table,
shielding her from the violence. He watched the fight a moment before shaking
his head with disapproval.
"Are they always
like this?" he asked.
Derica tried to stay
focused on her need to get away from Garren, but she found that she couldn't.
She didn't want to admit that she simply liked being around him, but she did.
After a moment's struggle, she resigned herself, feeling like a fool.
"Aye," she
muttered. "The de Rosas tend to be a riotous bunch. You may as well know
that events like this are not unusual for us."
Garren had a good grip
on her, just in case bodies came flying in their direction and he needed to
move her, quickly, to a safer haven. His eyes were sharp at the fighting going
on, in particular, watching Hoyt clobber a nephew and brother to the point of
unconsciousness. With the wimple off, there was no longer a question of the
overly-made up creature being a man. He was colossal, with deadly fists.
A chair crashed against
the wall near them, splintering. Above it all, Bertram was shouting for the
disturbance to cease. No one was listening, however, and the punches continued
to fly.
"I think we should
leave," Garren began to look around for an escape route. "I do not
like the shift in winds."
Derica shrugged.
"This will calm soon enough, once they've blown off their anger."
He spied an opening at
the far end of the hall. "Perhaps. But I will not risk the potential for
your injury." He put both arms around her, shielding her with his massive
body as they moved from the alcove. "The sooner we get out of here, the
better."
Derica permitted him to
drag her along the wall until they reached the exit. It led into the servant's
passage that skirted the hall and led to the entrance of the larger tower. It
was a cold night, with the stars bright above, and Garren took her down the
wooden steps into the ward. At the base of the stairs, however, Derica removed
herself from his protective grasp.
"I do not believe I
am in any danger now," she said crisply. "In fact, I believe I can
make it back into the hall and up to my chamber without any horrors befalling
me. But I thank you for your concern."
Garren didn't know what
to say. Her manner was abrupt and he knew it was because of his behavior. Warm
one minute, cold the next. He wished he could explain the reasons for his
actions, but he truthfully wasn't sure he fully understood them himself. He
just looked at her and Derica began to suspect he was never going to reply.
Gathered her skirts, she turned to the stairs. Garren continued to stare after
her, her name on the tip of his tongue, knowing he should let her go but unable
to.
"Derica," he
called softly.
She paused, her manner
stiff. "What is it?"
What is it? Garren felt a strange
pressure in his chest, tight, as if he couldn't breathe. He couldn't be
truthful and tell her what it was. He felt himself weakening again and
wondered, if this time, there would be no point of return.
"I am sorry if I
have been rude to you," he said.
"I am sure I do not
know what you mean, Sir Garren. Good eve to you."
She turned up the stairs
again but he stopped her. When she turned this time, he appeared a few steps
below her. He had mounted the stairs and she had never heard him. The
expression on his face was surprisingly unguarded.
"You must
understand something," his voice was low. "How I behave with you
privately and how I behave with you in front of your family are two different
matters altogether."
She almost did not want
to be drawn into this line of conversation, so deep was her insult and
confusion. But a large part of her needed to know why he had been so nice to her
then had changed as abruptly as day to night.
"Why?" she
demanded softly.
"Because if they
see that I am kind to you, interested even, then it will suggest weakness. And
right now, your family is putting me to a test of strength. I must not fail
that test. Can you comprehend that, in any manner?"
She did, somewhat. Her
father
shielding her from the violence. He watched the fight a moment before shaking
his head with disapproval.
"Are they always
like this?" he asked.
Derica tried to stay
focused on her need to get away from Garren, but she found that she couldn't.
She didn't want to admit that she simply liked being around him, but she did.
After a moment's struggle, she resigned herself, feeling like a fool.
"Aye," she
muttered. "The de Rosas tend to be a riotous bunch. You may as well know
that events like this are not unusual for us."
Garren had a good grip
on her, just in case bodies came flying in their direction and he needed to
move her, quickly, to a safer haven. His eyes were sharp at the fighting going
on, in particular, watching Hoyt clobber a nephew and brother to the point of
unconsciousness. With the wimple off, there was no longer a question of the
overly-made up creature being a man. He was colossal, with deadly fists.
A chair crashed against
the wall near them, splintering. Above it all, Bertram was shouting for the
disturbance to cease. No one was listening, however, and the punches continued
to fly.
"I think we should
leave," Garren began to look around for an escape route. "I do not
like the shift in winds."
Derica shrugged.
"This will calm soon enough, once they've blown off their anger."
He spied an opening at
the far end of the hall. "Perhaps. But I will not risk the potential for
your injury." He put both arms around her, shielding her with his massive
body as they moved from the alcove. "The sooner we get out of here, the
better."
Derica permitted him to
drag her along the wall until they reached the exit. It led into the servant's
passage that skirted the hall and led to the entrance of the larger tower. It
was a cold night, with the stars bright above, and Garren took her down the
wooden steps into the ward. At the base of the stairs, however, Derica removed
herself from his protective grasp.
"I do not believe I
am in any danger now," she said crisply. "In fact, I believe I can
make it back into the hall and up to my chamber without any horrors befalling
me. But I thank you for your concern."
Garren didn't know what
to say. Her manner was abrupt and he knew it was because of his behavior. Warm
one minute, cold the next. He wished he could explain the reasons for his
actions, but he truthfully wasn't sure he fully understood them himself. He
just looked at her and Derica began to suspect he was never going to reply.
Gathered her skirts, she turned to the stairs. Garren continued to stare after
her, her name on the tip of his tongue, knowing he should let her go but unable
to.
"Derica," he
called softly.
She paused, her manner
stiff. "What is it?"
What is it? Garren felt a strange
pressure in his chest, tight, as if he couldn't breathe. He couldn't be
truthful and tell her what it was. He felt himself weakening again and
wondered, if this time, there would be no point of return.
"I am sorry if I
have been rude to you," he said.
"I am sure I do not
know what you mean, Sir Garren. Good eve to you."
She turned up the stairs
again but he stopped her. When she turned this time, he appeared a few steps
below her. He had mounted the stairs and she had never heard him. The
expression on his face was surprisingly unguarded.
"You must
understand something," his voice was low. "How I behave with you
privately and how I behave with you in front of your family are two different
matters altogether."
She almost did not want
to be drawn into this line of conversation, so deep was her insult and
confusion. But a large part of her needed to know why he had been so nice to her
then had changed as abruptly as day to night.
"Why?" she
demanded softly.
"Because if they
see that I am kind to you, interested even, then it will suggest weakness. And
right now, your family is putting me to a test of strength. I must not fail
that test. Can you comprehend that, in any manner?"
She did, somewhat. Her
father
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