Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

D ays passed into a week, and then two. Derica had grown strong enough to help with the chores, discovering she wasn't very good at cooking but that she was quite good at mending. The massive lump on her head had slowly subsided and with it, her memory had returned in bits and pieces. She could remember the large family of men and a few of their names– Hoyt was her uncle, Dixon and Daniel were her brothers, but she still had no idea where they all lived or who the rest of the nameless men were.

At night, she dreamt of a massive man with copper-gold hair who filled her with wondrous weakness. She awoke in the morning, expecting to see him sleeping beside her, and repeatedly disappointed when he wasn't there. Perhaps he was the husband who had beaten her and thrown her into the river, though her instinct told her the man was not the kind. Surely if he was her husband, he would come looking for her. But no man came all of these days.

Early one morning, Mair roused her from a deep, warm sleep. Derica yawned, rolling onto her back and searching for her clothes. The clothes that Mair had found her in had been unsalvageable, so the woman had given her what was probably her best clothing to wear. Considering the near-rags Mair wore, Derica could surmise nothing else.

Derica slept in her shift, a soft wool garment that hung to her ankles. Over her head, she pulled the dark blue woolen surcoat with long sleeves, and then she pulled on a plain fawn-colored sleeveless garment that was made for durability and warmth. These were her clothes, day in and day out, and Mair washed them once since giving them to her. They smelled like rushes, and a little smoke.

"Get up, get up," Mair apparently thought Derica was moving too slowly. "We must get up and go to the lake."

Derica ran a wooden comb through her hair, wincing when it caught a snag. "The lake? Why?"

Mair smiled, handing Sian a cup of warmed goat's milk. "For a winter's harvest. You will see."

Derica thought she meant fish. Pulling her hair into a braid at the nape of her neck, she put on her shoes and borrowed cloak, which was really more of a woolen blanket, and followed Mair and the children out into the early morning. Everything was damp and icy as they made their way through the trees and into the outskirts of the small village.

The sun rose steadily and smoke from cooking fires hung heavy in the misty air. Mair led them around the village and to a well-traveled road that headed to the east. Sian and Aneirin walked on either side of Derica, holding baskets for their harvest. They had decided over the past week that they liked Derica very much and had taken to following her everywhere. Sian was a sweet, protective little boy, while Aneirin was more aggressive in a big sisterly manner and liked to push her younger brother around a bit. They squabbled here and there, but had mostly made wonderful companions for Derica. She was quite fond of them.

"Bryndalyn?"

For the past few days, Derica had been having dreams and memories that suggested that wasn't her name, but she answered nonetheless. "Aye?"

Sian grinned up at her. He was always grinning at her. "Tell me of the knights."

They had been having a discussion for several days about knights. Sian was enamored with warriors. She smiled gently at him. "Men with big horses and bigger swords."

She held her arms up to indicate an enormous weapon, and Sian's grin broadened. "Tell me of a fight!"

Derica thought hard. She thought she could recall a tournament, events flowing through her mind of colors and lists and shouting people. Dixon had taken the melee prize at this particular one. Very slowly, she could recall the name York. This particular tournament had been in York, and she recollected how much she had loved gazing at the magnificent cathedral.

"Do you remember what I told you about tournaments?"

"Aye!"

"Then do you remember what I told you about the knight's weaponry?"

Sian nodded eagerly. "They use a lance for the jost."

"Joust," she corrected.

"Joust," Sian repeated. "They use their swords for the me.. me…"

"Melee."

"A fight!"

She laughed softly. "Aye, a fight, little man. They stick each other with swords until one man is left standing. It is a horrible, bloody spectacle, something I suspect you would love immensely."

Sian began swinging the basket around as if fighting for his life. "Behold, bad men," he said, swinging the basket so close to Derica's head that she had to duck. "Beware of my wrath!"

Derica took hold of Aneirin's hand, pulling her gently out of the way so she would not be struck by the flying basket. "All hail, Sir Sian of the Dark Woods."

Sian liked that name. Derica had come up with it one night when the young boy was expressing his desire to be the greatest knight in all the land. He paused in his basket swinging and bowed stiffly.

"I shall marry you when I am a knight."

Derica cocked an eyebrow. "I think that I shall be a bit old for you, but your offer is most flattering."

The boy suddenly looked very serious. He slipped his cold little hand into Derica's. "But who will take care of you?"

Derica had flashes of the man with the sandy-copper hair, straining with body and soul to remember who he was. In her heart, she already knew. "My husband will, when he finds me."

Sian looked confused. "Mam says he is bad for what he did to you. I will kill him if he tries to hurt you."

Derica stroked his dark head. "I am very fortunate to have a protector such as you. But he is my husband, and if he comes for me, I must go with him. I belong to him."

Sian didn't agree with her but he didn't know what to say. Aneirin looked frightened. Up ahead, Mair was leading them off the road and into some trees. Derica and the children followed. On the other side of a thin line of trees lay a large pond, swamped with too much water. Mair paused at the edge, and when Derica and the children reached her, she put her hand in the water up to the elbow, fished around, and came up with a handful of wet, red berries.

"Come on, help me," she encouraged them.

Soon, they were all harvesting the wet fruit from the swampy water. At Mair's urging, Derica popped one in her mouth and was delighted with the strong bitter-sweet flavor. They swept the edge of the pond until their baskets were full and their hands were freezing and wet. Derica dried off Sian's hands, while Mair dried off Aneirin's.

The children's teeth were chattering with cold, but they were thrilled with their booty, dancing around with the catch of red berries. As Derica bent over to pick up the little scarf that Sian had dropped, the little boy gleefully swung his basket around and hit her on the back. Derica pitched forward, unable to stop herself from ramming head-first into the decomposing tree directly behind her. Stars flashed before her eyes before everything went suddenly dark.

She hadn't been out very long, perhaps a few moments. Derica blinked her eyes, gazing up at Sian and Mair's worried faces. She put a hand up to her bruised forehead, struggling to sit.

"Are ye well?" Mair was beside herself with horror at what her son had done.

Derica nodded unsteadily. "I… I think so."

Sian, over the shock of having accidentally hit her, began to wail and Derica comforted him. "There, there," she hugged him. "I am fine. Do not be troubled."

"I am sorry, Bryndalyn," he sniffed.

Derica's expression slowly changed, as if a spark of flame slowly bloomed within her mind. She rubbed her forehead again, a weary smile on her lips.

"That's not my name," she said softly.

Sian's tears faded and he looked at her, confused. Mair, too, looked surprised. "It is not?"

Derica closed her eyes briefly, suddenly remembering everything in a waterfall of memories and feelings. They had been struggling to come through for several days and the knock on the head was apparently all she had needed. Her smile broadened as if the most wonderful thing in the world had just happened.

"My name is the Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon," she said, restraining her excitement lest she frighten the children with it. "My husband is Sir Garren le Mon, sworn to King Richard and vassal of William Marshal."

Mair squeezed her arm. "So ye do remember now."

Derica nodded. "I do." She hugged Sian tightly. "My thanks to you, Sian, for causing me to hit my head. 'Twas the best gift you could have given me."

The little boy was glad he was not in trouble, happy his friend was so joyful. But something occurred to him out of all the fuss and joy going on. "Your husband is a knight?"

Derica nodded, remembering the man with the sandy-copper hair and thrilled to remember every last detail about him. "He is a great knight," she said quietly. "And he did not beat me and throw me in the river. I was too close to the edge and slipped in. The bruises were from my fall."

"Ye recollect the fall that brought ye to us?" Mair asked. "Do ye also remember where ye're from?"

"We were at Cilgarren Castle," Derica said. "How far are we from there?"

Mair thought. "A goodly distance, I think. 'Tis to the north of us."

"But you know of it?"

"I have lived here all my life. I know the land."

Derica rubbed her head again and stood up, gripping the offending tree for support. But she didn't care that her head was swimming; all that mattered is that she could remember who she was again. It was deliriously liberating. She was seized with the desire to return to Cilgarren right away.

"I must go home," she said. "Will you help me?"

Mair nodded. "Of course we will."

"Can we make it in a day, if we start now? 'Tis still early."

Mair shrugged. "Is it also possible yer husband is already looking for ye? Perhaps if we stay here, he will come to us."

Tears came to Derica's eyes, remembering her last conversation with Fergus. The good memories as well as the bad rejoined her. She wondered what had happened during her absence. "He is fighting the wars between Richard and John. I suspect he'll not come looking for me any time soon."

Mair understood. She didn't like the thought of wandering the dangerous countryside with her children, but she could not refuse her. "Very well," she said softly. "We will take you home."

Derica sensed the moment between them, the sacrifice Mair was willing to make for a woman she hardly knew. "I cannot tell you what you have meant to me, you and your children. You have taken me in and cared for me, and I will not forget your kindness. My family has much wealth and I swear I shall reward you for your trouble."

Mair's pale complexion flushed. "We have all we need. I did not help ye for the fortune to be gained by it."

"I know you didn't. But you shall be rewarded all the same. You have risked much."

There was nothing more to say. Rubbing her head again, Derica let go of the tree and took Sian's hand. Her heart was lighter than it had been since she came to this place. Together, the four of them made their way back through the trees, towards the road. The day was warming as the sun struggled through the clouds. Sian saw a rabbit with big white ears and ran off in pursuit. He wanted to play with it, but Aneirin wanted the fur for a coat. Derica and Mair reached the road, watching the children chase the rabbit through the bushes. A low rumble in the distance caught their attention.

"Rain is coming," Mair glanced up at the semi-cloudy sky.

Derica looked up, too. But the rumble didn't stop; it continued and seemed to grow louder. Her gaze moved to the road leading west.

"I do not think it is rain," she said. "Listen. It sounds more like horses. Many horses."

Mair's relaxed expression tensed. "An army?"

Derica was quiet a moment, thinking. "Where does this road lead?"

"To Pembroke."

There was a large castle in Pembroke. "Get the children," Derica said with quiet urgency.

They sprinted into the bramble. Derica came across Aneirin and grasped the little girl by the wrist, but the child didn't understand. She thought it was a game and pulled away from Derica, laughing. Derica chased her through a cluster of trees, panicked when she saw that the girl was heading back up towards the road. She called her name, trying to stop her, but the child dashed onward. By the time she hit the road, Derica was right behind her and finally grabbed her around the waist.

"Got you!" she breathed.

She noticed the dust first. Whirling around with the child still in her arms, her eyes fell on a large group of armed men several feet away. They were clad in expensive armor and rode massive chargers, animals built for the brutality of war. Having been around knights her entire life, she knew this particular group of men could be nothing other than seasoned warriors.

The group carried several Welsh crossbowmen with them, men renowned for their deadly accuracy. It was a war party. She prayed that Mair and Sian would stay to the bushes as she herself faced the horde, having no other choice. To run would be to surely invite them to follow, and that could result in the capture of all of them.

The group had come to a halt. Derica pushed Aneirin behind her, protectively, facing the men with courage. One knight flipped up his visor, studying her carefully.

"I have traveled this road many a time and have never seen a fairy, though I have heard tale of them," he said. When Derica didn't reply, he continued in a less friendly tone. "Your name, woman."

Derica knew her family name held much weight, on both sides of the realm. If these knights supported the Prince, then it would save her. If not, it may very well work against her. But it was her name, for better or worse.

"Who asks?" she questioned with polite authority.

"You will answer me, wench."

"I will. As soon as you answer me. And you will not call me wench."

The knight was working up another snappish retort, but the large knight next to him put out a hand, stopping the reaction. The knight who spoke reworded his reply.

"The Lord of Pembroke asks."

Derica knew she had to tell him. To be evasive would only pull her deeper into what could possibly be an unpleasant situation. She'd already been far bolder than she should have been.

"The Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon."

The knight snorted. "And I am the King of France. I will ask you one more time your name. Lie to me, and punishment shall be swift."

"I did not lie. I am the daughter of Bertram de Rosa of Framlingham Castle and wife to Garren le Mon, heir to the barony of Anglecynn and Ceri and descendent of Saxon kings. My father and uncles have crusaded with King Henry, and my godfather is Roger Bigod, second Earl of Norfolk. Shall I go on?"

The helmed heads looked at each other. The large knight who had held up a quelling hand lifted his visor, gaining a better look. His large brown eyes regarded her. He finally spurred his charger forward, an enormously hairy red horse with an abundance of cream-colored fur around its hooves. Derica didn't flinch as he came to within a few feet of her.

"You are Garren le Mon's widow?"

Derica felt as if she had been struck. "I am his wife," she replied steadily.

"What are you doing so far from Cilgarren, lady?"

Derica wasn't sure where to start with all of it, and her mind was still spinning with his words. Garren le Mon's widow. And how did this knight, whom she did not know, have the knowledge that she was at Cilgarren? "I… I was lost and preparing to make my way back home." It sounded like a lame excuse, even to her.

"Lost?"

"I wandered… too far and became lost." When he appeared as if he didn't believe a word, she grunted in frustration. "Suffice it to say that I was lost and am, even now, on my way home. I do not see how that is any concern of yours."

The knight regarded her carefully; he didn't doubt for a minute she was who she said she was. She was well spoken and exceedingly beautiful, even in the peasant clothing she was wearing. It was like looking at a diamond glistening in the dirt. But he was incredibly confused to find her wandering a road several miles south of Cilgarren Castle. She was surely as witless as she was lovely.

"William Marshal has ordered me to retrieve you, Lady le Mon."

"Why?"

"I am to take you back to Pembroke. He has sent a missive for you."

"A missive? What missive?"

"'Tis a private document, for your eyes only. I suspect it is news of some manner."

Derica's heart suddenly fell into her stomach; she knew what the missive was. The knight didn't have to say another word. It had to be a missive telling her of her husband's death, which is why the warrior referred to her as Garren's widow. Much had apparently happened in her absence. The world was suddenly very unsteady and her heart began pounding loudly in her ears. She was vaguely aware of falling to her knees, slightly less aware of the knight dismounting his charger and coming to her aid so that she would not fall on her face. Somewhere, she could hear Aneirin crying.

"No," she breathed. "God, please… no. He is not dead. He cannot be."

By this time, several of the knights had ridden forward. One of them took hold of the riderless charger, while two others dismounted, mostly to gain a better look at the beautiful lady rather than to actually lend assistance. The knight that held her pulled off his helm with his free hand and passed it off to the man standing next to him.

"Help me get her on my steed," he commanded softly.

"No!" Derica struggled weakly against him. "I will not go! I must go back to Cilgarren!"

The knight didn't reply as he swung her up into his arms. Aneirin was crying loudly now. Mair and Sian came running out of the bushes, protesting loudly at what was surely a kidnapping. Startled, one of the Welsh crossbowmen released his weapon, and an arrow sailed with deadly precision into Mair's chest. She was dead before she hit the ground.

The children screamed with horror. Derica, struggling for coherency, managed to angle her head around to see what had happened.

"You killed her!" she shrieked. "My God… Mair!"

The knight who held her cursed under his breath, hissing to the knight nearest him. "God's Bones, who released that arrow?"

"I do not know, my lord."

"Find out. And confiscate his weapon!"

"Aye, my lord."

The children were still screaming, crying over their mother's corpse. The knight that held Derica spoke steady orders to another knight.

"Collect the children. Bring them."

"Aye, my lord."

Derica had ceased to struggle. Her body went limp and she cried pitifully, tears for Garren, a few for Mair. She wished she could die, too, retreating into a world of incoherency and darkness. At the moment, she cared naught for her fate. All that mattered was that Garren was gone and her life was over.

The trip back to Pembroke passed in a blur. The knight with the big brown eyes carried her the entire way. A couple of times, she had tried to remove herself from his charger, but he had held her tightly and said little. She had asked about the children and he assured her they were well.

When they finally arrived at Pembroke, Derica was whisked into the keep by a pair of severe looking women. They hustled her into a chamber and shut the door. They chatted endlessly, asking her a myriad of questions, but she shut them out just as she had shut out the knights. She didn't want to talk, or think, or behave even remotely human. When the women stripped her down to her woolen shift, she didn't protest. When the women saw how dirty her shift was, and the skin beneath it, they called for a bath and gently, but firmly, coaxed the shift off of her.

The bath was hot. The women scrubbed her with an enormous sponge and soap that smelled of violets. They even washed her hair with a vinegar concoction and rinsed it out with flat ale. The scents and activity of the bath moved Derica from her numb depression to tears, and she cried with deep grief as the women removed her from the tub, rubbed her skin with oil so it would not crack, and brushed her wet hair. A heavy robe draped her body as maids scurried in and out of the chamber, bringing all manner of surcoats, bodices and shifts for the women's approval. There was apparently nothing of acceptable finery for a lady of her station at Pembroke, but the servants were trying desperately to find something.

Two hours later found Derica with dry hair and a clean body clad in a surcoat of deep blue brocade with a long-sleeved undershift of soft white linen. She had stopped crying for the moment, but her eyes were red and swollen. Truthfully, she didn't have the energy to cry. Everything seemed drained. The numbness had returned and she sat in her borrowed chamber, neither feeling nor seeing. The women had tried to feed her, but she would accept nothing they offered.

The flames of the fire became her friend. She stared into the golden licks, the soft light offering some warmth and physical comfort. She became one with the fire, a few stolen moments where there was no pain, no sorrow, only the warmth and light she craved at the moment. Yet, every so often an errant tear would stream down her cheek and she would dully wipe it away.

Her entire world revolved around memories of Garren, of his deep voice, his gentle laughter, now forever silenced. The fire couldn't soothe away the pain entirely. His death was a crime, she decided. God had committed a crime against her and she would never forgive him for it. Besides, he must hate her. Why else would he bring her such happiness and then abruptly take it away.

There was a knock at the chamber door, rousing her from her thoughts. She had been dreading this moment, for she knew what was to come. The knight who had brought her to Pembroke entered, a long ecru-colored scroll in his hand. He had cleaned up somewhat since their return, no longer wearing his armor. A tunic and leather breeches replaced the chain mail suit. He walked over to where she sat, lingering by her chair as if suddenly uncomfortable in her presence. Derica ignored him, uninterested in whatever he had to say.

"I see that you are feeling better, my lady," he commented.

Derica didn't look up. "I want to go back to Cilgarren."

He knew he needed to be careful with her, unsure of himself. "There is no reason for you to return, my lady."

"There is every reason for me to return. I have friends there that are missing me."

"What friends, my lady?"

"Friends who are in charge of my welfare while my husband is… gone."

"I am assuming charge of your welfare now."

She did look up at him, then, a hateful look on her face. She hadn't the strength to argue with him, her mind a whirlwind of anguish and confusion. Her gaze trailed to the missive in his hand. "You have brought me something. Read it and be done."

The knight looked down at the parchment as if he had forgotten he held it. Truthfully, he had been so captivated by the lady's clean and shining beauty when he entered the chamber, he nearly had. He felt stupid.

The knight promptly rolled open the vellum, his gaze fixing on the carefully written words. Before he could start, Derica interrupted.

"Your name, sir knight."

It occurred to him that he'd not told her. He had never been one for social pleasantries. "Sir Keller de Poyer, my lady. I am the garrison commander of Pembroke Castle."

"Proceed, Sir Keller."

Keller could barely read, though he'd not let on to the lady. He personally had a scribe who both wrote and read his missives. Somehow, he didn't feel right leaving this to the scribe. He read slowly.

"‘Be it known this twenty eighth day of September, Year of our Lord 1192, I, William Marshal, Chancellor to King Richard I, Supreme Majesty of the British Realm, do hereby grant to the Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon the marcher lordship of Knighton, and all privileges, lands and wealth related hereto, in honour of the sacrifice her husband, Sir Garren le Mon, has made for the King's cause.'"

Derica sat there as the words sank it. There was no mistaking that the missive was notifying her of Garren's death, but it was as if the notification was secondary to the granting of title and lands. She continued to sit, unmoving, and Keller wondered if she had even heard him.

"He goes on to list your lands," he said. "Hopton Castle belongs to you and the lordship that stretches to the marches on the east, Adforton to the south, and Craven Arms to the north, and includes four towns, two fiefdoms, and about five thousand vassals. Additionally, you have possession of Clun Castle and her lands, although the castle was burned by the Welsh a year ago and is now an abandoned shell. The Marshal is also providing you with your own army of four hundred men, as well as ten thousand gold marks as a dowry."

Still, Derica sat with no outward reaction. Any person in their right mind would have been delirious with joy. Keller was hesitant to say what had to come next.

"He is also providing you with a husband."

Derica looked at him with disbelief, shock, and then anger. It was enough to get her out of the chair.

"I have a husband," she hissed. "I do not want another."

Keller took offense, although he should not have. From the moment he saw her, he had actually been pleased at the thought of acquiring such a beautiful bride, lands and title notwithstanding. He would have taken her with just the clothes on her back. Being somewhat inexperienced when it came to any manner of personal emotion, he matched her anger with some of his own.

"You will have to take it up with the Marshal," he growled.

She was particularly lovely with her fury-colored cheeks. "I intend to, have no doubt." She reached out and grabbed the vellum from him, looking at the scribble as if she could read it. "Who does he demand I marry? Who is this fool?"

Keller's anger cooled to droll resignation. "A knight in rather good standing with some wealth of his own."

"Who?"

"Keller de Poyer."

Derica's eyes widened. "You?"

"Aye," he could read her expression. "And before you go any further, I certainly had nothing to do with this. I was only informed that I was to have a bride two days ago. Do not imagine that it brought me any great happiness to assume this burden."

Rather than explode, Derica seemed to calm. She grasped for her chair, sitting heavily as she absorbed the information. Keller regretted his last few words the moment they left his mouth; he hadn't meant them. The lady looked so pitifully lost at the moment. He wasn't very good with women and right now was a prime example. He attempted to ease her in his own clumsy way.

"I fought with your husband in a few campaigns, my lady," he said quietly. "He was a good man and an excellent knight. I have nothing but the greatest admiration for him and his death saddens me deeply. To be asked to take care of his widow is something of a tremendous honor for me."

Derica closed her eyes, struggling not to cry. When she finally opened them, it was to look at Keller. She took a moment to study his features for the first time; he had short, thick brown hair with some gray mixed into it. His face had been marred by pimples at one time, leaving some scars on the tanned skin. He wasn't particularly ugly, nor was he particularly handsome. He was somewhere in between. He had a big, muscular body and enormous hands, but Derica sensed a gentleness about him. He was fairly soft-spoken and seemed nervous around her. The comparison of him against Garren was inevitable; there truly was no comparison. Garren was a god, and this man was a mortal.

"I will apologize if I offended you, then," she murmured. "You must know that my husband and I loved each other. I do not want another husband."

"That is understandable," he said. "You have only just been told of his death. Please do not hold it against me that I was the one to tell you. It was only by chance."

"I know that."

"When I saw you out on the road, earlier today, I am sorry if I was harsh in addressing you as his widow. I did not know that you were unaware."

"You were not harsh. You do not need to apologize."

He stood there, growing uncomfortable, unsure what to say. He didn't want to leave her alone, but suspected he should. Still, he wanted to reassure her that he would attempt to make as fine a husband as Garren le Mon. Perhaps it would help her grief and uncertainty right now.

"My lady, may I speak?"

"Aye."

He scratched his head before continuing. "Perhaps this is not the right time to say this, but I am not sure if there will ever be a right time, so I must speak." His hands, unconsciously, were cracking knuckles. "I am not Sir Garren, nor could I ever be, but I swear to you that I will never raise a hand to you, nor speak harshly to you, and I will provide you with comfort and gifts and protection as well as, or better than, any man alive. You will never want for anything. Perhaps… perhaps with time, you will grow accustomed to the idea of me as your husband, a poor substitute for Sir Garren."

It was a kind thing to say, gently spoken. Derica could only nod, as she felt the tears coming again. Keller realized he had been expecting a reaction from her, something favorable. But she gave him nothing. Not knowing what else to say, he turned to leave.

"Thank you," Derica whispered. "For your kindness and hospitality, I thank you."

Keller paused, dipping his head graciously in response to her words. He also felt emboldened by them.

"If I were to bring you some food, would you eat it?"

Derica didn't want to give him the kind of encouragement she suspected he was looking for. She refused to even think about it.

"I would like to have the children brought to me," she said. "And perhaps some food for all of us."

A hint of a smile crossed Keller's lips. "It shall be done, my lady."

*

Sian and Aneirin slept with Derica that night in the great bed, and for the next several nights afterward. She would not let them out of her sight. Keller would come every morning as their meal was brought and would attempt to engage her in small talk, which he wasn't very good at. Although Derica could sense his conversational ineptness, she hadn't a greater desire to lead their conversations. So Keller would leave within a few minutes, saying he had duties to attend to, which he did, but it was obvious he was disappointed that his future bride had no interest in him. Derica was never rude, but she wasn't particularly receptive, either. Keller would return two or three more times throughout the day just to see if she required anything, but she never did. At least, not from him.

Whether or not she required anything, Keller saw to it that she had an entirely fitting noblewoman's wardrobe by week's end. The two severe women who aided Derica were the chatelaines of the castle and had set an armada of women sewing garments for Derica and the children. Keller had personally escorted the severe women to the town of Penfro to barter with the merchants for fabric. While the women tended to the dressing needs, he had wandered to the silverworker's hovel and had come away with several lovely pieces of jewelry.

Keller had never bought jewelry in his life and had gone over the top with his first purchase. Either the silversmith had been very persuasive, or Keller had been very weak to resist the sales pitch. At any rate, there were three brooches with different colored semi-precious stones, one necklace with Citrine stone and one with Garnet stone, each necklace with a matching ring, and finally a filigree belt inlaid with pale purple stones that he had sewn into a gown of heavy lavender brocade.

On the guise that they were wedding gifts to his bride, Keller had delivered everything to Derica after sup one evening. He'd simply thrown all of the gowns on the bed and then handed her the jewelry in a great awkward bunch. While Derica stood there with her hands overflowing with silver and stones, Keller gave the children little trinkets he had also picked up on his shopping tour. Sian had a wooden horse and cart and a tiny sword, while Aneirin had a doll. Before they could properly thank him, Keller predictably fled the room.

Stunned with the gifts and his fast disappearance, Derica put the jewelry on the table against the wall and went through the pieces one at a time. Aneirin came to stand beside her, inspecting each item carefully. The little girl had never seen such things. She put one of the necklaces around the doll's neck and Derica smiled her approval. The jewelry was finely made, Derica knew; she had possessed a great deal of it, left behind at Framlingham. This small horde must have cost Keller a sizable amount of money.

She turned to the gowns, lying in a heap upon the bed. She could see at least five different colors of garments. There was a lavender, a pale blue, a deep green, a rich yellow, and a soft red. While Sian crawled on the ground alternately playing with his cart and his wonderful sword, Derica and Aneirin inspected the clothes. They were well made. Since she had come to Pembroke in nothing but peasant rags, Keller had been more than thoughtful to her needs. More than that, he had gone out his way to be kind to her and the children.

Derica fingered the gowns, feeling guilty for the way she was behaving towards him, but she didn't want to give the man any encouragement. Her heart forever belonged to Garren. But that should not prevent her from being nice to Keller, who was doing all he could to make her life comfortable.

It was late when Derica finally put the children to sleep. Sian liked to fall asleep in her arms, so disengaging herself from him when he was finally asleep was something of a tricky effort. She managed to do so without rousing him. The fire in the chamber burned low, giving off a good deal of heat as she silently changed into one of the new gowns Keller had given her.

The soft red surcoat made from finely polished cotton fit her very well over a delicate linen long-sleeved sheath. To it, Derica attached one of the brooches Keller had given her, a silver piece worked into the shape of a flower with a large garnet set deep into it. She then brushed her hair and plaited a long braid, which fell luxuriously down her back.

Looking at herself in the polished bronze mirror, she didn't see the same woman she had known once, the young girl who had run away from Framlingham into the arms of the man she loved. Gazing back at her was someone with the sad maturity to have loved and lost at a young age. If she looked long enough, she could see her broken heart bleeding out all over herself. It was a sobering moment in a week that had been full of them. Depressed, she quit the room.

It occurred to her half way down the hall that she hadn't left her room since her arrival and was somewhat lost in the vast labyrinth of Pembroke. It was a massive place that smelt of dampness. She found the stairs and ended up on the living level, which held the great hall. There was some light and voices coming from the great room, drawing her into it.

Keller was standing by a hearth that was taller than he was. A fire blazed brightly in it. There was a cup in his hand as he spoke softly to a shorter man next to him, his strong features silhouetted by the light. When Keller looked over and saw her standing in the doorway, he nearly dropped his cup.

"My lady," there was concern in his voice as he walked towards her. "Is something the matter?"

"Nay," Derica shook her head. "The children are asleep and I wish to speak with you."

He couldn't set the cup down fast enough or walk quickly enough to her side. "Of course," he gestured to the small room across from the great hall. "We may speak in the solar."

The solar was dark, no fire in the hearth. Keller quickly set to lighting a blaze, but Derica stopped him. "There is no need for that," she said. "I will only take a moment."

"Very well," he stood up, too fast, and dropped the kindling on his boot. Rather than look the fool and reach down to pick it up, he simply kicked it away and pretended not to care. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"About your gifts."

"The gowns? Are they not to your liking?"

"They're fine."

"Then the jewelry. You'd rather pick out your own? The silversmith said that garnet and citrine were of the latest fashion. I bought what he suggested."

He was turning into that nervous boy again. Derica put her hands up to stop his chatter.

"The jewelry is lovely, Sir Keller. Absolutely lovely."

He looked confused and relieved at the same time. "I see." He started popping his knuckles again. "Then what did you wish…?"

"If you'd let me get a word in, I simply wanted to thank you for your generosity. You left the chamber so quickly that we did not get the chance."

A twinkle came to his brown eyes. "Oh," he said. "I left because I did not want to intrude. I feel as if I intrude far too much on your time as it is."

It was rather humorous watching the seasoned knight pop his knuckles and shift around nervously. "May I ask you a question, Sir Keller?" she finally said.

"Of course."

"Do I frighten you?"

The twinkle in his eyes grew. "Aye."

"I thought so. But why?"

The man shrugged his big shoulders and stopped cracking his knuckles. "Because… because you're so beautiful, I suppose."

"But why does that scare you?"

He pursed his lips. "I didn't say I was scared. Merely terrified. There is a difference."

He was trying to make a smooth explanation, but it wasn't conveying what he hoped. He was looking befuddled and Derica couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Sir Keller," she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "I do not wish to terrify you. I am not the sort to terrify anyone, truly. I am quite approachable under normal circumstances, but this week has not seen normal circumstances. If I have been distant, or even rude, then I am sorry. But my mind is elsewhere. Much has happened."

He was gazing at her with a look on his face like the man who had just been given the greatest gift of his life. "There's no need to apologize, my lady," he said softly. "'Tis only that it seems to me that you and I find ourselves in an unexpected situation and I am simply trying to make it easier for the both of us."

She removed her hand from his arm. The cold of the solar was getting to her as she turned away from him, shivering, and sat in the nearest chair.

"I know you are," she said after a moment. "And I suppose my attitude should be the same. But I am still very much married to my husband, in heart and mind and body, and I cannot give that up."

Keller didn't say anything. After a moment, he left the room, leaving Derica sitting in the cold darkness. She thought she had offended him. Just as she was preparing to leave herself, Keller returned with a heavy woolen blanket and swung it over her shoulders.

"'Tis cold in here and since you will not let me start a fire, perhaps you will let me bring you a blanket."

Derica was touched by his gesture. "You really are too kind, Sir Keller."

He sat on a stool opposite her, his rugged face barely visible in the darkness. "I would be honored if you would simply call me Keller."

That was not too much to ask, and Derica nodded her head in agreement. The silence grew heavy and Keller began popping his knuckles again.

"Is your chamber comfortable?" he began with the idle chatter again because he didn't know what else to talk about. "Should we move the children to their own chamber now?"

Derica shook her head. "I still prefer them with me, thank you." She fell silent again, watching the knight fidget. "Keller?"

His head snapped up as if she had ordered him to attention. "My lady?"

"There is something you can do for me, if you would be so inclined."

"Name it and it shall be done."

"You can find where my husband's body is buried and bring it back to me."

He paused, indecision on his features. But he was a man sworn to obedience and his word was his bond. "If that is your wish, my lady."

Indescribable relief swept over Derica. She hadn't realized what that gesture would mean to her. The thought of Garren's precious remains being within her grasp, something she could reconcile herself to, was almost too much to take. She simply wanted to see him one last time, to say a proper good bye to the man who meant everything to her. Before she could thank Keller, the tears came and she was unable to speak.

He was stricken with her soft sobs. "Have no fear," he attempted to comfort her. "I shall find him. I shall go tonight."

Derica could only reach out and touch his arm again, silent thanks for a deeply meaningful promise. Keller dared to put his big hand over hers in comfort and, feeling that her hand was like ice, took it into his big, warm palm. She was freezing and he gently coaxed her other hand away from her. When he had both of them in his grasp, he rubbed briskly to warm her.

"Do not weep," he murmured. "I will not return until I find him."

She sniffled, her big green eyes overflowing at him. "But how will you do this?"

"I will go to Chepstow. The Marshal will know where he is."

"I do not know how to repay your kindness to me."

He was in deep territory and unsure how to navigate. "Our marriage will be repayment enough. And perhaps a strong son or two."

Derica's smile faded and Keller knew he had said something terribly wrong. "I didn't mean…." he stammered.

She pulled her hands away from him. "I know you did not. Your statement was not unreasonable."

"But I did not mean to.…"

"You did not." She stood up, abruptly, and the blanket fell away from her. "I will bid you a good eve, then. And I thank you again for your kindness."

She was to the door before he could stop her. "My lady," he said, almost pleading. "Please do not leave. I did not mean to offend you. I would never knowingly do that."

Derica paused, feeling foolish, feeling overwhelmed. The thought of bearing another man's children had not yet occurred to her. To let this man, no matter how kind he had been to her, touch her in such an intimate fashion made her sick to her stomach. The only man she would ever want to touch her in that manner was dead. She forced herself to look at him, smiling weakly.

"There may be days when I behave abruptly, for reasons I can hardly explain at the moment," she said quietly. "You did not offend me. It is just difficult for me to think of another marriage right now, much less children."

Keller was relieved he had not insulted her. He gave her a lopsided smile. "And you have to ask me why you make me nervous? I live in constant fear to say something that will upset you, and I do not want to do that."

"I realize that, and I am sorry. I shall try to do better."

He looked at her a moment. "I should not want you to do better."

"Why not?"

He tried to put his thoughts into words. "Because if you were grieving for me, I should want the same devotion. I shall not take any measure of loyalty away from Garren le Mon."

Derica thought on that. "Sir Keller, I suspect that you are a truly remarkable man somewhere underneath all of that knightly solemnity."

He smiled, embarrassed. "I cannot say, my lady."

"I can." She flashed him a genuine smile. "Good night to you."