you and I have had, and I suppose I conducted it badly."

Derica cocked an eyebrow. She was coming to suspect he was not going to tell her how he came in through the window. But she was off-guard at his appearance and had no desire to continue a conversation with him.

"My father will throw you in the vault if he finds you in here," she said. "You'd better leave the way you came so no one will see you."

Garren stood there, watching the light reflect off her features. He also knew it was dangerous for him to be here, but for the duration of sup he had been seized with the determination to see her. A small seed of confusion was glowing somewhere in his mind, something that he suspected at some point would make it difficult for him to keep his mind on his mission unless he kept it in check. Maybe if he could talk to her, to find out just how spoiled and petty she was, he could learn to dislike her. He needed to find a reason to dislike her in order to maintain his focus.

He took a couple of slow steps, moving towards the other chair in the chamber and being very careful not to appear threatening.

"You have no interest in me, my lady," he commented quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

He took the chair, lowering his big body. "I said, you have no interest in me. This marriage is as much a duty to you as it is to me."

He was a safe enough distance away and Derica was feeling more composed, enough so that she found herself responding to him.

"Unless a young woman is intended for the convent, it is expected she would wed," she replied. "I have no desire to become a nun or an old maid."

"But you were disturbed by my observation that one of marriage's primary purposes is to produce heirs."

Derica shrugged, toying with the ends of her hair. "Sometimes the truth is disturbing."

"It is. But why should the production of a child disturb you? All women want children, do they not?"

"My mother died giving birth to me."

"I see," Garren understood. "Then childbirth frightens you."

Derica looked up at him, feeling an odd warmth coarse through her as their eyes met. "Not particularly," she tried to sound uncaring. "It is a fact of life. One cannot avoid it."

Garren sensed she was putting up a front but he let it go. "Many, many women survive it," he said. "True enough that some die, but the same pertains to any risks you take in life. Some live, and some die, but it is better to have taken the chance than to have had no chance to take."

For the first time since they met, he drew a smile from her, however reluctant. It was a beautiful gesture. "You speak like someone who has taken many chances, and has perhaps regretted the ones he never had."

He met her smile, feeling the same warmth that she was feeling. "I think that can be said for all of us, not just me," he said. "But there are things I wish I could have done, and things I wish I hadn't done."

She laughed softly, her straight white teeth reflecting the fire. "This conversation is becoming too philosophical for me. I am but a simple woman, after all."

"You are indeed a woman. But I doubt you are simple."

"So I have been told." She was again feeling those familiar feelings associated with him, wildly curious to know more about him. "You never did answer my question when we were up on the battlements."

"About what?"

"Whether or not you planned to stay in one place after we wed, or whether you plan to continue your wandering ways."

The answer was obvious, for his mission. He had to say, act, or do anything to convince her he was who he said he was. But the answer that came forth was the honest truth, an inherent response before he could think it through.

"I will stay with you."

She lifted one of those shapely eyebrows at him. "Is that a fact? You intend to stay here, with me, at Framlingham?"

He realized there was a fantasy life here for him to play out, to make plans that would never come to past and to tell her that the future would be as bright and wonderful as he said it would be. He shouldn't have indulged the fantasy, but gazing into her sweet face, he couldn't help his natural male instincts to give in to the role.

"We will not stay here," he shook his head. "Do you think I want your father, uncles and brothers breathing down my neck at every turn, scrutinized like an ibis in the midst of alligators?"

Her eyebrows drew together, though she was smiling. "Ibis and alligators?"

"Creatures in the Holy Land. The latter always eats the former. Quite fascinating, really, but also quite deadly."

"I would like to hear about them sometime."

"We shall have plenty of time to talk about things like that."

"I am sure we will, in this mysterious place you intend for us to live if we will not be here at Framlingham in the midst of alligators."

She was sharp of wit. He liked that. Grinning, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as if somehow that would move him closer to her.

"We shall not live in a mysterious place, I assure you. My father's castle is to the north and east of Oxford, a very old place. Parts of it are hundreds of years old, but it is very comfortable."

"Sounds intriguing. Does this castle have a name?"

"Two, actually," Garren was warming to the conversation. "The origins of the castle, as I said, are very old. Parts of it were built at least three hundred years before the Normans came. It was part of a village back then, the house of the king, and was called Culthberg because Culth was the king who built it. But when the Normans came, they called le chateau de le roi , or the house of the king. So Chateroy Castle it became."

He had a deep, rich voice. Derica liked listening to him. He was not at all like the arrogant, aggressive man she had seen in her father's solar earlier that day.

"A fascinating story," she said. "How long has your family lived there?"

"Culth was my ancestor. When the Normans came, a king by the name of Ael ruled the province. He surrendered to the Normans without a fight and gave his only child, a daughter, to a general serving William the Bastard. They had thirteen children, the eldest of which was my grandfather several times over." He grinned. "Funny thing about the Norman general; his name was not le Mon when he married the Saxon princess. All he could say about his new acquisition was ‘mine, mine', so William took to calling him ‘mon', which is ‘mine' in French. So the name le Mon was born."

Derica laughed softly. "A name borne of greed."

"I certainly can't blame the man being excited about his just reward."

Derica shrugged in agreement. The conversation lulled and she couldn't think of any more questions to ask him at the moment. He had been quite open with her and she was, in truth, feeling comfortable with him. He seemed to be a likable man in spite of her original impression. She was coming to regret not attending sup; yet if she had, she knew they would not have been able to converse as they were now with her brothers and uncles hanging over them.

A twinkle came to her eye. "Now," she said. "Are you going to tell me how you got in through that window or are you going to dazzle me with more talk of the history of the le Mon family?"

"I am going to dazzle you with more talk."

She shook her head, a reproachful gesture. Yet there was humor in it. "Then talk. God's Bones, you risked your life to come to me. You may as well make it worth the risk."

"It is worth the risk already."

Derica could feel her cheeks grow warm. Lowering her gaze, she moved her chair back, away from the fire. "You may as well sit across from me rather than in the darkness, then. Let us be comfortable."

Garren didn't need to be told twice. He picked up his chair and moved it. Sitting an arm's length away from her was much better than sitting an entire room's width from her. He just sat there, looking at her, smiling when she would meet his gaze, looking at his hands when she looked away, both of them trying to think of something to say. It was not uncomfortable, but more than once they chuckled when they realized the flow of conversation did not come so easily.

"Is Chateroy a beautiful place, then?" Derica finally asked.

Garren nodded. "I think so." He couldn't think of much else to say to that. "Have you lived at Framlingham all of your life?"

"Aye," she replied. "I was sent away to foster when I was eight years of age, but my family missed me so that they sent for me when I was twelve years and I have been back at Framlingham ever since."

Garren cocked an eyebrow. "If they think to send for you when you and I go to Chateroy, they had better think twice. I will not return you."

She was pleased by his statement. "It will be difficult for them. Being the only female in the family, I am something of a prized commodity. Women tend not to survive long in the de Rosa house."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It is rare for a female de Rosa to be born. For several generations back there has been nothing but males. My father has three brothers and his father had one, and his father before him had six, and so forth, for seven generations. I am the first female in well over one hundred years."

"And well worth the wait," Garren said quietly.

Derica burst into embarrassed laughter. "You certainly are free with your flattery, Sir Garren."

He shook his head. "Not really. It does not come easy to me, as I am not particularly comfortable with women."

"You seem very comfortable with me."

"That is because you are easy to talk to."

She dipped her head graciously, to thank him. The conversation quieted once again, but there was no discomfort to it. Garren's gaze moved back and forth between Derica and the dying fire. He was appalled and thrilled to realize he could grow to like this very much. She'd given him no reason to dislike her; if anything, the entire conversation had produced the opposite effect. The seed of confusion that had sprouted in his mind was growing in to a nice, healthy sapling, one he should like to rip out by the roots before it grew into a mighty oak and obscured his vision completely.

"Well," he said softly, rising. "I suppose I should leave you to your sleep. I have taken enough of your time."

Derica rose with him. "Strange, I am not tired at all, but I am sure you must be after your long journey today."

"I am, a little," he gazed into her eyes, longer than he should have. If only she had been the petty, spoiled female he had hoped for. "I will bid you a good eve, then, my lady. Pleasant dreams."

"Thank you, Sir Garren," she said. "Good sleep to you as well."

He stood there looking at her just as she stood there looking at him. Garren couldn't seem to move his feet. He felt like an idiot.

"Well?" she asked.

"What?"

"I thought you were leaving."

"I am."

"It doesn't appear so."

"In good time, my lady."

She smiled coyly. "Then perhaps we should sit again until you are completely ready," she turned back to her chair. "I would not want you to think me rude by hastening you out of my chamber, although propriety demands that I must. Still, it has been a…."

As she sat down, she looked up to see that Garren was gone. Startled, not to mention disappointed, she bolted up and ran to the lancet window. Hoisting herself up on the sill, she looked down but saw nothing. All was quiet and dark in the ward below. Glancing up, she caught a glimpse of boots disappearing over the top of the battlement directly above her head. A small rope dangled down the side of the keep, which was quickly retracted as she watched. All evidence was removed, and Sir Garren was gone as if he had never come at all.

Derica lowered herself from the window and pulled the oilcloth back over the window, keeping out the cool night air. She stood there a moment, thinking on Sir Garren and grinning like a fool. It had been a most eventful evening.

She wasn't sorry that she missed sup in the least.

*

"He what ?"

"He came to my chamber last night. We had a wonderful conversation."

Aglette was beside herself. Derica put her hand on the woman's elbow and forced her to continue walking. It was a sunny morning and the bailey was alive with activity. Villains were bringing in wagons of food and goods for the castle and soldiers milled about as the women strolled through the compound.

"I… I simply cannot believe…," Aglette stammered. "How scandalous!"

"He was afraid that he had offended me and came to apologize," Derica said evenly. "We talked at length."

"But how did he get in?"

"Through the window."

"The window?" Aglette gasped. "Good Lord, how did he manage that?"

Derica smiled at the thought of his boots disappearing high over her head. "With a rope. He lowered himself down from the top of the keep. Quite clever, actually."

"And all of this does not distress you?"

"Why should it?"

Aglette looked at her mistress with her mouth agape. Derica wasn't the least bit concerned with the behavior of a man she barely knew. She suddenly knew why.

"You're smitten with him," she accused.

Derica's smile vanished. "I am not."

"You are! I can see it in your face."

Derica looked away from her so the woman could not read her expression. "You see nothing. He came, he apologized, and we spoke. It was pleasant. The man is to be my husband, after all. Should I not know something about him?" She glanced up, seeing her brother Donat on the battlements. He glared down at her, his usual expression. "Do you think it would be a simple thing to talk to the man with the alligators hanging about, waiting to devour him?"

"Alligators?"

"A story for another time. Suffice it to say that if I am to be married to the man, I would come to know him at least somewhat. I know that is a ridiculous notion in this day and age, but I would like to establish some manner of rapport with him."

"Why?"

"Because we are going to spend the rest of our lives living together. Is it wrong to want to know the person I will be living with, the father of my children?"

Aglette looked uncertain about the whole thing. "I suppose not, but… if your father hears that he has visited you in your chamber, and you without an escort, he'll…."

Derica put up a silencing hand. "I know. It is too horrible to think of." She paused a moment, looking about the bailey, realizing that she hoped to see Garren. "I believe this is the one man I do not want them to chase off."

Aglette was astounded. The Derica she knew had no use for men, in any way. For her to show interest in one was astonishing. She started to reply, but the expression on her mistress' face stopped her.

"There he is," Derica murmured.

Aglette looked across the bailey towards the cluster of buildings that housed the stables. As tall and strong as an oak, Garren was crossing the compound, apparently heading from the knight's quarters to the stables. He hadn't seen the ladies and Derica came to a halt, watching him stroll away from her. His moves were graceful and powerful.

"How do I look?" she hissed.

Aglette peered at her. "Look what?"

Derica elbowed her in the ribs. "My dress, my hair. How do I look? Am I presentable?"

"As presentable as you always are," Aglette replied. Her gaze moved between her mistress' face and the massive man in the distance. "You are smitten with him."

"I am not. I just do not want to appear unkempt or slovenly to the man I am to marry. What kind of bride do you think I am if I am anything less than composed?"

It wasn't the reason and Aglette knew it, but she kept her mouth shut. She watched Derica as the woman's green eyes focused on Garren like a cat watching a mouse. Even after he disappeared into the stable, she didn't move. She continued to stand there, waiting and watching, until quite some time later he reappeared.

Suddenly, she was moving. "Come along," she whirled for the keep. "Let's go inside."

Aglette almost had her neck snapped by Derica's abrupt movements. "Why the hurry?"

Derica didn't answer. She was determinedly walking toward the keep. But in a matter of a few moments, they heard a deep male voice behind them.

"Good morn to you, ladies."

Garren walked up, his handsome face shining in the morning sun. Derica came to a halt and turned around, very casually.

"Sir Garren," she put up her hand to shield the sun from her eyes. "Forgive me, I did not notice you. Where did you come from?"

Aglette lifted an eyebrow at her. Whatever her mistress was up to, she was playing the game quite coyly. It was a surprise coming from a woman who, under normal circumstances, gave no thought to such things. But she wisely kept quiet.

"The stables," Garren answered her question. "My horse was acting strangely yesterday and I wanted to see if he came up lame."

"Did he?"

"Slightly. He'll be no good to me for a day or so."

"I am sorry to hear that," Derica said. "My father has several chargers. I am sure you can borrow one should you need to."

"Perhaps."

Garren studied her in the bright of the day; she was dressed in pale yellow brocade, quite becoming with her coloring. He'd spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning with thoughts of her on his mind; the sapling of confusion had grown into a yearling of stunning strength, with branches that reached into his mind to cause mass disorientation. But he had fought the branches, the tree itself, and in the morning had awoken with the resolve to distance himself from her as much as possible. No more sneaking into her chamber, no more private conversations. He had to draw the line if there was to be any hope of him keeping his mission in focus.

It had been easy to reason so with distance between them. But gazing at her, he knew that line would be extremely difficult to draw. He was attracted to her, more than any woman he had ever met. Knowing she was to be his wife, and he would be entitled to all of the husbandly pleasures thereof, was enough to seriously disturb him. A woman like this could make him forget everything he had ever worked for and he was coming to comprehend something he'd never understood his entire life; why men over the centuries had died for the affection of a beautiful woman. Suddenly, it was blatantly obvious.

He knew he had to get away from her before he forgot everything he had resolved himself to over the past several hours.

"If you will excuse me, I will not burden you ladies any longer with my presence," he said. "Good day to you."

He walked away from them, almost too quickly, but Derica's voice stopped him.

"Sir Garren?"

He paused, turned, and would have had to have been a blind man not to see the expression on her face. She looked as if someone had just stolen her best friend.

"My lady?"

"Have… have a pleasant day as well."

"Thank you."

It was harder than he could have imagined to turn and continue walking. But he had to. In fact, he had to do more.