The Whispering Night Read Free

Aglette. Do not worry. I have had
months to come to terms with my future and surely time enough to come to terms
with whatever angst I may have felt."
    "Three months, to
be exact, my lady."
    The young woman paused
in her toilette, gazing at her reflection in the polished pewter mirror before
her. A sweet oval face looked back at her, bright green eyes with long dusky
lashes. She had been called beautiful since the day she was born, yet the term
had no meaning to her. It hadn't for years. Her uncles and brothers and father
were bias and she knew it. But there were times when other men had come, a few
suitors, and had called her beautiful as well. Still, she wasn't sure if she
believed them, though the reflection said otherwise.
    She wondered if she
would hear the same praise from her new husband.  Certainly she was curious
about him as well, as she had never even seen him. His father, an old friend of
her father's, had initiated the betrothal proposal and she had never once seen
hide nor hair of her Intended. All she knew was that he was a knight of
independent wealth, newly returned from the Crusades.  And they would be wed in
one week.
    A well-arched brow
lifted. "The Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon.  Has a rather musical sound to
it, does it not?"
    "It does, my
lady."
    "The House of le
Mon is an old, distinguished family."
    "It 'tis, my
lady."
    "I shall be a baroness
someday."
    "Indeed, my lady.
Most honorable."
    Derica thought she
sounded very much like a woman trying to convince herself that everything would
be all right. With Aglette echoing everything she said, she realized they were
both trying to comfort her.  She set the brush down and stood up. Her long
day-robe trailed along the cold floor as she went to her maiden to see how her
wedding dress was coming along.
     "What if he is
hideous?"
    Aglette looked up from
her work. "Who, my lady?"
    "My husband… what if
he is hideous?"
    Aglette could only
shrug. "I suppose we shall find out soon enough, my lady."
    "I suppose."
Derica's gaze moved from the exquisite gown to the young serving woman she had
known her entire life; Aglette's parents had both served the de Rosa household
for many years. Derica reached out and stroked the girl’s red head before
turning away, wandering across the chamber with no true destination in mind.
    "Garren le Mon has
been fighting in the Holy Land for several years," she said, more to
herself than to Aglette. "He could have been injured, or disfigured
somehow. Mayhap that is the reason he did not come with his father during the
betrothal negotiations. Mayhap... mayhap his father was afraid I would refuse
if I saw what his son truly looked like."
    Aglette looked up from
her fine stitching. "I believe you were told that Sir Garren was not yet
returned from Jerusalem during the negotiations. He has only just set foot back
on English soil."
    "Ah, or so they
would have you believe," Derica held up a finger as if correctly surmising
the situation.  "Or, if he is not disfigured, mayhap he is an ogre. Or a
simpleton. Or he has a great pimpled face that frightens young children."
    Aglette giggled.
"Anything is possible, my lady."
    "I shall wager
there is something wrong with him. There has to be."
    "It matters not
now. The contract is done."
    Derica's composure took
a hit. She was always in control of herself, sometimes unnaturally so. Being a
woman, it was expected that she would be an emotional creature. But not Derica.
Growing up among men had given her that element.
    "Aye," she
agreed softly. "It is done."
    "Are you
afraid?"
    Derica thought a moment.
Was she? "I am not. But I am apprehensive. And a bit surprised. I truly
never thought I would ever wed."
    Aglette smiled; she knew
the reasons behind that well. "Your new husband will have his hands full
with your male kin."
    "It 'tis the
truth."
    They smiled at each
other. Perhaps that was why Derica was not frightened of her marriage; any hint
of abuse or threat from her new husband, and her