Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Well enough,” William said. “But I will tell you the same thing I told her. You must never acknowledge her in any manner of familiarity. You must never speak her name. To do so would only jeopardize all of us. Is that clear?”

  Brogan nodded, though he did not say anything. William looked at him, noting the sheer size of the man in armor. The foot soldier was now a full-fledged war machine. He’d never seen anything so intimidating.

  “Would you mind telling me what is going on now?” he said with quiet casualness, his eyes roving their surroundings to make sure no one in particular was listening. “I would hear the entire story so I know what I have gotten myself in to.”

  Brogan, too, surveyed his surroundings. “My name is Tygor Gervaise. My father’s name was Tygor. The patins you saw was his. This armor belonged to him. My father was a great knight in Germany.”

  William nodded in understanding. “Avalyn told me that was your plan. So you have become your father to get close to her?”

  “Aye.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I take her and our daughter back to Germany. Did the Sirens not tell you this?”

  “The Sirens?”

  “The women with Avalyn.”

  William lifted his eyebrows in recognition. “Ah, the ladies. No, they did not. Did they know of this?”

  “They knew that I was to come to Guerdley Cross posing as my father. I assumed they told you what else they had heard.”

  William shook his head faintly as they rounded the keep. The knight’s quarters were directly ahead. “They did not,” he said. “Tell me; just how do you plan to take her out of here? It will not be easy.”

  The mail made noise as Brogan walked; it grated and clanged, sounding like death approaching. “St. Alban is with me. He is working on a plan.”

  William’s brow furrowed as he looked at him. “Where is he?”

  “In the knight’s quarters. My mother is here, also.”

  “In the knight’s quarters? Are you mad?”

  Brogan shook his head. “She is in the town to the south, St. Helen’s. She has my daughter with her. They are staying in a small inn.”

  “God’s Bones,” William hissed. “Did you bring the whole family to put in peril?”

  Brogan remained calm. “This is St. Alban’s scheme. I had to bring him. For all you know, he is my aged father.”

  William lifted his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “He’s English. You’re German. Anyone will be able to pick up the difference in your speech right away.”

  “He is my stepfather.”

  William sighed heavily, eventually emitting a snort of ridiculous irony. The complexity, and therefore the unbelievability of the situation, was growing by leaps and bounds.

  “As you say,” he muttered. “All that aside, don’t you think you should practice before taking the field against St. John this afternoon? Fighting on horseback is much different than fighting on foot.”

  Brogan cocked an eyebrow. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two weeks?”

  William crossed his arms over his chest. “You tell me. In fact, you need to tell me everything. The fact that you’re here not only puts Avalyn in danger, but me as well because I know who you are. By virtue of the fact that I have not told Aubrey, I have put myself in extreme peril. At the very least, Aubrey and de Neville would kick me out of their service were they to discover this. More than likely, I would be arrested and tried as an accessory.”

  Brogan’s jaw flexed. “Accessory to what?”

  “To thievery. You are planning on stealing the lady, are you not?”

  “Aye.”

  “No liege, nobleman or king would ever trust me again if truth became known that I assisted you in your quest for the lady. I would be finished as a knight and quite possibly forfeit my life.”

  Brogan was quiet, contemplating. “Will you come with us, then? I am not sure Avalyn will want to leave you here to face justice.”

  William wriggled his eyebrows. “Hopefully my part in this will not be discovered.”

  “Then why are you helping us?”

  Round blue eyes snapped to Brogan, fixing on him. Brogan watched the emotions rolling forth, the narrowing of the orbs. After a moment, William averted his gaze. “Because I am a fool for the lady, just as you are. She deserves some happiness in life. If I can help her achieve that, then I will do so gladly.”

  Brogan could see something in the man’s expression. He’d suspected it from the first, but it strangely wasn’t something that overly concerned him. “You love her.”

  It was a statement, not a question. William refused to look at him, instead, lifting his shoulders weakly. “She loves you. What I feel is of no consequence.” He shifted on his legs and began to move towards the knight’s quarters once more. “Now, tell me; what have you been doing to prepare yourself for this charade as a knight?”

  Brogan would not push the man on his feelings. They were of no matter as it was. Inglesbatch had already proven himself a selfless individual and Brogan would not insult the man with inconsequential concerns. Besides, if he thought about it, he’d known the truth from the onset and the knowledge did not bother him. He knew that Avalyn did not return any presumed feelings.

  He followed William towards the barracks. “St. Alban has been working with me day and night with sword and joust,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ve hardly slept at all. My entire focus was to be ready for this moment.”

  “But two weeks?” William repeated, glad that they were no longer touching on the fragile subject of his feelings for Avalyn. It wasn’t that he did not want Brogan to know; he simply didn’t want to talk about it. “And you believe yourself ready to confront a man of St. John’s experience?”

  “We will soon find out.”

  William paused again, looking at him with a great deal of skepticism. “Do you really think two weeks of practice will prepare you for this? Your patins said you had been a knight for almost twenty years. If you don’t perform like a man with years of experience, then this pretense is over. Aubrey has been pushing Avalyn to set a wedding date and if you do not execute to acceptable standards, then Aubrey will not accept you and any hope for this scheme will be finished. Avalyn will not be able to delay their wedding any longer; she’s been fortunate to hold out this long. Do you comprehend?”

  “I do,” Brogan replied steadily. “I will be ready.”

  “You’d better be.”

  They resumed their walk, eventually reaching the knight’s quarters. It was a long building, built from the same dark gray granite stones that the rest of Guerdley Cross was constructed from. Nestled against the outer wall, it was also close to any action the fortress might see. In the dust and chaos of the bailey, the two men paused and looked at one another. There was heavy emotion in the moment.

  “You had better go in and prepare yourself for your bout against St. John,” William said, wondering why he suddenly felt so disillusioned by this entire scheme. He was positive that Brogan was going to fail against St. John’s years of experience. “I shall come for you later.”

  Brogan shifted on his enormous legs, the mail left to him from his father constricting in tender places. “I want to see her,” he said in a low voice.

  “Out of the question.”

  “Please, William. Make it so. I must.”

  William wouldn’t look at him, not at all offended that Brogan had used his Christian name as if they were equals. He opened his mouth to staunchly refuse again just as Charles and Avalyn rounded the keep, coming from the stables. Brogan looked at her but just as quickly looked away; he was trying so very hard not to be obvious in his attention.

  “Please, William,” he begged again. “Just a few moments. I swear that we shall be careful.”

  William could hear his pleading, watching as Avalyn and Charles headed for the retractable steps to the keep. After a lengthy pause, he sighed heavily; he knew the moment he was alone with Avalyn that sh
e would ask the very same thing. As risky as it was, and against his better judgment, he was resigned to the inevitable.

  “Go to the stables,” he muttered. “Prepare your charger for your coming bout with St. John. I’ll come for you if I can.”

  Without a glance to Avalyn, Brogan turned on his heel and entered the dark confines of the knight’s quarters. William went into the keep in the wake of Charles and Avalyn.

  He had barely entered the cavernous, round-shaped entry when he heard Avalyn’s voice in the solar to his right. Peering inside, he could see that Avalyn was showing Charles the needlepoint scene she was working on. The man’s expression was wide with astonishment and pleasure.

  “It’s stunning, my lady, truly,” he was saying graciously. “I am deeply touched that you would make this for me. It’s… it’s overwhelming.”

  Avalyn smiled wanly, catching sight of William at the door. She waved him in. “Come in, William,” she said, almost too eagerly. “Did you get the new knight settled?”

  “I did, my lady,” he stood a few feet away but had a clear view of her needlepoint. “A fine piece of work, my lady. Most impressive.”

  Charles smile faded as William spoke. He looked at the knight as if to wish him far, far away. Though William didn’t look at him, he could nonetheless feel the man’s animosity. He cleared his throat and moved back in the direction of the door.

  “If my lord and lady will excuse me,” he said. “I have duties to attend to.”

  “Nay, William, do not go,” Avalyn was well aware that Charles was, by his expression, trying to chase the man away, but she would not let him leave. “I must speak to you about my colt. It seems that he has somehow injured himself. You know so much about horses; would you please take a look at him?”

  William nodded slowly. “Of course, my lady. What seems to be the problem?”

  “A bowed tendon, I think,” Charles spoke before Avalyn could respond. “Go and see to him now, Inglesbatch.”

  It was not a request. He wanted to get rid of him. Displeased with the less than kind tone from the usually congenial man, Avalyn moved in William’s direction. “Excellent idea,” she said, to both men. “I shall go with you, William. He seems to calm when I am around him and you will be able to more carefully examine his leg.”

  Charles was clearly unhappy but said nothing. He would, as always, comply with the lady’s wishes. His brown eyes watched with disappointment and frustration as Avalyn quit the solar on William’s arm. He didn’t even notice Thel and Aggie, still in the room as they tended to Avalyn’s sewing things. After a moment, he simply walked out.

  When he was gone, Thel and Aggie looked at each other. Thel lifted her eyebrows.

  “He does not like William, does he?” she whispered.

  Aggie lifted her shoulders. “He does not like him so close to the lady.”

  Thel nodded in agreement. She set the thread aside that she had been rolling. “Did you catch a glimpse of Brogan?” she hissed.

  Aggie shook her head. “Nay. Did you?”

  “Nay.”

  “I wonder if we should go and find him?”

  Aggie cocked her strawberry blond head. “We would not attract attention, would we?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “Where should he be?”

  “Outside somewhere. Perhaps the barracks?”

  “Then let us go. Perhaps he will give us a message for my lady.”

  Quietly, the girls quit the room and ran to the front door, only to run headlong into Barton as he topped the landing outside. Skittish, they apologized swiftly and very nearly ran down the wooden steps. Barton paid them no mind, hardly wasting a glance on them. He didn’t even think twice about the fact that they seemed to be heading for the knight’s quarters.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I am tired of waiting.”

  Charles muttered the words as he watched St. John don his armor for the bout with Gervaise. Barton fumbled with a strap on his chest protection, glancing up into his liege’s fat face.

  “Waiting for what, my lord?” he asked.

  Charles sat heavily on the three-legged stool in the corner of Guerdley Cross’ armory. Set in one of the fat, squatty towers, it was a round room with ample storage space. Charles spent a good deal of time here, mostly because he was, in truth, a lonely man without many friends. He had known Barton since they had both been young men. He considered Barton a friend.

  “Marriage,” Charles finally said. “It is clear that the lady does not want to marry me and I think I know why.”

  Barton knew why, too, and he didn’t particularly want to delve into the subject. But he had no choice. “Why is that, my lord?”

  Charles crossed his fat arms, watching Barton settle his shoulder armor where it was attached to the breast plate. “Because of Inglesbatch. I think she is in love with him.”

  Barton cleared his throat softly. “I do not believe that to be the case, my lord, although I firmly believe the man is in love with her.”

  Charles suddenly bolted from his stool, pacing with agitation. “I know that,” he snapped softly. “De Neville told me as much. If she’s not in love with him, then why does she spend so much time with him? Why are they always together?”

  St. John watched his liege a moment; he had to be careful in his words. Though Aubrey was a sedate man, the event of Avalyn du Brant had him on edge. It was obvious he adored her and her lack of attention not only frustrated him, it hurt his feelings.

  “They are always together, I believe, because she takes comfort with his familiar presence,” he replied evenly. “She is in a strange placed surrounded by strange people. He gives her comfort.”

  Charles looked at him. “Do you believe that is all it is?”

  No, he didn’t. The lady wasn’t interested in Aubrey in the least. But Barton did not say what he was thinking. “I do, my lord,” he replied after a brief hesitation. “I would not worry over Inglesbatch. He is a moral man and a good knight.”

  “But he is interfering with my ability to come to know the lady. She is to be my wife, after all. I cannot even talk to her without Inglesbatch hovering over us.”

  “Do you want me to send him away, my lord?”

  Charles pursed his lips, kicking distractedly at the floor. “I do,” he said. “But I fear it would only upset the lady.”

  Barton lifted his shoulders. “Then I suppose you must learn to deal with his presence, my lord.”

  The statement only served to invite a streak of resentment. Charles’ head came up, his blue eyes flashing. “I will demand a wedding date and be done with this foolishness. He cannot interfere if she is my wife.”

  “He will continue to be a nuisance unless you send him away or come to some sort of an agreement with him, my lord.”

  “Then we will have to come to an agreement. And I intend to wed the lady before the week is out.”

  “Then you should send for the priest immediately.”

  “Perhaps I will. Perhaps I will do it today.”

  Barton didn’t want to pursue the conversation any more; Charles was too weak-willed to actually push forward with his wants and Barton had a match to attend. Moreover, he was tired of these frequent frustration-induced conversations. He picked up his massive broadsword and scabbard from where it rested against the wall.

  “I have a bout pending, my lord,” he said. “Perhaps you would enjoy a bit of sport this afternoon.”

  Moping, Charles had the countenance of a spoiled child. But he nodded his head. “Perhaps you could fight Inglesbatch when you’re done with Gervaise. A lance in the wrong spot and William would be disabled for quite some time.”

  Barton raised an eyebrow. “You wish for me to injure him?”

  Charles gazed at him a moment, attempting to ascertain if St. John would really do such a thing. He was such a straight-forward man that Charles suspected that, even if ordered, Barton would balk. He finally shook his head, not wanting to force such a confrontation wi
th his knight. Besides, he didn’t really want to do it, anyway.

  “Nay,” he said. “It would only upset the lady.”

  Barton watched his liege a moment before strapping on his weaponry. He knew his liege well enough to know that Charles really hadn’t meant what he had said; beneath the weak-willed character and flab was a man who simply wanted to live a peaceful, easy life. He wasn’t cut out for command of a powerful baronetcy or the powerful marriage brokered by the Kingmaker. Had Aubrey been surrounded by less scrupulous people, he would have been easy to manipulate, as de Neville had so aptly done. But Barton was not only scrupulous, he was also protective of his liege. He thought that perhaps he might have a conversation with Inglesbatch himself to explain the way of things. Like it or not, Lady Avalyn was due to marry Aubrey and Inglesbatch would have to back off his zealous protective instincts where the lady was concerned if he wanted to stay at his post.

  The wind was blowing outside, slamming the door to the armory back on its hinges. The sharp sound startled both St. John and Aubrey from their correlating thoughts. Barton slapped his helm onto his blond head.

  “Shall we go, my lord?” he asked. “I must go to the stables and retrieve my charger.”

  Aubrey was up, moving slowly for the door. Then he suddenly perked. “The lady is there tending her horse. Perhaps we will see her.”

  He sounded just like an eager child. Barton was suddenly coming to feel some animosity towards the lady that would treat his liege so callously. “Perhaps, my lord.”

  Charles picked up the pace.

  The wind was blowing with increasing intensity as the day progressed. The Guerdley Cross pennants of red and yellow snapped at the top of the keep as the wind whipped them about. As Avalyn and William crossed the bailey into the stable yards, Avalyn’s elaborate hairstyle was in danger of unraveling in the harsh breeze. Dust kicked up with the gusts.

  The stables were fairly protected against the northeast wall of the outerwall, a well kept and busy place considering that Charles had a collection of warmbloods for breeding. Several mares were in a corral, big animals that were well fed and happy. Avalyn passed by the corral, reaching out to stroke a velvet nose that was close by. The brown mare with the white spot on her forehead tried to nibble on her and she laughed.