Free The Whispering Night by Kathryn Le Veque Page B

be
doing well enough.”
    “Now is our chance to
see to her ourselves.”
    “Agreed. The man was as
unmoving as a guard dog.”
    “My lord?”
    The spy was demanding
attention, interrupting their conversation.  Bertram snapped at him
impatiently. “So you have seen my daughter’s intended. What of him?”
    Alberic appeared taken
aback. “He is to marry your daughter?”
    “Yes, what of it?”
    The spy would not be
intimidated; he was, in fact, growing suspicious and disturbed. “I know that
man, my lord.”
    Bertram’s temper took a
strange, cooling twist. “You do?”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    “Where do you know him
from?”
    Alberic thought
carefully on his reply. “As you know, my lord, I have been in the service of
the prince for many years. I have seen many things, and many people. Those of
us who covertly serve our masters tend to hear of one another, if only by
reputation. It is wise to know one’s enemies. Sometimes, however, we are
fortunate enough to put a face to the name or reputation.”
    “Get to the point.”
    “What do you know of
your daughter’s intended, my lord?”
    Bertram’s temper flared
again. “Alberic, if you do not tell me your meaning, I will throw you from this
room. You waste my time.”
    The spy cocked a long,
dirty eyebrow. “I think not, my lord,” he said coolly. “I think you betray your
prince.”
    Bertram moved for him,
but Alger stopped him.  In spite of the insult, he suspected there was true
motivation behind it. “Explain yourself before I let my brother gut you.”
    “Gut me and you will not
know who your daughter’s intended truly is.”
    “Le mon?” Bertram
glanced at his brother, a thousand unspoken words of doubt and fear in his
expression. “Who is he?”
    Alberic put his filthy
hood back on and turned for the door. His plan was to go directly to the prince
with what he had just seen. But he would do de Rosa the favor of letting him
know that his fate would soon be sealed, and his loyalties questioned.
    “That man,” he said
slowly, ”works for William Marshall.”
     
    ***
     
    “My lady?” Came the
whisper. “My lady, are you awake?”
    Derica heard the
murmuring, a soft voice in her ear. She sighed deeply as she emerged from her
warm slumber, opening her bleary eyes to see Aglette’s pale face. Blinking, she
struggled to orient herself in the bright room.
    “Aglette?” she yawned.
“What is it? What time is it?”
    “’Tis nearly noon, my
lady,” Aglette said. “Something awful has happened!”
    “What’s so awful?” She
gasped as she moved her arm the wrong way; it was stiff and sore but,
thankfully, had no signs of poison yet. She looked around the room. “Where is
Sir Garren?”
    Aglette was obviously
distraught. The more lucid Derica became, the more she realized her servant had
been crying.
    “He is in the vault,”
Aglette whispered.
    “What for?”
    Aglette burst into sobs,
struggling to contain them. “I have heard they are going to kill him!”
    Derica was instantly
awake.  “What on earth for?”
    The maid shook her head.
“I do not know, my lady. I only heard from the soldiers that your father and
brothers captured him early this morning and placed him there.”
    Derica was seized by
confusion and anger. Sitting up, she bolted from the bed as fast as she could,
looking for some manner of clothing to wear. The room was swaying and moving
was difficult, but she would not let it stop her. She had to find out what had
happened to Garren.
    “Please, my lady,”
Aglette begged. “You are unwell. Perhaps you should….”
    Derica waved her off harshly.
“I swear that my family is no better than a pack of mad dogs. The moment Garren
is alone, they descend upon him like vicious beasts.”
    She yanked off the gown
she wore with the tattered, bloodied sleeve and struggled to step into a
garment of soft gray lamb’s wool.  Aglette rushed to help her, both of the
struggling to pull the sleeve over her bandaged arm.