Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

I t was a lazy day. The sun gave muted warmth, accompanied by the rising humidity that came with summer. It was early in the year to experience the moist heat, but it was present nonetheless. Perhaps it was an indication of the unbearable summer to come.

Derica lay on a day couch, fan in her hand. Her chamber was warm and damp. Every so often, the fan would wave back and forth and then collapse against her breast. The bright green eyes were half-lidded, with thought and boredom, staring into the room as if her mind had been spirited away somehow. Ever since that dreadful day, nearly a week ago, that she had made the bargain for Garren's life it was as if something had left her. The spirit that was normally present had vanished. Those who knew her well were unsure if it would ever return.

Aglette had long since hidden away the yellow wedding gown that she had worked on so diligently for all those months. She thought about burning it simply to erase the memories, but she wasn't sure that would be wise. She was currently working on a summer gown for her lady, a pale blue garment made of light fabric. They had purchased the material last year at a fair in Bury St. Edmunds. Yards of it had lain in Derica's chest, disregarded, until Aglette rediscovered it. She thought that a new gown was something her mistress might need at this time. Anything to brighten the dark days they were all suffering through.

Derica wouldn't see anyone but Uncle Hoyt and her brother Daniel. They were the only two members of the family who didn't represent Garren's departure. Her Uncle Hoyt had spent a good deal of time with her, brushing her hair, stroking her back, talking to her about things like goddesses and flowers. Any mention of anything remotely romantic would send Derica into fits, so Hoyt avoided the mythological love stories he was so fond of. Cuchulain and the other Celts who had fought so hard for love and kingdom were put aside in favor of discussions on roses and lavender. It was all Derica could tolerate. Hoyt hurt for her, but deep down, he could not truly understand what she was going through. None of them did.

Daniel's visits could be particularly brittle because he almost always carried a message from the rest of the family. As the brother who stayed the furthest away from any manner of politics or family squabbles, he had been coerced into playing peacemaker. He would bring her meals to her and sit with her while she picked at the food, discussing things like the weather and the quality of the spring foals.

Unlike her emotional outburst in the vault of Framlingham from the week prior, she had reverted back to her normal character of controlling her emotions, only now it was darkly so. There was no emotion in her face whatsoever. She mostly lay upon her day couch, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring everything around her. She had no use for her family at the moment, those people who had ruined her life.

Aglette had stuck to her with the faithfulness of an old dog. She had known Derica her entire life and had never seen her so miserable. It was difficult to comprehend that she was making herself ill over a man she had known less than a full week. Aglette had seen suitors come to Framlingham for weeks on end and Derica had never so much as said more than two words to them. Garren le Mon, clearly, had been different. They all knew that now.

So the little maid sewed the blue dress and chattered, even though she knew she would receive no answer. Eventually, she gave up chattering all together and simply sewed. In fact, the pretty blue dress was almost done save hemming the length. Perhaps now was a good time to focus her mistress on something other than her misery.

"There we are," Aglette stood from her stool and held the dress up. "What do you think of this, my lady? Beautiful, is it not?"

Derica didn't respond, though the fan lifted and waved back and forth a few times. Aglette tried not to become discouraged.

"My lady," she said, more firmly. "I will need for you to try this on so that I may hem the bottom. Will you do that, please?"

Derica continued to fan herself. Aglette was about to try again when Derica's head moved, very slowly, towards the dress. The green eyes that focused on it were lifeless.

"The sleeves are sheer."

"Aye, they are," Aglette was thrilled that she was getting a response. "In the warmth of summer, it will make it much cooler for you."

"But everyone will see the scar on my arm."

Aglette hadn't thought of that. "Not much, my lady. Not unless they look closely."

"It is healing quite nicely. Garren did a remarkable job tending it."

"Aye, he did."

The fan stopped. "Where do you suppose he went, Aglette?"

Aglette lowered the dress. This was as much conversation as she had gotten out of Derica in a week and she wanted to tread carefully. "I do not know. Perhaps back to Chateroy."

Derica clasped the fan against her breast and sat up. Her shoulders and forehead glistened in the moist weather. "Do you suppose… if I had Uncle Hoyt write to him, that he would write back?"

"I do not know, my lady. But you can certainly try."

"Father would not permit it, I am sure."

"Then perhaps we could sneak a missive out somehow."

Derica fell back against the couch once more, closing her eyes in anguish. "He said he would not forget me. But I shall wager that he has. What would he want to remember about this horrid place and the horrible way he was treated?"

Aglette didn't want to argue with her, and she did not want her mistress to fall deeper into despair with the present line of conversation. She laid the blue dress aside.

"I am going down to the kitchens to fetch some cool water. A sponge bath will do you a world of good. Then we shall try on this dress."

Derica didn't reply and the fan lay still against her chest. Aglette quit the chamber and descended to the second floor where she took the steps into the ward. The kitchens were located towards the rear of Framlingham's bailey. Her thoughts centered on Derica as she commandeered two kitchen servants to help her carry the water buckets up to her mistresses' room. Before she left the area, however, she collected a plate of bread and cheese, hoping to coerce Derica into eating something. With the bath and dress, perhaps she would feel better. One could only try.

She sent the servants bearing water on ahead as she collected one last bit of fruit for her mistress' plate, some small green grapes. The cook also gave her some boiled fruit juice flavored with cloves and honey. As Aglette crossed the ward towards the western tower, a sharp whistle pierced her ears. Then the sound came again. Thinking it was one of the soldiers on the wall walk above, she ignored it until she passed near the kiln and saw a figure bundling bunches of straw for the kiln fire.

"Mistress," the man was on his knees, his face half-obscured by a dirty cloak. "Mistress!"

Aglette was used to aggressive men; it happened quite often. "Go about your business. I have no interest in you."

"I have been waiting here the better part of a week, waiting for the chance to speak with you," the man hissed. "You're Lady Derica's servant."

Aglette didn't answer; she kept walking. The man stood up, a bundle in his hands.

"How has your mistress been feeling this past week?" he asked.

Aglette paused, looking at him pointedly. "I do not know who you are or what you want, but if you do not leave me alone, I shall send the soldiers after you."

Aglette continued walking. After two steps she had forgotten about the conversation until she heard the man's voice behind her once again.

"Aglette," he said slowly. "I bring your lady a message from Garren."

Aglette came to a dead halt. She turned, eyeing the man with the bucked teeth and bright blue eyes. "What… what do you mean a message?"

Fergus could see the fear in her eyes. "Garren said you are someone to be trusted."

Aglette was shaken. "I… I serve my lady faithfully." She lowered her voice. "Who are you?"

Fergus knew their time would be short. He glanced around, seeing that their conversation was going unnoticed for the moment.

"I am Sir Fergus de Edwin, a friend of Sir Garren's," he said quietly. "He has asked me to come on his behalf."

"You are a knight?"

"Aye. You must bring your lady to me so that I may deliver the message in person."

Aglette's heart was thumping in her chest, with fear and excitement. "How do I know you are who you say you are?" she whispered. "You cannot possibly expect me to rouse my lady simply because you, a stranger, say that you bear a message for her."

Fergus turned around, back for the kiln, and picked up another bunch of straw. "I shall be at the stables in one hour. Bring her there so that I may deliver the message."

Aglette glanced around, wondering also if someone was noticing their conversation. She felt as if she was in the midst of something horribly treacherous.

"I will not," she was afraid. "I have half a mind to run and tell Sir Bertram that you are here."

Fergus didn't look at her, continuing to bind the straw. "If you do, I shall swear that you helped me gain entrance and that it was you who plotted to spread the rumor that Sir Garren was a spy. I shall tell your lord that you are the root of the resistance within Framlingham and that all covert dealings pass through you. Even if he didn't believe me right away, I can guarantee you that your days at Framlingham are numbered. Suspicion has a way of killing all it stalks."

"You wouldn't dare!" Aglette gasped.

"Try me."

Aglette was aghast. She blinked tears of fear and fury away. "But how do I know you are who you say you are?" she repeated. "Everyone at Framlingham knows of Sir Garren. You could simply being trying to trick me."

Fergus looked at her; she was a pretty girl in a pale sort of way. "Tell your mistress that the ibis has returned," he said, more gently. "She will understand and will assure you that my presence is no trick. Go, now. Tell her."

Aglette didn't know what to say. She turned so quickly for the tower that she nearly dropped the plate with food on it.

"One hour," Fergus called after her. "At the stables."

Aglette had no idea how she managed to carry the tray up two flights of stairs with her quaking knees, but she managed somehow. By the time she reached Derica's chamber, she was a mess. The kitchen servants were filling a basin with the water they had brought and Aglette chased them from the room furiously. Even Derica, in her stupor, looked surprised when her red-headed maid slammed the chamber door and threw the bolt.

"Aglette?" she said. "What is the matter?"

Aglette looked like a frantic chicken. She threw her arms up in the air and struggled not to shout.

"A man in the ward," she gasped. "He said… he said that Sir Garren sent him."

Derica's expression grew serious, confused. "What do you mean? Who is he?"

"He said his name was Sir Fergus," Aglette stammered. "And… oh, my lady, he said that Garren has sent you a message. He wants you to meet him in the stables in one hour!"

A week of lethargy was erased in a matter of seconds. "Garren has sent me a message?"

Aglette shook her head fearfully. "That is what he said, my lady. I am frightened!"

Derica didn't know what to feel at the moment. "Is that all? Did he say anything else? How do I know it isn't a trick somehow?"

"But who would trick you?"

"I do not know. But how can I know for sure that it isn't?"

Aglette seemed to calm strangely, though there were tears in her eyes. "He said to tell you that the ibis has returned," she whispered. "He said that you would understand."

Derica's eyes widened enormously. "Dear God," she murmured. "Ibis and alligators."

"Then you know?"

She closed her eyes and, as Aglette watched anxiously, tears suddenly streamed down her cheeks. They were like rivers. But accompanied with the tears was a smile so bright that it lit up the room. Derica suddenly shouted and began spinning around the room like a madwoman.

"Aye!" she cried. "I know!"

Aglette's fear began to fade, replaced by some of the happiness her mistress was feeling. "Truly? He has sent you a message?"

Derica's answer was to throw her arms around her maid. The two of them danced jubilantly around the room. They hopped and cried and Derica bumped into the couch, stumbled, but kept going. She could have flown from the window at the moment and not been aware of it. But her dancing came to an abrupt halt.

"I must get dressed," she began rushing around the room. "I must wash. Where is my soap?"

Aglette kept a cooler head, helping Derica wash quickly with a cake of rose-scented soap. The blue dress, a form-hugging garment without a hem, was Derica's choice simply because it was there. As she pulled up the sleeves, Aglette fastened the stays with trembling hands.

"'Tis too long!" Derica exclaimed as she shoved her feet into doeskin slippers.

She was already heading for the door, tripping on the garment. Aglette struggled after her with a comb. "I told you that I needed to hem it, my lady," Aglette said with irritation.

"I shall trip on this and fall to my death before I can hear Garren's message."

"Then pull it up. Higher."

Derica had the front of her skirt bundled in a wad in front of her as she took the narrow stairs. Aglette ran the comb through her tangled locks. By the time they entered the ward of Framlingham, Derica let the skirt down just enough to be decent and struggled to calm herself.

"I will do this myself from here," she said. "Return to my chamber and keep watch for my family. I do not want them trying to follow me."

"How shall I keep them from looking for you should they come?"

"Think of something. Anything. I shan't be long."

Aglette watched her mistress scurry towards the stables. She was shaking with fear, and hope, and didn't think it appropriate for her lady to go alone. But she respected her wishes. Dutifully, she turned back for the tower, hoping the annoying de Rosa men would not want to console Derica yet again. She doubted she could hold them off long and for that, her fear mounted.

Derica tried to keep from running to the stables. She was so excited that she could scarcely breathe. The stable block was a long, low series of buildings attached to the outer wall. The wall walk was twenty feet above, soaring into the sky. She entered the first building and, seeing only horses and a few servants, went into the second and third. The fourth block was dim due to the shadows cast from the wall above. Derica passed through it, not seeing a living soul. She was about to exit when she heard someone clear their throat behind her, softly yet firmly.

Startled, she swung about. A man in a dirty brown cloak was in the shadows, hidden behind a large pile of hay. He pushed the hood from his face slightly, revealing bright blue eyes and a handsome face.

"Lady Derica, I presume?"

Derica nodded, hesitantly "Are you….?"

"I am."

"I was told that you have a message for me."

He nodded. "I am Sir Fergus de Edwin. Sir Garren has sent me. He told me to tell you that the ibis has returned to the alligators."

She smiled at the words from their private world. "Is he well, then?"

"He is."

She sighed, visibly relieved. "I am so glad," she murmured. "He went through so much here… I have prayed for him."

"He is well enough that he has done nothing but speak your name," Fergus said. "Garren and I go back many, many years, my lady. When he asked me to help him in a matter involving a woman, I did not take it lightly. Garren is not the sort to be infatuated with a female."

Derica was pleased to hear him say that. "Nor I a man. What message did he give you for me?"

"He has sent me to bring you to him."

"Bring me to him?" Derica repeated. "For what purpose?"

"To marry you."

"Marry?" she sounded stunned. "After all that happened… after everything my family did to him, he still speaks of marrying me?"

"It is his heart's desire." Fergus regarded her carefully; she was a strikingly beautiful woman. He didn't blame Garren in the least. "But is it yours?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You seem hesitant."

She shook her head. "'Tis not that. 'Tis simply hard for me to believe that he would still want to marry me after all that has happened."

"My lady, if you do not wish to go to him, I am not here to abduct you. I am merely here to help you should you wish it."

"Is that what he told you to say to me?"

"Nay. But I am an honorable knight. I do not abduct unwilling women."

"I am not unwilling, Sir Fergus," she said quietly. "I want nothing more in this world than to be Garren's wife. If he sent you for that purpose, then it is my pleasure to go with you."

"Good," Fergus smiled. "Then we shall arrange it. A time and place, when there is little chance of your absence being discovered too quickly."

"Why not now?"

Fergus peered from the open stable door. "Where is your family?" he cast her a long look. "I understand you are surrounded by a host of guard dogs."

"I do not know where they are," she said. "But we can leave Framlingham without being noticed. There are always peasants coming and going and we can blend in with the crowd. Where is your horse?"

"In the woods to the south," he replied. "Are you certain you wish to go now? Do you not wish to pack lightly, or to collect anything of personal value?"

Derica shook her head firmly. "The sooner I see Garren, the better. He is the only thing of personal value to me." She could see the indecision on Fergus' face and she put her hand on his arm. "Sir Fergus, I have done nothing but eat, sleep and dream of Sir Garren since nearly the moment I met him. He is all that I have dreamed of and more. I must be with him. Do you understand that?"

Fergus could see her sincerity and he felt a stab of envy; he wished a beautiful woman would speak so fondly of him. But he pushed those thoughts aside, quickly, and removed the dirty cloak from his back. Swinging it over Derica's shoulders and pulling the hood over her honey-colored hair, he began to pile straw on her back.

"Let us do this the best way possible, then," he said. "I think I have a plan."

Derica was so excited at the prospect of being with Garren that the weight of the straw on her back couldn't dampen her spirit. Although she was angry with her family, she still loved them and felt a moment of sorrow that she would never see them again. She also felt sorrow at the prospect that Aglette would take the brunt of their anger. Still, she had to do this. She knew in her heart she would have risked death to go to Garren. But hopefully, it would not come to that.

*

Leaving Framlingham would have been easier had they left a few moments earlier or later. As it was, the timing was right so that Daniel and Dixon were in the ward, speaking to the guard captain. Derica spied them the moment she and Fergus left the stables, and Fergus saw her hesitation.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

The hood was down over her face, the huge cloak covering her body. "My brothers," she whispered. "Over by the main gate, talking to the guard."

Fergus had no such cover for his face, as he had given his cloak to Derica. But he was dressed like a peasant. Still, he was a knight and projected a higher image than most of the dirty people around him. He knew this was going to be tricky.

"There is my handcart," he pulled her towards the small card heavy with straw. "I used this to gain entrance a few days ago. It has been an effective cover."

"A few days ago?" Derica allowed him to lift her onto the edge of the cart. "You have been here that long and have only now tried to contact me?"

Fergus grinned as he secured the straw with a length of rope. "It wasn't as if I could charge into the tower and announce myself," he said, eyeing Daniel and Dixon in the distance. "I had to make myself familiar with the place and determine who had access to you and who did not."

"Like Aglette?"

"Exactly. I was told she was your servant."

"Who told you that?"

"One of the peasants, a man who sells his grain to the castle. You'd be surprised what these people know about you."

His eyes were twinkling as he secured the last of the rope. Derica pulled the hood further down over her face.

"Like what?"

Fergus grabbed the end of the handcart and lifted it. With little effort, he turned it around and began steering it towards the open gates.

"I hear you're something of a spitfire," he said.

Derica scowled. "That's not true."

"Shhh," Fergus snapped softly. "Keep your voice down unless you want those two brutish brothers to hear you."

She lowered her head, trying to make sure every identifiable mark was covered. Her blue gown, unhemmed and long, trailed out from underneath the cloak.

"My gown," she hissed. "They'll see it!"

Fergus could feel his apprehension rise; he was close now and to fumble with her gown would be to draw attention to them. Carefully, he set the cart down and pretended to adjust his load of straw.

"Pull it up," he whispered. "If I touch you, it will look too obvious."

Derica fumbled with the gown as much as she could without being too noticeable about it. She was feeling her panic but forced herself to calm, knowing that it would do no good to fall apart. With a pull and a tug, she managed to toss a length of cloak over the escaping pale blue. Fergus collected the handle of the cart, lifted, and began to push again.

Derica lowered her head and closed her eyes, saying a soft prayer. Gradually, she could hear Daniel's voice. She didn't dare look over. Peering up from the edges of the hood, she could see Dixon's boots as they passed by. It was too close, and too nerve wracking. Her palms were moist with anxiety. But they went unnoticed through the gates and down the road, and Derica lifted her head slightly to watch the great open gates of Framlingham slip further and further away. She felt, not strangely, as if a part of her life was slipping further and further way, too.

"I think we are safe," Fergus broke into her thoughts. "I shall push the cart into those trees. My horse is about a quarter of a mile into the woods."

Derica was bumped around as the cart rolled over the grass and into the trees. Fergus set it down and she slid off. Her eyes were on the silhouette of Framlingham, half-hidden through the trees. Fergus could see where her thoughts lay.

"'Tis difficult to leave the only life one has ever known," he said quietly.

She shrugged. "'Tis not so much that," she said. "I love and respect my father and brothers, but sometimes, they cannot be reasoned with. This is one of those times. Although I am not happy to disrespect their wishes, I feel very strongly that they are wrong in this case. Garren is a good man with a good heart and to the Devil with the politics of the king and his brother. I hate politics."

"Politics are a fact of life in this day and age, my lady."

"That may be. But I do not have to be a part of it. The only reason they will not allow Garren and I to wed is because someone told them that he was a spy for William Marshal. They will not tell me who; therefore, I say they are wrong. They are wrong to destroy my happiness based on their prejudice." She caught Fergus staring at her when she had finished her little speech. "Why do you look at me so?"

"Because the peasants were right; you are a spitfire."

She made a face at him, quickly gone. "Am I wrong?"

"I am not sure there is any right or wrong in matters of the heart."

After a moment longer, Derica turned away from the only home she had ever known. She refused to dwell on the regrets she might have; all that mattered was that soon, she would be with Garren. Fergus had her by the elbow, helping her walk through the heavy grass, when they suddenly heard the thunder of hooves.

Fergus immediately pulled her down, as if they could hide behind the thin green stalks. His hawkish gaze caught sight of a host of chargers at the gates of Framlingham and they could hear shouting in the distance. The men-at-arms were mobilizing. He knew immediately what had happened.

"Run."

He grabbed Derica's arm and pulled her along with him, the both of them flying through the trees and into the bramble.

"They've discovered me!" Derica gasped as they tore through the grass.

Fergus didn't answer her; he knew their luck had been too perfect. If they guarded the lady as much as Garren had told him, then they had lived on God's good graces for all of this time they had not been discovered. He had taken the chance, quickly, and now he wasn't at all sure that had been wise. All he could think of was getting to his horse and on to Yaxley Nene Abbey before they were stopped.

He prayed that God's good graces lasted just a bit longer.

*

"You are pacing is like the roll of wagon wheels, Over and over again, never ending, never…."

"I get your meaning. I shall sit if it will stop your complaining."

Gabrielle suppressed a smile, listening to her brother's grumpy mood, and knowing he had a very good reason for being anxious. She was simply trying to eliminate some of the tension.

"You should have gone on to Wales, as Fergus suggested," she said, her hands feeling at the sewing in her lap. In spite of her complete blindness, she sewed extremely well by touch. "To come back here, simply to wait, will drive you mad."

Garren glanced over at her; it was sunset, on the seventh day since he had left Framlingham. He'd left Fergus five days ago with the intention of riding to William Marshal to inform him of the change in his mission. But a day into that journey, he had turned back for the abbey; he wasn't so sure the Marshal would allow him to return for Derica. The man was driven and forceful, and Garren was his vassal. Whatever the Marshal ordered, he was obliged to follow, and he could not risk an order that took him far away from Yaxley and far away from Derica. So he had decided to return to the abbey and wait for Fergus to bring her. He wasn't sure how long that would take, but after four days of waiting, he was beginning to show distinct signs of impatience. All he wanted to do was hold a woman he had never held before.

"I would say the nuns have been quite accommodating to have me here," he said. "They've not tried to remove me once."

Gabrielle grunted. "That is because you sit with me and cause no problems. But they still force you to sleep outside at night."

"It is not been bad."

Gabrielle fixed a couple of stitches, running her fingers over her work as if she was playing a harp. "Tell me again of this castle where you plan to take her, Garren. The place where kings used to live."

He settled back in the old chair, crossing his massive arms. He was without his armor this day, as the nuns refused to let him wear it, or bring any weapons, deep inside the abbey. All of his protection was by the front door. He felt a bit naked without it, but he also felt very free.

"It is called Cilgarren," he tilted his head back, closing his eyes wearily. "As I told you, it was built for the princes of Dyfed. But the wife of the first prince died and now the place is supposedly haunted. Fergus tells me that it has been vacant for years."

"Is it big?"

"I am told it is massive."

"Cilgarren," Gabrielle repeated softly. "So you intend to take her there?"

"I do," he muttered. "Do you know that I have never even kissed her?"

"Who?

"Derica."

No matter how Gabrielle had tried, for days, to speak of other things, the conversation always came back to the lady.

"'Tis well and good that you haven't," she chided gently. "You are not married to her yet."

"But we are betrothed."

"Of no matter. You have no rights to her until you are properly wed."

Garren opened his eyes and stood up. His pacing started anew. "My entire life, I have lived by the sword and the code of Chivalry. I have been in the service of the most powerful man in England and have done some things during that service that I am perhaps not so proud of. But I have always been confident in my decisions. I can truthfully say there is nothing I look back upon that I regret, knowing that I made the right choice at that point in time." He stopped pacing and looked at his sightless sister. "But I cannot know for sure that what I do now is the right thing. To love a woman so much, to be consumed with her to the point of madness. I cannot know for certain that the choices I have made over the past several days have been the right ones, with surely more choices to come. How do I know that in a month or a year she will not come to hate me for taking her away from her family and forcing her to marry me?"

"You cannot know," Gabrielle said quietly. "Be good to her, treat her well, and love her. That is all you can do."

Garren was having a tough bout with indecision at the moment. His anxiety was getting the better of him. He sat down again, next to his sister, and patted her hand.

"I am sure that I am driving you mad with my incessant whimpering," he said. "I thank you for your patience and advice."

Gabrielle smiled. "I envy you. You have such a wonderful future ahead of you, with happiness and children, married to a woman that you love. How many people in this world are fortunate enough to experience that?"

"I feel extremely humbled," he admitted. "Never did I imagine my life would take the turn it is apparently taking and my happiness would be complete but for one thing."

"What?"

"I still must face the Marshal with what I have done."

Gabrielle didn't say anything for the moment. "Perhaps you should not," she murmured. "Perhaps you should simply take Derica to Wales and stay there for the rest of your lives."

Garren smiled ironically. "As much as I would like to, I cannot. I am a knight and I am sworn to serve my king above all. I must confess all to the Marshal and pray I have not caused over-much damage to Richard's cause. There are other agents, of course, other men who can infiltrate and uncover information, but the Marshal had high hopes for my mission. I am, after all, the best he has."

"But it wasn't your fault your mission failed. Someone told the de Rosas who you are."

"I know. But I am making somewhat of a mess of it by abducting the Bertram de Rosa's daughter."

Gabrielle shrugged; she couldn't disagree. "So you plan to continue working for the Marshal and Richard's cause even after you wed her?"

"Eventually, after the de Rosa's have cooled and I can safely travel England again without the threat of them on my tail seeking vengeance."

"What of your wife, then?"

"What of her?"

"She doesn't know that it is true."

"What's true?"

"That you are an agent for her father's most hated enemy."

Garren inhaled deeply, regretfully. "I will have to tell her and pray she can forgive me."

The conversation died after that. Gabrielle was left to wonder what would happen to her brother if his ladylove did not forgive him.