Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Yaxley Nene Abbey

Leicestershire

A s a child, the place had always frightened him. A dark structure, made from dark stone and covered with dark ivy, it always appeared like something out of a religious nightmare. He had come here with his father on a yearly pilgrimage when very young. Even at his advanced age, he came still on that pilgrimage, now more from a sense of wanting than a sense of duty.

Tonight, it was a different sort of pilgrimage. It was important that he come because he could think of nowhere else to go. He had been riding for an indeterminate number of hours and his charger, the great red beast with the pale eyes, was exhausted. There was a wall around the abbey and a gated opening that reminded Garren of the gate to hell; sharp spikes jutted up from the iron grate like fanged teeth. Garren shuddered involuntarily as he passed through, as he had since he had been a child. It was as though the gate had eaten him alive with all of those sharp teeth.

The moon had disappeared by the time he arrived. Dawn was near. Garren left the charger grazing on the grass near the wall as he approached the great oak door that kept the secular world from the women inside. He rapped on the door, heavily, and waited.

A pale face wrapped in white appeared. Garren announced himself and the tiny nun allowed him entrance. Garren knew what was expected of him and he stopped just inside the door and planted his big feet, unmoving. He was not permitted to go anywhere inside the structure unless the nuns indicated. Right now it was a waiting game, and his patience, fed by exhaustion, was brittle.

Yet he knew he would be waiting awhile, so he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the musty scent that reminded him of his days as young boy. The carefree days of his youth came back to his weary mind in bits and pieces, remembering the father who doted on him, the mother who died when he was so young that he could barely remember her. He remembered a pet goat he had when he was perhaps three or four years, the one who had butted him and trampled him until he grew big enough to outrun it. His eyes opened, and he found himself smiling about that idiotic goat. He had named it Henry, after the king, much to the amusement of his father.

Revelry took his mind off his wait. He remembered having to leave the goat to foster at Sandhurst Castle, more crushed about leaving the animal than his father. He remembered some of the other pages teasing him because he used to cry in his sleep for the goat. His memories began to drift towards his days as a squire, when he outgrew the boys who teased him and turned into their worst fear. He smiled wearily at that memory, too, until soft footsteps roused him from his daydreams.

The small nun in the white garments returned. She didn't say a word, but she motioned for Garren to follow. He did so, listening to his heavy boots echo off the walls as they entered a darkened corridor. Two doors down, there was a room; the nun indicated for him to enter, which he did.

The chamber was completely dark but for a small taper burning on a well-scrubbed table. As he eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a figure seated near the wall.

"Garren?"

He knew the voice very well. Dropping the saddlebags he had slung over one massive shoulder, he went to the silhouette and dropped to one knee.

"'Tis me," he said. "I am sorry it is so early."

The figure moved into the light; an older woman with fine features surrounded folds of white material. "You needn't apologize, little brother. Early morning or midnight, I care not. I am most thankful for your presence."

She smiled, her hands reaching for Garren. He smiled in return, kissing her hands before embracing her. The former Lady Gabrielle le Mon, or now more correct Sister Mary Felicitas, put her arms around her younger brother's neck.

"Garren," she gasped, patting his shoulders. "You grow larger by the year. Have you found a wife to feed you well, then?"

He shook his head even though she could not see him. Gabrielle had been blind since birth, committed to Yaxley Nene Abbey at eleven years of age, months after her brother, and only sibling, was born. Though they were far apart in age and had never lived under the same roof, the yearly pilgrimages to Yaxley had seen them form a bond that ran strangely deep. Garren adored her.

"No wife," he said. "Not yet, at any rate. But let's not talk about me. I want to know about you; how have you been?"

"Well, little brother," she held his hands in her warm, tiny ones. "And you?"

"Well enough," he said. "I have been quite busy, but I have written to you some."

Gabrielle lit up. "Diaries!" she exclaimed softly. "You know how much I look forward to your visits when you read to me the chronicle of your life. How long has it been? At least a year since you were last here. I am sure so much has happened since then."

"Much indeed."

Garren left her long enough to retrieve small rolls of vellum from his saddlebags. His sister was the only outsider, other than his father, who knew his true role in the scheme of Richard's cause. He knew his secret was safe with her and made it a point to write letters to her, chronicling the adventures that his life sometimes took. It was dangerous writing should it fall into the wrong hands, but he never left any identifying marks on the parchment other than a name here and there. Certainly nothing traceable. Settling his bulk beside her, he unrolled a spool of yellowed parchment.

"I am not sure where to start," he said. "I spent some time in London, but there is not much to say about that other than a grand feast I attended where a woman wore jewelry she said was smelted for the gods. She had this necklace in the shape of a vulture and many colored stones to adorn it. She also wore solid gold rings in the shape of bugs."

"Bugs?"

"Strange, is it not? But she said ancient kings used to wear these adornments and she was quite proud to show them off."

"Garren?"

"Aye?"

"What is wrong?"

He paused in his chatter. "What do you mean?"

Gabrielle took his hand again. "I know you well, my baby brother. Something is troubling you. I can hear it in your voice."

"I am not sure what you mean."

"I am not a fool. When you come to me before dawn, when your voice trembles and you talk too much, something is wrong. What is it?"

Garren felt a huge sense of depression sweep him. He had indeed come for a reason, not simply to see his sister. She knew that, and he felt doubly guilty. He set the vellum down.

"It is that obvious?"

"Tell me."

He felt as if he was at confession. He had truly meant not to delve into the problems in his life immediately, but he couldn't seem to help it. Gabrielle was soothing, comforting, and wise. Before he knew it, everything from the past week was spilling out and he could hear the anguish in his voice as he spoke. It frightened him. Gabrielle held his hand and never said a word. By the time he was finished, exhaustion claimed him and he leaned back against the wall, positive he would never rise again.

"It would seem that much has happened, little brother," Gabrielle said softly.

Garren snorted at the irony of it. "I can face any battle with confidence. Give me a sword and I shall emerge the victor. But give me emotion, give me a woman whom I am undeniably attracted to, and I fall apart like a weakling. My heart hurts and I cannot repair it; my anger knows no bounds, yet it is directionless. I have no one to blame, yet everyone to blame. I feel as if I am in everlasting damnation, in love with a woman I should have never loved in the first place."

Gabrielle didn't say anything for a moment. "And your Lady Derica," she murmured. "Does she feel the same for you?"

"I see it in her eyes every time she looks at me."

Gabrielle nodded silently. Garren prayed that she was thinking through the situation far more logically than he could at the moment. "Then I suppose the question is, what do you want?" she said. "To marry her? Have you thought on the consequences of that action, my dear?"

"I want to marry her, yes," Garren said quietly. "I want to get her out of Framlingham and take her some place safe."

"Where would that be?"

"I do not know. I cannot go to Chateroy, as it is the first place they would look. Father must not know anything of my actions."

"For his own safety, I agree," Gabrielle said. "But what will happen to her if you take her from her family and marry her? Do you intend to continue in the Marshal's service? You know as well as I that your service takes you all over England and beyond. Do you expect your bride to stay alone, hiding from her family the rest of her life, while you go about your duty?"

Garren removed his helm and ran his fingers through his short hair. "I will resign my service to the Marshal," he muttered. "I would rather be with Derica, hiding from her family until the end of our days, than be away from her for one more minute. I serve a king who has not spent a day of his reign in England. I fight and fight for a man who is not even here to know that we are all fighting for him. He battles the infidels in the Holy Land while we battle for his very life as a monarch at home. Am I tired of it? No. But I have seen something, felt something, I never thought I would see or feel, and although I love my king, I want to love Derica more."

"Truly now, Garren?"

"Truly."

Gabrielle was thoughtful. "I have never known you to speak of any woman, much less one you wish to marry. Are you sure this is not an infatuation, quick to flame, quick to pass? The thoughts you voice would surely end your illustrious career."

"Well I know it," he said. "And, no, I am sure this is not an infatuation. I felt something different for Derica from nearly the moment I met her, something I have not felt before."

"Feelings enough to incur the Marshal's wrath?"

Garren sighed heavily, gazing up at the dark ceiling. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, soft gray light coming through the lancet window.

"I begged him not to send me on this mission," he murmured. "God, I begged and pleaded until I could say no more and, still, he sent me. I would love to blame William for this mess, but I cannot. The fault is my own."

Gabrielle smiled. "Do you believe in the Will of God, Garren?"

"I do."

"Then you surely must know that this was planned for you a long time ago. You begged and pleaded with the Marshal not to send you on this mission, but still he sent you. You knew from the moment you met the lady that there was something different about her and in the matter of a week, you have found yourself hopelessly entangled in something that men only dream of. Perhaps this was meant to happen, all of it. Perhaps you were indeed sent on a mission, simply not the one you had planned for."

Garren was interested in what she was saying. "What do you mean?"

"Precisely that. You stated that your mission was to infiltrate the de Rosas in the hope of discovering the movements of Prince John's rebellion. What if… what if your true mission was to simply marry Derica de Rosa and, as a result, perhaps affect Richard's opposition in a way you never dreamed possible."

"I do not understand."

"Nor do I at the moment. Sometimes we cannot see God's Wisdom until well after the fact."

She had a point. Garren mulled her words, watching the room turn shades of gray and white as the sun continued to rise. There was fog outside, shrouding the countryside, dampening his mood. Finally, he pushed himself from the wall and rose wearily. Gabrielle's sightless eyes tracked him.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

He lifted his arms in a helpless gesture. "The only plan I can come up with is storming the castle and spiriting her away, which is not particularly wise. I am too tired to think right now." He looked at his sister. "Tell me; what would you do?"

"Do you truly wish to know?"

"I would not have asked otherwise."

She smiled faintly, a gesture shaped somewhat like her brother's. "I would suggest you plan carefully for this, Garren. You must not make any rash decisions."

"What plans do you suggest?"

Gabrielle folded her hands. "You cannot return to Framlingham for her. They would kill you. You cannot storm the castle, as you cannot amass enough men in a short amount of time. So it is logical that perhaps you know of someone, a trusted friend or knight, who could infiltrate Framlingham and whisk her from the castle. Do you know of someone?"

Garren was listening intently. "I do. Then what?"

"Have them bring her here, to me. That way, if her family tracks her, it would lead to the abbey and not even the de Rosa's would dare breach the sanctity of the abbey. I will keep her here with me until you come for her."

"Where am I going to be?"

"After you tell the Marshal that you no longer wish to be an agent for the king, you will find a place for you and your wife to live. You cannot run the rest of your lives. Find a place in Scotland or Wales, something well off the path and fortified, and take her there. Swear fealty to whichever king you wish, raise a sizable force and recruit bachelor knights, and live there with your lady for the rest of your life. If that is what you wish, Garren, then make it so."

Garren just stood there and smiled. "A sound enough plan, madam. How is it that your mind works so?"

"My brother taught me."

Garren knelt down beside her again, kissing her softly on the cheek. "I am glad to have come to you," he said softly. "You help me to think clearly when my entire world is in turmoil."

Gabrielle patted his hand. "You have no time to waste, Garren. I suspect even now that your lady is living anxiously. If she supported you against her family, she cannot be in their good graces. The sooner she is removed from Framlingham, the better. The sooner you are reunited with her, the better."

Garren collected his saddlebags, his mind was racing with possibilities, of hope, where moments before there had been none. He had another mission now, perhaps greater than any he had ever undertaken. He took his sister's hand, trying to think of the proper words of gratitude.

"To express my thanks seems quite inadequate," he said simply.

She waved him off. "None needed, Garren."

"I do not know when I shall return. I do not know when Derica will arrive. Of the future, I can say nothing for certain. Only that I will do my very best."

"I know you will. And I shall be prepared for any event. I shall welcome it."

He gave her hand a squeeze before quitting the room, marching into the early morning light with more purpose he had ever felt in his life. Back in the small chamber, Gabrielle swore she could hear his charger race off even though she knew she could not. She sat there, wondering if she had given him advice that would end his life. But the man's heart was in turmoil, and she gave the only advice she knew she could.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

*

Garren had known Fergus de Edwin since they had been boys. They had fostered together at Sandhurst Castle and had formed a friendship that had lasted all of these years. They had served together, and at times had gone years without seeing one another, but somehow they always found each other again. Garren knew, in any circumstance, that Fergus was the only man who would postpone his own funeral if Garren needed him. That manner of friendship was few and far between, and Garren valued it.

Fergus was a bachelor knight and something of a free spirit. His fealty shifted from time to time with different lords. His cause also happened to be any cause that Garren had, and at the moment, Garren needed his friend desperately for a cause that he never thought he would support. In this crisis, Garren could only turn to one man.

Fortunately for Garren, he had last heard that his friend happened to be serving Walter de Lacy at Longton Castle in Herefordshire. The nearby village, Haverhill, was a two-day's ride from Framlingham. Garren had taken a room in a tavern in Haverhill and found a youth to run a message to the castle. It was the middle of the night by the time he sent the message.

He suspected it would be dawn before Fergus arrived, if he was even still at Longton. Having not slept in well over two days, Garren stripped off his armor and fell down on the bed of his rented room. The straw inside the mattress was damp and old, but he didn't care. He was beyond exhausted and asleep before he realized it.

As a knight, his life depended upon his reflexes. Knights were notorious for sleeping lightly. But the sun was up and there was someone in his room before he was fully oriented. His sword was near his hand and the blade came up. He heard it clang against metal, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a yelp. Rolling off the opposite side of the bed in a flash, he saw a man with bright blue eyes standing on the other side, rubbing his left arm.

A bolt of relief ran through Garren and he lowered the sword. "Christ," he muttered. "Fergus, you idiot…."

Fergus stood there, still rubbing his arm. "Did you have to try and cut my head off?" he complained. "You send for me and this is the welcome I receive? Even from you, that is cold."

Garren tossed the sword on the bed and wearily scratched his head. "What did you expect, sneaking into my room? I will wager that you were standing over me trying to decide how best to smother me as I slept."

Fergus broke into a wide grin. Garren did the same. The men embraced each other as one would a brother.

"You're as ugly as ever, Garren."

"And you're still as stupid as I remember." Garren rubbed the sleep out of one eye and indicated the only chair in the room. "Please, sit. So you're still at Longton, after all?"

Fergus took the chair as Garren lowered himself back onto the bed. Fergus was a nice looking man with brilliant blue eyes and dark blond hair. His teeth protruded slightly and his skin was rough from sun and cold. He shrugged to Garren's assertion.

"De Lacy is fond of me and pays me well," he said. "I have no reason to leave yet. And you? Last I heard, you were wandering somewhere between Dover and Hastings."

"I still am."

"So why are you in Herefordshire?"

"Up until yesterday, I was to marry a local heiress."

Fergus' eyebrows lifted; he liked money. "Is that so? What did you do to make her break the betrothal?"

Fergus snickered at Garren's expense. Garren grinned at his friend's sense of humor. "It wasn't her, but her father. Seems he didn't take too kindly to me, after all."

"Do tell."

Garren's smile faded and the conversation took a serious turn. He explained everything, from the beginning. Fergus had no knowledge, nor had he ever, of Garren's true vocation, so the details about the Marshal were left out. For all Fergus knew, Garren's father had negotiated a marriage contract, which was broken when the de Rosa's concocted some foolish story about Garren being a spy for the king. Garren made sure to point out, without much embellishment, how suspicious the clan was and how protective they were of Derica.

Fergus was grim. "So you want revenge for them breaking the contract?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I want her."

Fergus didn't quite understand. "You want her? But why? Lady Derica without the inheritance is hardly worth the trouble."

"You don't understand, Fergus. I am in love with her."

Fergus looked shocked. "I see," he muttered. "Are you sure, Garren?"

"I am."

"Perhaps it was something you ate. It made you ill and affected your thoughts. Perhaps you simply think you are in love with her."

Garren grinned. "I am fairly certain that it is not my imagination."

"A spell, then. She cast a spell to bewitch you."

"I sincerely doubt it."

"But love," Fergus stood up. "Garren, you of all people cannot succumb to something that makes the strongest of men weak and ineffectual. Love has destroyed more lives and kingdoms throughout the ages than can be counted. Are you not terrified?"

"Absolutely."

"Then let me help you," Fergus grasped his arm. "Let me beat it out of you. I shall not let this destroy you, Garren, I promise."

Garren laughed as his friend tried to jerk him off the bed. "You can't beat it out of me. But if you don't let go of me, you're going to get a beating of your own."

"I am trying to help you. Do not resist me, you fool."

"Fergus, trust me. This isn't something that can be bashed away with a fist or reversed with magic charms. It is something deep inside that can never be erased."

Fergus let go of him. "Something has indeed happened to you, my friend. The Garren le Mon I have known all of these years would never speak like that."

"The Garren le Mon you knew no longer exists," Garren said quietly. "This is serious. I need your help."

Fergus cast him a long look as he reclaimed his chair. "I see. So you sent for me not to socialize and become disgustingly drunk as we remember old times, but to put me into service."

"Aye."

He signed with exaggeration. "Very well. What will you have me do?"

"Go to Framlingham and abduct Derica for me."

"And then can we get disgustingly drunk?"

"I shall buy you your own winery."

Fergus grinned. "For my own winery, I would abduct the Queen herself." He sobered, his manner serious for the first time since his arrival. Things like abductions, raids and sieges didn't bother him in the least; he'd done worse. But the true motive behind the request plagued him. "Are you sure, Garren? This isn't just some manner of infatuation, is it?"

Garren shook his head. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he muttered to himself. He focused on his friend. "No, this is not an infatuation. I want this woman to be my wife because I love her and her family is not going to stop me. How much clearer can I make this?"

Fergus didn't have an overly suspicious mind, nor was he a deep thinker. He more often than not simply accepted what was said.

"If that is your desire, my friend, then I shall ride to Framlingham today for your ladylove." He scratched his head. "You do have a plan, don't you? What do I do with her once I have her?"

"You worry about getting her out of the castle. When you do, ride for Yaxley Nene Abbey and deliver her to Sister Mary Felicitas. Beyond that, there is nothing you need concern yourself over. I shall pay you, handsomely."

"I am not worried over the money," Fergus said. "I would do this for nothing at all, simply because we are friends. But there is one thing that concerns me."

"What's that?"

"If her family is as protective as you say, then you are going to need help keeping her. Even if I manage to get her out of Framlingham, I am willing to wager that the hounds will track us and follow."

"That is why you are taking her to the abbey."

"But she can't stay there forever, and neither can you. Eventually, you are going to leave with, I suspect, her family in pursuit. What then?"

"That part of my plan is a little less clear. I shall know more when I return to Chepstow and discuss options with my liege."

"What for?"

"The Marshal controls several bastions along the Marches. I shall request transfer to one of the remote ones, easily defended. I shall keep her there with me until her family grows weary and returns home. The Marches are a long way from Norfolk and, do not forget, her father serves the Earl of Norfolk. He cannot be gone overlong on a siege using the earl's resources."

"Unless the earl gives his blessing and sends more reinforcements to aid him. Then, you will have a battle that will basically pit the Earl of Norfolk against the Marshal of England over a reason that has absolutely nothing to do with either of them. Do you want to risk that now when tensions are already so high between Richard and John's supporters?"

"Not particularly."

"Then I would suggest that you take her someplace remote, with no soldiers, no connections whatsoever. Just the two of you. Wait until the situation cools. As it stands now, running to a fortified castle is basically inviting her family to follow and bring on a full-scale war. It is a tease."

Garren thought on his words carefully; Fergus may have been flighty and scatter brained at times, but he had the heart and soul of a true warrior. In battle, the man was invaluable, which was why an undertaking of abduction didn't faze him in the least. He would have battled through fire if Garren asked him to.

"I appreciate your point of view," Garren said after a moment. "But the de Rosa's are powerful. It will be imperative that Derica and I have ample protection against their onslaught, which I have no doubt will come. My hope and inclination is that, after a time, the de Rosas will tire of any siege they may undertake and give up. Furthermore, with Derica and I married, the Church will undoubtedly support our position. Were the de Rosas able to retrieve her, however remote, the fact remains that she would still be a married woman."

Fergus shrugged. "Anything is possible. But if you are trying to avoid being tracked and thereby avoid the entire siege scenario, then surely keeping a low profile is best."

"I cannot disagree."

"Do you want a battle, Garren?"

"To teach those bastards a lesson, perhaps. But that would certainly not be in Derica's best interest."

"Nor yours. People tend to die in battle."

The men fell silent a moment, pondering the immediate future. "Your family is from Wales, Fergus?" Garren ventured.

"Aye."

"Then if I were to maintain a low profile, as you suggest, perhaps…."

Fergus was already thinking ahead of him. "A half a day's ride from the village where I was born lies an abandoned castle," he said, excitement in his tone. "When I was a lad, it was fairly intact but neglected. Story has it that Rhys, a Prince of Dyfed, built Cilgarren Castle for his new bride, but that he abandoned it shortly after her death. So there it sits, massive and unused. My father could direct you to this castle. It would be a perfect hiding place for you."

"You're sure? An entire fortress completely unused?"

"In all of the years my family has lived there, they have never seen it inhabited except for immediately after its completion. Legend has it that the place is haunted, and the princes of Dyfed will not go near it. And, being that nearby castles like Cardigan and Carmarthen are far more threatening, the English have no desire to claim it at this time. They have got their hands full with manned castles much less unmanned ones."

Garren felt better than he had in some time. A plan, a place. With Fergus to help him, he was positive the outcome would be favorable. Now to the get man to Framlingham and claim the prize. He suddenly snorted, softly.

"Cilgarren," he muttered. "It is fate that I go there."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the castle bears my name."

Fergus grinned. "Indeed it does," he agreed. "Perhaps in the years to come, people will forget the ‘Cil' altogether and simply call it Garren's Castle."

Garren nodded vaguely, his mind mulling over Fergus' advice. "Your clear thoughts and suggestions are much appreciated, my friend," he said. "Strange thing about Love; it muddles your head like fog. I have not been able to think objectively about any of this. I needed you more than I realized."

"My offer still stands to beat it out of you."

Garren laughed softly. "I think when you meet Derica, you will change your mind."

Fergus stroked his chin. "Is that so? Then perhaps I will abduct her for myself."

Garren cast him his best intimidating glance. "You will rue the day you were born, I assure you."

"Very well. That threat, coming from you, is enough to cause me to reconsider. I shall stay the course and then you shall name your first born son after me."

"Fair enough."

"Then let us make this so, my friend. Time waits for no man."

Fergus' confidence reassured Garren. But deep down, he was anxious for something that would be completely out of his hands until the moment Derica appeared at Yaxley. Until then, all he could do was wait and ignore the nameless fears that attempted to seduce him. So many things could go wrong and thinking such thoughts would surely drive him mad. All he wanted to do was see Derica again, and truly hold her for the first time. If he thought about it, he'd never done anything more than kiss her hand. The longing to touch her, hold her, experience her, was almost more than he could bear.

He didn't like waiting.