be, after all, your wife."
Garren smiled
ironically. "How much of a life can we have knowing I married her to
betray her and her family? My sole purpose is to destroy everything they
believe in."
"You can't
seriously expect me to believe that it worries you."
Garren could see that
the Marshall was hardening. Perhaps the honesty aspect had been a mistake. He
shook his head. "It does not. It was merely an observation." It was
time to make the long ride back to Framlingham and he would waste no more
times. "Thank you for your attention, my lord. I am sorry to have
disrupted your sleep."
"You did not,"
William replied. "But I will do one thing for you; I will send someone to
infiltrate the servants at Framlingham. Perhaps another set of eyes and ears is
a prudent move and can be great assistance to you."
Garren wanted to leave.
He felt foolish for even coming, but the Marshall lay a hand on his broad
shoulder in a rare gesture.
"Do not be ashamed
of what you are feeling, Garren," he said quietly. "We have all had
moments of lust and fear when it comes to a woman. I know you, and I know what
you are capable of. I have nothing but confidence in your abilities to see this
through. All of this foolishness about Lady Derica shall pass."
Garren could only smile
weakly. He hoped the man was right, but on the other hand, he hoped he wasn't.
***
When she realized he
wasn't going to look at her, Derica hung her head and focused on her food. The
great hall of Framlingham was lit with tapers as the family and senior soldiers
dined on a great pig stuffed with apples and nuts. Garren had arrived an hour
or so before the evening meal, much to Derica's delight, but he'd barely said a
word to her since his return. He sat next to her on the dais, wine in hand,
making tight conversation with Bertram.
No one else would talk
to him. They all sat, glaring at him to various degrees. Derica had no idea
why, after he had left her chamber, he had become so cold towards her. He had
seemed genuinely sincere and friendly during their visit, but in the presence
of others, he ignored her.
"Eat, pigeon,"
came the deep voice beside her, "Your food is growing cold."
Derica glanced up at her
uncle, Hoyt, clad in a gown that was lavish and expensive. The rouge on his
cheeks was too bright and he smelled of strong perfume. She'd long since gotten
over the shock of him thinking he was a woman; in fact, at times, he was very
comforting in an odd sort of female way. He was like a great, protective nanny.
"I am not
hungry," she pushed her trencher away.
Hoyt put it back in
front of her. "You must eat. You must maintain your strength for... for…."
He suddenly burst into
loud tears, clapping a wisp of a handkerchief over his mouth to muffle the
cries. All conversation at the table stopped and they looked at Hoyt, carrying
on pitifully.
Bertram wasn't
particularly tolerant of the brother who dressed in the gowns of a queen.
"Lady," he gruffed wearily. "You will not distract us with your
wailing. Leave us."
Hoyt cast him a pathetic
glance and continued to sob. "How can you be so cold?" he sobbed.
"Your only daughter will be married on the morrow. Do you show no
compassion to her plight?"
Bertram sighed heavily.
"'Tis only your theatrics that intimate it 'twill be something horrible
and fiendish. Marriage is an event of satisfaction and progression."
"There is no
satisfaction in marrying a stranger," Hoyt insisted. "To allow
this... this man access to your daughter in the Biblical sense is barbaric. You
have protected her with your life since the day she was born only to turn her
over to someone we do not know? I find your callousness shocking."
"I will not discuss
this with you."
Hoyt continued to weep
and put his arm around Derica protectively. Garren watched it all carefully,
noting the size of the lady's hand, suggesting what his first instincts told
him that this was no lady at
Garren smiled
ironically. "How much of a life can we have knowing I married her to
betray her and her family? My sole purpose is to destroy everything they
believe in."
"You can't
seriously expect me to believe that it worries you."
Garren could see that
the Marshall was hardening. Perhaps the honesty aspect had been a mistake. He
shook his head. "It does not. It was merely an observation." It was
time to make the long ride back to Framlingham and he would waste no more
times. "Thank you for your attention, my lord. I am sorry to have
disrupted your sleep."
"You did not,"
William replied. "But I will do one thing for you; I will send someone to
infiltrate the servants at Framlingham. Perhaps another set of eyes and ears is
a prudent move and can be great assistance to you."
Garren wanted to leave.
He felt foolish for even coming, but the Marshall lay a hand on his broad
shoulder in a rare gesture.
"Do not be ashamed
of what you are feeling, Garren," he said quietly. "We have all had
moments of lust and fear when it comes to a woman. I know you, and I know what
you are capable of. I have nothing but confidence in your abilities to see this
through. All of this foolishness about Lady Derica shall pass."
Garren could only smile
weakly. He hoped the man was right, but on the other hand, he hoped he wasn't.
***
When she realized he
wasn't going to look at her, Derica hung her head and focused on her food. The
great hall of Framlingham was lit with tapers as the family and senior soldiers
dined on a great pig stuffed with apples and nuts. Garren had arrived an hour
or so before the evening meal, much to Derica's delight, but he'd barely said a
word to her since his return. He sat next to her on the dais, wine in hand,
making tight conversation with Bertram.
No one else would talk
to him. They all sat, glaring at him to various degrees. Derica had no idea
why, after he had left her chamber, he had become so cold towards her. He had
seemed genuinely sincere and friendly during their visit, but in the presence
of others, he ignored her.
"Eat, pigeon,"
came the deep voice beside her, "Your food is growing cold."
Derica glanced up at her
uncle, Hoyt, clad in a gown that was lavish and expensive. The rouge on his
cheeks was too bright and he smelled of strong perfume. She'd long since gotten
over the shock of him thinking he was a woman; in fact, at times, he was very
comforting in an odd sort of female way. He was like a great, protective nanny.
"I am not
hungry," she pushed her trencher away.
Hoyt put it back in
front of her. "You must eat. You must maintain your strength for... for…."
He suddenly burst into
loud tears, clapping a wisp of a handkerchief over his mouth to muffle the
cries. All conversation at the table stopped and they looked at Hoyt, carrying
on pitifully.
Bertram wasn't
particularly tolerant of the brother who dressed in the gowns of a queen.
"Lady," he gruffed wearily. "You will not distract us with your
wailing. Leave us."
Hoyt cast him a pathetic
glance and continued to sob. "How can you be so cold?" he sobbed.
"Your only daughter will be married on the morrow. Do you show no
compassion to her plight?"
Bertram sighed heavily.
"'Tis only your theatrics that intimate it 'twill be something horrible
and fiendish. Marriage is an event of satisfaction and progression."
"There is no
satisfaction in marrying a stranger," Hoyt insisted. "To allow
this... this man access to your daughter in the Biblical sense is barbaric. You
have protected her with your life since the day she was born only to turn her
over to someone we do not know? I find your callousness shocking."
"I will not discuss
this with you."
Hoyt continued to weep
and put his arm around Derica protectively. Garren watched it all carefully,
noting the size of the lady's hand, suggesting what his first instincts told
him that this was no lady at
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