“May I sit with you while you eat?”
He was far too eager and it was becoming irritating. But she forced herself to relax. A glance at his face showed an expression like an anxious young lad. She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes when she spoke.
“Very well,” she said.
He bolted into the room and shut the door. Without another word, Avalyn sat at the table and inspected the tray; there was brown bread, butter, some kind of fruit compote, white cheese and a cooling piece of meat. She took the bread with butter and the fruit.
Charles watched her chew, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “May… may I say something, my lady?”
She looked at him, mouth full. “Of course.”
His fidgeting worsened as he thought carefully on his words. “As I said to you when we first met, I realize this betrothal is something of a surprise. I now realize that… well, there is someone you cared for deeply and I will say from the onset that I am sorry to have cut that short. Had I known before your uncle proposed the match, I might have had second thoughts. It was not my intention to make you miserable.”
She swallowed the bite in her mouth, looking at him. It was a kind thing to say. But there was something more; she could see it in his eyes and a slow realization dawned. “There is someone you care for as well, isn’t there?”
His ruddy face flushed a bright red. He tried to make it all sound very nonchalant. “It does not matter, really. What matters is that you and I betrothed and we must both accept our destiny.”
Avalyn stopped eating. “Who is she?”
He looked at his lap, pulling at his tunic. He looked just like a nervous little boy. “Why… why would you even think…?”
“Because I can tell. Who is she?”
He took a deep breath; his eager conduct seemed to fade and for the first time, she could see a measure of depression enter his manner. “It does not matter.”
“Aye, it does. I would know. Please.”
His head came up. He looked for a moment as if he would resist her, but she could see his struggle fade. Soon he was filled with resignation. “The daughter of the man who helps me with my horses,” he almost whispered. “I have known her most of her life. We have always been very fond of each other. But she is not of noble breeding and a match was impossible. So she married another and moved to Carlisle.”
Avalyn stared at him. She suddenly felt very, very sorry for him. He was trying so hard to make the situation pleasant for her that she never once imagined that he might have his own painful problems. That moment caused her to see Charles Aubrey in an entirely new light. And it would explain why he had been so sympathetic during her interrogation.
“I am sorry,” she said after a moment. “I thought perhaps I was the only one who was not receptive to this betrothal. Please understand it has nothing to do with you. You seem like a very kind man and I am sure you will make a fine husband.”
He smiled modestly. “I suppose the difference between your resistance and mine is that I have already come to terms with the fact that I can never marry whom I choose. And to have the opportunity to wed a woman such as you was beyond anything I could have possibly imagined. I am a simple man, my lady. I never thought to achieve the stars.”
It was a very sweet thing to say. She was beginning to like this man just the slightest. “Did you want to marry your lady?”
“Aye. But it was impossible. I could not fault her choice to marry another.”
She shook her head sadly. “It would seem we are both in difficulty, then.”
He nodded, his voice softening. “I understand your hurt, my lady. I have from the start.”
She lifted an eyebrow, though it was done without force. “But you let your knight interrogate me.”
“It was at your uncle’s directive. St. John did as he was told. We both did.”
“I see.” She wasn’t surprised. “Then I am sorry for you having been a slave to my uncle’s wishes.”
He waved her off. “No need. I could have refused the betrothal. I was well aware of what it would mean, being related to de Neville.”
Her gaze flickered curiously. “Then why did you agree?”
His smile returned. “Because I saw you once at a feast held by the Earl of Oxford. It was a few years ago, but even then, you were the most beautiful woman in the room. I suppose I was blinded by your glory and thought the prize would be worth the risk.”
His smile broadened as he finished. Avalyn laughed softly at him. “You fool.”
He laughed also. “I suppose so.”
She understood this man much better now and she was not sorry to say that she found him warm, kind and humble. He would have made an exceptional husband had she not been madly in love with someone else. There was something deep inside her that did not want to get too close to him lest she feel guilty for fleeing him for Brogan. The man was being open with her. She was sorry that she would not return the favor.
“Well,” she stood up, brushing her hands off. “I truly am fatigued, my lord. I will see you early on the morrow.”
He bolted up, his demeanor returning to that of an eager young pup. “Of course,” he said as he moved to the door. “I shall be right next door if you require anything.”
She was following him to the door, her hand on the latch as he passed through. “I know. Thank you.”
“I enjoyed speaking with you tonight.”
“Thank you. I enjoyed it as well.”
He smiled awkwardly and waved even more awkwardly as Avalyn closed the door in his face. She stood there a moment, listening to his boot-falls fade away before securing the bolt and turning her attention back to the room. Trunks were all over the floor. Food was littered on the table. The bed was mussed where Charles had sat on it. She absorbed the sights, trying to settle her mind, knowing that Brogan was somewhere close by and had probably seen Charles leave. She knew he would be coming.
So much had happened in the past several minutes that her head was swimming. But she moved into the room, struggling to collect her thoughts, waiting for the moment when Brogan would come to her door. She ended up pacing the floor with taut anticipation, pausing several times because she thought she heard footfalls. But no boots were forthcoming. She finally sat on the bed and waited.
Come to me, Brogan.
Chapter Ten
“Do you see anything more?”
Brogan was standing beside the shuttered window, peering out into the yard beyond. There were four cottages in a semi-circle around the grassy area; having seen Avalyn and a man he did not recognize go into the last cottage to his left, his eyes had never moved from it. When Thel entered with food, he watched. When the tall, fat man entered and left, then came back and entered and left again, he continued to watch. St. Alban’s question had been repeated many times throughout the evening.
“Nothing more,” Brogan replied in a low, quiet voice. He turned away from the slats. “I would think everyone has gone to bed. It is late.”
The man glanced over at Thel, Aggie and Noe; they were sitting on the only bed in the room, gazing up at Brogan with a mixture of fear and anticipation. St. Alban, typically, sat by the roaring fire as black smoke belched into the room and settled up around the ceiling. The little cottage was almost too warm, yet everyone but Brogan seemed comfortable. He was sweating rivers.
“Surely the lady has not yet gone to bed, Brogan,” Thel said. “She will wait for you.”
Brogan moved away from the window and crossed his massive arms in a thoughtful gesture. He was ready to rush to the distant cottage without hesitation, but St. Alban had force him to bide his time with Aubrey within earshot. As it was, he was taking a tremendous risk, not to mention what would happen to Avalyn should he be discovered. After a moment, he shook his head.
“I should not have let you talk me into this,” he growled at the old man. “She told me to wait. I should have waited. To follow her to Merseyside only puts her in danger.”
St. Alba
n had danced this conversation with him many times over the course of the day. He had always convinced Brogan this was the right thing to do if he ever wanted to see his lady again, but the old man had never said what he was really thinking until this moment. “If you hadn’t truly wanted to come, you would not have,” he said flatly. “But you are here; therefore, you must know deep down that this is the right thing to do. If you let the lady go to Merseyside without you, then you will lose her forever. You know this.”
Brogan looked around the room; in addition to the girls sitting on the bed, his mother sat in the corner with a tiny blond bundle sleeping in her arms. His stance softened and he shook his head.
“Look at what we have done,” he hissed at the old man. “Look at all of these people we have pulled into this. If I am discovered, it is not only my life and Avalyn’s that is in jeopardy, but others as well. My mother… the baby…”
St. Alban stood up and moved purposefully to Brogan, standing before the man. His expression was hard. “I am not sure where this self-doubt is coming from, but you must stop it. You worry over inconsequential things.”
“But Avalyn told me…”
St. Alban grabbed his arm with gnarled fingers. “She told you to wait for her to send word. But she is overwhelmed with men and politics at the moment. She is a strong woman, but not strong enough. She needs help. And we are here to help her. You must have faith, Brogan. You have many people willing to risk themselves for your happiness. Instead of expressing such reluctance, you should be willing to do what is necessary. We are all here to help.”
Brogan knew that. The hesitation that had been plaguing him for most of the day was the result of confusion and grief. The lady was gone, in another man’s company, and he was struggling to think clearly. St. Alban’s plan to follow the lady to her new home and infiltrate the ranks of her betrothed was as far as they had gotten. There was no resolution of that scheme. St. Alban was simply trying to keep Brogan near the lady until a solution became evident.
After a moment, Brogan sighed heavily. “You are right, of course,” he muttered, running his fingers through his dark blond curls. “I do not mean to sound cowardly. ’Tis simply that I do not want to put Avalyn in danger. She told me to wait until she sent word.”
“And you are waiting, in a sense. You are simply staying close by so that the lady will not have to look far for you when she sends word.”
Brogan looked at the old man. “Of course,” he said quietly, looking over at the girls on the bed. He fixed on Thel. “The lady told you to go to her before dawn?”
Thel stood up. “Aye,” she said. “She said that she would tell her betrothed that she would take us as her servants. For all he will know, we are simply local serving women.”
“Good,” Brogan nodded; at least that part of the plan was seeming to go well. He looked back at St. Alban. “What about the rest of us? What will we do on the morrow?”
St. Alban turned and moved back to his fire; his old bones were feeling their age tonight as a result of travel and Brogan’s emotional tumult. “I have been thinking of just that,” he said as he sat. “As far as I can deduce, Inglesbatch is the only knight who knows you on sight. Correct?”
“Correct.”
St. Alban leaned back in the fragile chair, ignoring the creaking of the wood. His expression was reflective. “You already have a charger,” he said as if he was thinking aloud. “What… what if we were to commission armor for you? A sword, a shield and weapons. What if you were to ride into Guerdley Cross posing as a bachelor knight and swear fealty to Aubrey? The man wouldn’t know who you truly are and I doubt Inglesbatch would give you away.” He suddenly sat forward, his old yellow eyes glittering. “What if you were to become another knight in Aubrey’s arsenal? You could stay close to the lady and her betrothed would be none the wiser.”
Brogan should have scoffed at the ridiculous idea, but instead, he was actually intrigued. “It will take money to do what you have suggested.”
“I have money,” St. Alban said flatly.
“You do?”
“An inheritance from my father. He owned a small piece of land in Kent that was quite rich. The land came to me upon his death.”
“How come you never told me of this?”
“You never asked.”
Brogan simply shook his head, awed at the possibilities. “You would do this for me?”
“Would you do it for me?”
“You are my only friend. I would kill for you. I would also die for you.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled with warmth. “And I for you.”
“Brogan,” Mama Starke’s soft voice filled the air. “You do not need to have armor commissioned.”
Brogan and St. Alban looked over at the round lady in the corner, cuddling a sleeping child. “What do you mean, Mama?” Brogan asked.
Mama Starke shifted Lake and the child whimpered in her sleep. The woman waited a moment as the child settled down again. “You have your father’s armor,” she said softly. “It is back at the shop. I saved it for you all of these years. You are bigger than your father was, but it should fit you.”
Brogan’s expression moved from curiosity to recognition; he remembered, as a lad, packing his father’s armor away after the man died. He further remembered taking it with them when they came to live in England, though he’d not given it another thought since that time. Mostly because it brought sad memories of the bear of a man with long hair he kept in a long braid down his back. Tygor d’Aurilliac had been much loved, and much missed, by his son.
Lost in thought, Brogan didn’t realize that St. Alban was staring at him, watching the emotions fluctuate across his face. The old man leaned in his direction.
“Brogan?” he said tentatively. “If this is true, then you must return and claim your father’s armor. In fact, you should assume your father’s identity. He was a knight, as you should have been. No man has ever lived that was more worthy to carry the title than you.”
Brogan scowled at him. “You are mad. I am to become my father?”
“Assume his name, his lineage. Surely you know it. Where did your father foster?”
“Schwalenberg Castle.”
“Who was his liege?”
“Volkwin, Count of Hesse.”
“Do you know the rest of your father’s history?”
“Of course I do. He was a great knight in Saxony.”
“Then his legacy shall become yours.”
Brogan wasn’t completely convinced, though he was increasingly intrigued. “If I call myself Tygor d’Aurilliac, they will recognize the name.”
“Gervaise,” Mama Starke piped up. “That was my name before I married Tygor. Brogan, you can call yourself Tygor Gervaise and no one will ever know the truth.”
Brogan looked back at his mother. There was a good deal of indecision in his eyes. “You believe this to be wise, Mama?”
Mama Starke nodded faintly. “You’ve had little happiness in your life, Brogan. It seems unfair to let this chance slip away without fighting for it. Schritte der herrlichkeit.”
A slow smile spread across Brogan’s lips; wiser words were never spoken. He did not want to lose the glory and felt foolish that he had to be reminded of that. Somewhere in the turmoil of the past day, he had forgotten the true meaning of what he was willing to live and die for. All of his indecision, his hesitation, fled. He looked back at St. Alban.
“Though I am a warrior, there is much to learn about being a knight,” he said. “My father did not live long enough to school me. You must teach me what you know.”
The old man nodded firmly. “All that and more.”
Feeling confident and full of determination, Brogan suddenly moved to the door. St. Alban leapt up as quickly as his fat body was able.
“Where do you go?” he demanded.
Brogan’s hand was on the latch. “To Avalyn. She must know what is happening.”
St. Alban shook his head. “There is no time, Bro
gan.” When the man opened his mouth to protest, St. Alban shut him down with a raised hand. “If you go to her now, I can predict that you will not be separated from her before morning. You will not want to leave her and by morning we will have lost much precious time. If you return to London now, you can be there by morning, collect the armor, and ride hard to catch up to us. There is no time to waste.”
Brogan’s indecision was back. “But…”
St. Alban shook his head firmly, his hands on Brogan’s arms. “Nay, lad, you cannot go to her. She will never let you go and you know that. If there is any chance of our plan succeeding, then you must return for your father’s armor. Considering how slowly the party is traveling, I would suspect you can catch up to us in two days if you ride hard.”
Brogan gazed at him a long moment. “Very well,” he could hardly spit out the words. He wanted to go to Avalyn so badly that he ached, but he knew that St. Alban was right. “And when I catch up to you, then what?”
“Then I teach you what I know. And you go to Guerdley Cross and swear fealty to Aubrey as Sir Tygor Gervaise.”
“And then what?”
St. Alban’s expression tightened. “You bide your time and wait for the proper moment to spirit the lady and your daughter away. Go back to Saxony where you came from. But until then, the Sirens will be your eyes and ears with Lady Avalyn and I will be your aged father who happens to travel with you.”
“But you are English. We do not speak the same way.”
“I am not your real father. Your mother married me after you were born.”
Brogan drew in a long breath, his gaze moving to his mother and Lake dozing in the corner. “What of Mama?”
“She is my wife and the child is yours. Your wife died in childbirth.”
“You are sure this will work?”
“It will work if you play the part you were born to play. You were born to be a knight, Brogan. Have no doubt.”
It was smart, convenient and plausible. Brogan felt more hope than he had in a long time. Hope filled him with power, and power with determination. He looked at the Sirens, still huddled on the bed.
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