Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  William followed her into the cool, dark stalls. Her big bay colt was at the very end, tethered to an iron ring because he had been so skittish as of late. Avalyn approached the animal, calling his name and cooing softly. The horse’s ears perked in her direction and he nickered softly. She was able to enter the stall and affectionately stroke the horses’ head and neck, keeping the beast calm as William took a look at the right front foreleg. He ran his hands over the limb, from top to bottom.

  “Well?” Avalyn asked. “What do you think?”

  He put the leg back down, running his fingers over the ankle. “I think the horse has strained his tendons and nothing more. I’ll wrap him with mashed Arrowroot tonight and we’ll see how he fares tomorrow.”

  Avalyn kissed the horse on his nose, moving around the animal to get a better look at the leg. “Thank Goodness,” she sighed. “Charles seemed to think it was worse than that.”

  “Not to contradict the baron, but I do not believe so,” he said. “We’ll know better after I tend it.”

  Satisfied, Avalyn pat the horse one last time and turned to leave the stall. But a massive body was suddenly blocking her path and, startled, she looked up into deep blue eyes. It was an electric moment full of shock and euphoria as Brogan’s gaze glimmered at her.

  “Is your horse well, my lady?” his voice was strangely tight.

  Her hands flew to her mouth to prevent the soft cry that threatened. “Brogan,” she breathed before she could stop herself.

  William was suddenly between them, shushing Avalyn strongly. “The horse will be fine,” he said loudly, in case ears were near. “I was just going to tend him. Do you know about horses, Gervaise?”

  Brogan couldn’t take his eyes off of Avalyn. As he watched, tears filled the golden orbs and he tore his gaze away, so terribly wanting to take her in his arms but knowing, for both their sakes, that he could do nothing of the kind. At least not yet.

  “I know something of them,” he said to William. “But my focus has been warfare more than horseflesh.”

  William held up a quelling hand, his round blue eyes searching out their surroundings. It appeared that they were alone but for three or four other horses. With his hand still in the air, ordering silence, he made his way to the stable entry and looked to the yard beyond. After a moment, he turned back to the two of them.

  “Say what needs to be said quickly,” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “I shall be just outside the door.”

  He disappeared. Brogan didn’t hesitate; he caught Avalyn against him fiercely, crushing her, listened to her soft sobs of joy as she felt the warmth of his touch for the first time in weeks. He kissed her furiously, tasting her tears.

  “Mein Schatz,” he breathed against her lips. “You are more beautiful that I had remembered. Are you well?”

  She nodded, barely able to speak. “I thought you had forgotten me,” she whispered, her hands on his face, reacquainting herself with his masculine beauty. “You stayed away so long.”

  His lips were on her again, his massive arms holding her tightly. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “If I am to be a knight, then I must be convincing. St. Alban has been schooling me. I did not mean to stay away from you for so long, but it was necessary.”

  “And you go against Barton today,” she pulled away from his seeking lips, her hands in his hair, her gaze devouring him. “I am so frightened for you. You have never jousted before. What if…?”

  His lips were on hers again, his tongue invading her delicious mouth. Their breathing was coming in heavy pants, her hands in his hair and his enormous arms swallowing up her torso. Somehow, they made it back into the stall with the big bay colt and he pinned her against the wall, trapping her against his fervent exploration. As their kisses came in a frenzy of passion, the horse, normally so edgy, did nothing more than look over his shoulder at them.

  Brogan did not want to talk; he only wanted to taste her, if only for a brief moment. One massive hand moved long her torso, stroking her arm, finding the swell of her breast. Against his mouth, Avalyn sighed with pleasure and his hand closed over her breast, squeezing with gentle insistence. She put her small hand over his as he fondled her, silently encouraging him, telling him without words how long she had waited for his touch.

  His mouth left hers and moved to the rise of her bosom, dragging his lips over the tender flesh. He moved to her shoulder, her neck, nibbling tenderly on her sweet skin. As he prepared to invade her mouth again, a hiss from the stable entry grabbed his attention.

  “Aubrey’s coming,” Inglesbatch was already half way towards them, waving his hands sharply. “Separate yourselves. Avalyn, get over by the horse’s head.”

  Brogan immediately dropped his hands from her, but it did not prevent him from stealing a last kiss. With a lingering glance, he moved far enough away so that it looked as if he was merely observing the lady and her horse. Avalyn, shaking with the passion cut short and the fear of being discovered, wiped the moisture from her face, her gaze lingering on Brogan as he went to stand near the wall of the stable. She bumped absently into the post of the stall, unable to look at anything other than her soldier. William snapped his fingers at her when he saw where her attention was, forcing her to focus on the horse’s leg. William bent over the limb once more, his hands on the fetlock, just as Aubrey and St. John entered the dim, musty stable.

  Brogan looked over at the two men, noting the expression on Aubrey’s face as he gazed at Avalyn. He felt a stab of jealousy and forced himself to look away, his gaze returning to the leg that William was currently examining. Aubrey and Barton came upon the group.

  “Well?” Aubrey’s gaze moved between Avalyn and the horse. “How is the leg?”

  William stood up. “A swollen tendon, but I do not believe it to be bowed, my lord,” he faced Aubrey. “I will wrap it tonight with some medicament and see how he fares tomorrow.”

  St. John, standing back and observing, looked over at Brogan as the man leaned silently against the wall. “A fine colt; wouldn’t you say, Gervaise?”

  Brogan nodded. “Indeed. I came to tell Sir William just that.”

  “It’s not Sir William’s horse, but the lady’s,” Barton replied. “Do you know horseflesh?”

  Brogan shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “I only know warfare, my lord.”

  Barton returned the grin. “As do I. In fact, I do believe we have an appointment shortly.”

  Brogan, smirk still on his lips, nodded his head and pushed himself off the wall. His charger was in the next bank of stables, which, had Aubrey and St. John been the suspicious type, would have made his presence at the end stall a little odd. There was no reason for him to be there. But they had no reason to suspect anything and neither gave him a second glance as he left the stall and went back to his own horse.

  “I’d better go see to my animal,” Barton said, begging his leave of his liege. “I shall see you at the field, my lord.”

  Avalyn watched the tall blond knight as he left the stable, wondering who would indeed emerge the victor in the bout. She wished with all her heart that she could go to Brogan, giving him words of encouragement. She wished she was allowed to show her support for him. But as Charles led her from the stables back into the windy sunshine, she knew it was more important than ever not to show any bias towards Brogan. She could not give Charles reason for suspicion, not if she and Brogan were to have more moments together like the one they just had.

  A glance over her shoulder showed William several paces behind. By his expression, he did not look pleased and she knew it was because he did not like being deceptive. But he was doing it for her sake. Avalyn wasn’t sure how much more guilt she could feel for compromising William, but she experienced another full measure. She smiled timidly at him and turned back around, facing forward as Aubrey led her off towards the practice field outside the walls of Guerdley Cross.

  A pivotal match was about to take place.

  Brogan was waiting for them when they
reached the field. Astride the massive gray charger than St. Alban had given him, he was standing quite patiently at the southern end of the large, dusty field used for practice by Guerdley’s troops. Shielding her eyes from the sun as the wind whipped around her, Avalyn also noticed a fat, large man a few feet away from Brogan. She recognized St. Alban immediately.

  There was a single list to the east of the field, backed up against Guerdley Cross’s tall outerwall. Charles led her over to the platform and assisted her up the steps, making sure to keep himself between the lady and Inglesbatch, who was still following them. Charles then sat her down on the only stool available while he stood next to her. William remained at the base of the platform.

  Barton arrived shortly thereafter astride his muscular bay charger. He adjusted his gauntlets as the horse jaunted to the northern end of the field, two young squires running alongside. There were also several soldiers accompanying him, simply to see the spectacle. Avalyn observed Barton closely; having been exposed to knights for most of her life, she was well versed in their trappings and their chivalry code. Barton was loaded down with well used protection and his weapons were powerful and simple. He had come to do business, not make a show.

  “This shan’t take long,” Charles broke into her train of thought. “I have instructed the men to line up for the estor. A few passes and perhaps I will have them go to foot combat.”

  Avalyn looked up at him. “A charge?” she clarified the term estor. “That should be enough, don’t you think? Why must they fight each other on foot?”

  “To see Gervaise’s worth, of course.”

  “He’s twice the size of St. John. That alone should prove his worth.”

  “Still, I would like to see him fight.”

  Avalyn glanced over at William, several feet away and focused on the field. He could not have failed to hear what Charles had said. Knowing what William had told her of Brogan’s behavior on the battlefield, she wondered if a foot battle would be a good idea. It might give him away if they knew anything of d’Aurilliac’s savage reputation. William could feel her gaze and he gave her a sidelong glance. He could read the concern in her eyes.

  A few more soldiers joined the growing crowd on the field, men who served Aubrey. One of them was an older man, serving as Field Marshall. Avalyn tried not to stare at Brogan, poised and waiting on the south end of the field, as Barton finished securing his gauntlets. St. Alban was standing alongside Brogan now, speaking to him and apparently directing him. She could see the old man gesturing with his hands. As she was watching St. Alban, Thel and Aggie came upon the platform and stood respectfully behind William.

  Avalyn looked over at her ladies, who gazed back at her with big eyes. Having been searching for Brogan at the Knight’s Quarter’s, they had met up with St. Alban and had been told of the bout. Now they could only offer silent support as the foot soldier faced off against the knight.

  Avalyn’s gaze lingered on the ladies, on William, and finally on Brogan in the distance. So many people willing to risk their lives for her. She still did not know what she did to earn such loyalty, but she was grateful for her blessings. Still, she could feel their anxiety. It matched her own.

  When it was apparent that Barton was ready, Charles walked to the edge of the list and emitted a shrill whistle from between his teeth. Immediately, Barton spurred his charger forward. Brogan spurred his own beast forward a split second later. As the horses thundered towards each other at break-neck speed, Avalyn rose from her seat. Her eyes were riveted to the hurling masses of flesh, heading towards one another as if to run each other over. The lances were lowered and aimed.

  Avalyn found her focus on Brogan, watching him for any signs that the man was not as skilled as he wanted everyone to believe. But he held the lance steady; the only outward sign of his lack of experience was the fact that he was bouncing too heavily in the saddle. Barton, with years of horsemanship behind him, used his knees to steady himself so that he did not bounce so terribly. He appeared suspended above the saddle while Brogan was entrenched in it.

  It was a matter of individual preference how the man rode and not an indication of inexperience, however. Avalyn’s hand went to her throat as she watched them draw closer and closer still. Sounds of thundering hooves shook the ground. Barton was faster but Brogan was moving firm and steady like a mountain. As they came upon each other, Avalyn wanted to put her hands over her eyes but somehow didn’t move fast enough; as everyone watched, Barton’s lance plowed into Brogan’s shield and splintered in a million pieces. But then, a strange thing happened; somehow, Brogan had managed to lift his lance above Barton’s head and as the knight moved past him, he swung it back around and caught St. John in the back of the head. It was literally sweeping the man off his horse, and plunge off his horse Barton did. He ended up in a heap as Brogan circled around at the north end of the field.

  It all happened so fast. St. John was in a seated position quickly and obviously not hurt as Brogan came upon him, his lance propped up on his right knee and still quite intact. St. John flipped up his visor and gazed up at him.

  “That,” he said slowly, “was an illegal move.”

  Brogan lifted an eyebrow. “In tournament, aye. But this is not a tournament. It is a demonstration of my skill.”

  “I would say you used more strength than skill with that move.”

  “Then let us make another pass and I shall play by tournament rules.”

  Barton shook his head and rolled to his knees. His squires were there, making sure he was uninjured as they helped him to his feet. He motioned to his horse. “Bring me my sword,” he bellowed, eyeing Brogan as someone raced to give him his weapon. “Let us see how you fight, Gervaise. Now that I know you are tricky, you’ll not catch me with my guard down.”

  Brogan grinned and dismounted his steed. St. Alban came to him as quickly as his fat body was able to move and silently took the horse as Brogan unsheathed the broadsword strapped to the saddle.

  The old man gazed at Brogan steadily, wanting to impart a few final words before the foot battle began, but Brogan wasn’t looking at him. He was focused on St. John in a manner that St. Alban had seen many a time in battle, only this wasn’t a battle. He genuinely feared for Barton’s safety. The past two weeks training Brogan to fight as a knight had shown the man to be completely fearless and bordering on madness at times. St. Alban himself had taken a few good slices from Brogan during practice as the result of the man’s intensity in battle. St. Alban knew that Brogan had difficulty drawing the line between practice or play and a real battle. The instinct to kill was quick to surface.

  “Tygor,” St. Alban said loud enough to be heard. When Brogan looked at him, the old man lifted his eyebrows for emphasis. “A practice round only. You are not out to kill the man.”

  Brogan merely nodded, his attention refocusing on Barton, who suddenly rushed at him with his sword aloft and delivered a seriously heavy blow that sent Brogan stumbling backwards.

  A series of sharp, skilled thrusts followed the initial blow and Brogan was on the defensive. Barton’s skill with a weapon was blatantly evident and Brogan let the man have his way for a few minutes as he studied the way he moved. Since part of Brogan’s job at The Tower was to train new soldier recruits, he knew better than most the skills and tactics of swordplay. He sized up his opponent by studying his methods. On foot, Brogan was in his element and St. John would soon be the one on the defensive.

  It didn’t take long for Brogan to come to life and charge after Barton. With a double-handed grip, he lodged three strong thrusts at St. John that, had the man been any slower, would have taken his head off. It was evident very quickly that Brogan was far stronger than Barton. As those around them watched, Brogan turned into the animal he was so often accused of being on the battlefield. It very quickly turned into a serious confrontation.

  In the lists, Avalyn still stood with her hand on her throat, watching the vicious session progress. Barton was staying alive by sheer
skill alone, as he was no match for Brogan’s strength. Terrified for both men, she put her hand on Charles’ arm.

  “My lord,” she said, her eyes never leaving the field. “Perhaps you should stop this before someone gets hurt.”

  Charles, too, was riveted to the battle. “My God,” he breathed. “That man is a beast. Look how he tries to overpower Barton.”

  “I see,” she said, clipped. “I do not like this. Please order it stopped.”

  Charles tore his eyes away from the battle long enough to look at her. He could see she was not enjoying it in the least, although he personally lived for a good fight. There was something exciting in the brutality of it. Though he would have liked to have continued to marvel at Gervaise’s power, he would, as always, bow to the lady’s wish.

  “Enough,” he finally roared, loud enough to cause Avalyn to start. “I have seen enough. Both of you; come here.”

  Barton stopped immediately; Brogan was a split second slower. Sweating with exertion, the two men made their way over to Aubrey and stood before him, breathing heavily. Their massive broadswords hung at their sides, still gripped in the gloved hands, still ready to lift at any moment and continue. Aubrey’s gaze moved between the two.

  “Barton,” he addressed his knight. “What is your opinion of Gervaise’s skills?”

  Barton flipped up his three-point visor and flicked the sweat from his eyes. “He is careless and, at times, unethical with his tactics, but I can state with certainty that he is the strongest opponent I have ever faced.”

  Aubrey’s attention moved back to Brogan. “I see,” he said, still speaking with Barton though his eyes were on his massive adversary. “Would you say that he would be an excellent addition to our knightly ranks?”

  “I would, my lord.”