Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

“Then I shall accept his pledge.” Charles moved to the edge of the list, almost eye to eye with Brogan from where he stood. “Welcome to Guerdley Cross, Sir Tygor. May we have a long and pleasant association together.”

  Brogan bowed to his new liege. “You have my loyalty and my sword, my lord.”

  With that, Charles turned away from him and took Avalyn by the hand. Carefully escorting her off the list, his focus was solely on the lady as the knights behind him disbanded to collect their things. Only Inglesbatch followed several paces behind them, deliberately ignoring Brogan and St. Alban as the men sheathed swords and collected the rest of Brogan’s equipment.

  So the first test had been passed. Brogan was now sworn to Aubrey. Inglesbatch honestly didn’t know if he felt better or worse about that. There was a relief to it and also a sickening sensation. So much of him wanted to aid Avalyn in her quest for happiness, but with Brogan now entrenched in Aubrey’s ranks, an entirely new crop of problems would arise. William knew that the sooner Brogan left with Avalyn, the better, for the longer he lingered, the greater the chance for discovery. Already, their drive to be together was difficult to control. William wondered how much longer he could keep them in check, if they could see beyond their emotions long enough to restrain tale-tell actions.

  He caught a flash of material from the corner of his eye, turning to see Thel and Aggie walking beside him. The ladies had their heads down, watching the ground pass beneath their feet. William’s gaze lingered on Thel a moment; so many people were involved in this. So many people to be in jeopardy. It wasn’t simply him any longer. He knew Avalyn realized the gravity of it. He wondered if Brogan really did.

  As the crowd wandered off the field, the last of the soldiers lingered, watching the knights and lord and lady disburse and cleaning up the remnants of the skirmish from the grounds. One soldier was even up on the list, sweeping off the stool and setting it back out of the elements. The older warrior who had acted as field marshal was standing with another old soldier of rank, a sergeant, who had served Aubrey’s father. Both men had seen a good deal of action and discussed the tactics and skill of St. John’s fight.

  “Sir Barton has the skill, but the other – what is his name? – clearly has more strength,” the field marshal was saying. “Should I be on the battle field, it would be far better to be that man’s ally than his foe. I’ve never seen such power.”

  The sergeant nodded, watching as one of the squires kicked the other in the arse and laughed when the youth went sprawling. “He’ll be a great advantage when we go against Edward’s armies,” he said. Then, he cocked his head. “That Germanic knight looks very familiar to me. Can’t place him, though.”

  The marshal chased the fighting squires away. “Do you know him?”

  “I do not know how I possibly could. I’ve never been to Germania.”

  “Then he looks like someone you know.”

  “Nay,” the sergeant shook his head slowly. “He fights like someone I’ve seen before.”

  The old marshal began to walk back to the barracks. “You’ve fought a great many battles, Hackley. Years back, for Edward and Warwick. You’ve fought with a good many men.”

  Hackley followed the old man, scratching his chin. “Thirty years I’ve been doing battle.” He finally shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, well, it will come to me. I never forget a fighting man.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The feast that night was truly a spectacle to behold. Although Charles loved to eat well, the meal that evening was the most elaborate yet and he had begged Avalyn for a half hour to attend. Her normal routine would be to sup in her room alone, or sometimes with Inglesbatch. She didn’t like supping in the great room of Guerdley Cross. But tonight, she would make the exception because a very special guest would be in attendance. Brogan would be there.

  Keeping in accordance with her usual habit and not wanting to seem too eager to dine in the great hall, she had permitted Aubrey to beg for quite some time before agreeing. That way, it did not look suspicious. He had been verily pleased with his skills of persuasion. Though he had hoped she would assume her place as chatelaine, she did not seem entirely comfortable doing so and he went about his usual routine of seeing to the evening meal. Such a thing was almost unheard of, for the lord to see to household duties, but Charles was comfortable doing so. Moreover, he was an excellent chatelaine. The more Avalyn came to know of Aubrey, the more she was coming to feel guilty for betraying him. He deserved better. But her selfishness had the better of her and she was determined to follow her heart, no matter what.

  Evening fell, soft and spring-like, and the clouds rolled in from the sea to create a salty mist in the air. In her bower high in the keep of Guerdley Cross, Avalyn sat before a massive dressing table that had once belonged to Charles’ mother. It was an enormous thing made from oak and marble, with a polished, and very precious, glass mirror as its focal point. The glass was amazingly clear, though slightly tarnished, giving her reflection a soft grayish appearance. As Avalyn gazed back at herself while Aggie finished making long, fat curls of her chestnut hair, she tried hard to recognize the woman staring back in the reflection.

  So much had happened in the past few weeks. Brogan, the orphan, Inglesbatch’s undying devotion, her uncle’s virtual banishment of her, and coming to live with Aubrey. The events had been so swift that they were disorienting. Gazing at her oval face, golden eyes and pink cheeks, she seriously wondered what had happened to the lady she had always known herself to be. Professional, calculating, political, sensible… she had been all of those things, once. Now she was not sure who she was any longer. All she knew was that she saw happiness such as she had never hoped for with Brogan d’Aurilliac. And with Aubrey, she saw a life she always thought to have; no real happiness, only moderate contentment and serious politics. Her life would revolve around them. But she didn’t want to be a part of them any longer.

  The chamber was warm from the brilliant fire, smelling strongly of rushes and lilac that Charles had brought her earlier in the day. Thel and Noe had dressed her in a golden brocade surcoat with soft white rabbit lining on the plunging neckline and at the base of the bell-like sleeves. Underneath she wore a shift and underthings of the softest white wool while a boned corset kept everything neat and snug along her slender torso. With her hair gathered in soft waves away from her face, she did, in fact, look magnificent.

  But she didn’t feel magnificent. She was feeling befuddled and anxious. Her mind was on Brogan, far away from the vision of loveliness that The Sirens were creating. When a soft knock came to her bower door, she almost didn’t hear it.

  Thel rushed to the chamber door, opening it cautiously. Charles stood in the entry, his ruddy expression polite.

  “I would like to speak with my lady,” he told Thel, moving into the room. “You and the other women will leave us.”

  Thel passed a glance at Avalyn before motioning to the others to vacate. Avalyn rose from her dressing table, moving to meet Aubrey half-way across the chamber. He was dressed in his finest red tunic, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Avalyn returned his smile.

  “My lord,” she greeted. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “My lady,” he bowed swiftly, nearly stumbling in his haste. It was obvious that he was nervous. “I… I have come bearing gifts.”

  He suddenly thrust a box at her, nearly hitting her in the chest. As he apologized profusely, Avalyn struggled to conceal a grin at his agitation as she bade him sit in a largest chair she had that would support his bulk. But it was near the blazing fire, causing him to sweat abundantly. Had it not been so comical, it would have been pathetic.

  She perched on a stool opposite him, paying no mind to his nervous condition and damp forehead. “What is it you have brought me, my lord?”

  He placed the box in her hands. “It belonged to my mother. Please open it.”

  Avalyn did as he asked, her slender fingers lifting the latch and flipping back the lid. Inside th
e silk-lined box lay a necklace of emeralds, exquisite and perfect. And underneath the necklace lay a gold ring with an emerald on it the size of a small bird’s egg. It was enormous.

  Hesitantly, Avalyn removed the necklace. It was gorgeous. As Charles watched her face ripple with reaction, he began to speak anxiously.

  “Please consider the necklace a wedding gift,” he said. “And the ring… well, I was hoping you would wear it as a token of our marriage.”

  Avalyn wasn’t sure how to react. She smiled wanly at him, not touching the ring. “The necklace is lovely,” she said. “Thank you for a most generous gift.”

  “And the ring,” he said again, pushing the point. “I hope it fits. Will you not try it on?”

  He was cornering her. Not that he didn’t have every right to, but she struggled with her resistance. She did not want to cause a scene or be cruel. With a heavy sigh that he could not have missed, she removed the ring from the box and placed it on the middle finger of her left hand.

  “It is a little large for me,” she held her hand up, showing him that it shifted loosely.

  He reached out and took her hand, feeling for himself just how loose the ring was. Then he snorted. “My mother was quite a bit larger than you are. All of her rings are large because her hands were so fat. This was the smallest one I could find.”

  Avalyn smirked because he was. But he wasn’t letting go of her fingers. Discreetly, she pulled her hand away and fiddled with the ring, removing it from that finger and trying it on others to see if she could find a better fit.

  “It is lovely, my lord,” she said, knowing he was expecting an answer of some kind. “As always, your generosity is outstanding.”

  Charles watched her as she slid the ring on nearly all of her fingers. His hands fidgeted fretfully in his lap, his gaze moving between her lovely face and the activity on her fingers. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and twice he closed his lips. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say what he was thinking, struggling to summon the courage.

  “I should like to discuss our wedding with you, if I may,” he finally blurted, causing her to look up at him with surprise. “I…I realize that the time spent here at Guerdley has been time for us to become acquainted and I have enjoyed it very much. But I must be honest when I say that I am anxious for us to wed. I am anxious to come to know you better and to have you as my wife. Surely there will be no prouder man in all of England.”

  She watched his face as he spoke, eventually sighing with reluctance and resignation. She knew he was looking for a positive response, anything that would indicate she was ready to move forward, but she simply couldn’t do it. The mere thought sickened her. And with Brogan’s appearance this day, she was more reluctant than ever to give Aubrey false hope. She didn’t want to hurt the man, but she clearly had no intention of setting a wedding date.

  “My lord,” she said after a moment, gazing back down at the ring now on her thumb. “I am most flattered by your attention and eagerness. And I am not oblivious to the fact that you are eager for us to wed, truly. I believe you are a very kind man as well as a very talented one. But… but I am still growing accustomed to all of this. I am sorry if it is taking longer than you had hoped.”

  The faint smile faded from Charles’ lips. His fidgeting hands grew worse. “I am not asking to marry you tomorrow, my lady. But if we could only set a date, then it would….”

  She bolted to her feet, turning her back on him. “I cannot,” she said before he could finish his sentence. “Most betrothals have years to become accustomed to the idea. You and I were given minutes. I do apologize if I have not readily accepted the idea as you have but I cannot help what I feel.”

  He was trying not to become upset. “I do not blame you for what you feel, for clearly, I am getting the better end of this bargain. But whether we marry next week or next year, still, some day we must marry. What difference does it make if it is tomorrow or in five years?”

  She looked at him, then. “The difference is that I am not ready for it right now. You must allow me to settle in to this idea, my lord.”

  His flabby jaw began to tick and he rose on his big legs. “May I ask something of you, then?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would… would it be possible to not have Inglesbatch hanging over you night and day? I would like to spend some time with you and this cannot be accomplished with is constant presence.”

  “William is not only my knight, he is my friend. I feel safe when he is near.”

  “But no harm can come to you in my presence, my lady, I swear it. Will you at least consider it?”

  He was pleading and her guilt was magnified. Whether or not she meant to be cruel to the man, she was being so nonetheless. She walked over to him, gazing into his fat face, his sincere brown eyes. She felt a good deal of pity for him. Impulsively, she put a hand on his sweaty cheek.

  “You are a good man, my lord,” she said softly. “I thank you for your patience. I would ask for a little more.”

  The hand on his cheek undid him. He closed his eyes to her touch, having waited a very long time for contact of this magnitude. He instinctively put his fat hand over hers, feeling a very great longing at that moment.

  “I know I am not the prize you had hoped for, Avalyn,” he said quietly. “I am not a handsome man, nor finely mannered, nor even great conversation. But I promise I will make the best husband that I can possibly make.”

  She smiled; she couldn’t help it. He so desperately wanted to please her. “You are all of those things, my lord,” she said softly. “You must not diminish yourself.”

  He gazed deeply into her soft golden eyes. “May I ask another question?”

  “Aye.”

  “I pray that you will not become upset by it, for I do not mean it in a slanderous manner.”

  “I will not know until you ask.”

  He took a deep breath. “Inglesbatch… is there something more to your relationship with him? I only ask because…”

  The golden eyes flashed and she pulled her hand away. Charles could see, instantly, that he’d made a grave mistake. Avalyn took several steps back from him, her eyes blazing.

  “What must you think of me if you must ask that question?” she hissed. “You know very well that my heart belongs to someone and it certainly is not Inglesbatch. Do you think I give my favors and emotions so freely to more than one man?”

  He shook his head so hard that his jowls wobbled. “Nay, my lady, of course not. ’Tis just that Inglesbatch is always with you and your uncle told me that he carries feelings for you. I simply thought that…”

  “You thought what?”

  His ruddy face was scarlet. He put up his hands in surrender. “My lady, I truly meant no offense. But your reluctance to wed has my uncertain and unsteady. My imagination is running wild with me, perhaps, but I truly never meant to slander you. I am simply looking for a reason for your resistance, foolish though it might be.”

  Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer before turning away. “I believe the continuation of this conversation can only do more damage,” she said stiffly. “If you would be so kind as to leave me, my lord, I will prepare for your feast.”

  “Avalyn, please,” he said beseechingly. “I did not mean to insult you. I was asking an honest question.”

  “And you received an honest answer.” She still did not look at him, pretending to busy herself with the jewelry box he had given her. “Good eve to you, my lord.”

  With a heavy, heart-felt sigh, Charles turned for the door. He turned to gaze at her lowered head, feeling sick inside. He’d taken a great chance asking the question and received exactly what he had not hoped for; her animosity. He was positive she hated him now and if that was the case, he couldn’t possibly do more damage than he already had. In a surprising show of resolve, he spoke to her before he quit the room.

  “It is my wish that we marry come the next full moon,” he said, his hand on the iron door latch. “That dat
e is three weeks away come tomorrow. I will send word to your uncle.”

  He didn’t give her time to argue and Avalyn didn’t reply. As the door shut softly with Charles’ departure, she felt an odd sense of relief. Now she had a date, a target by which to make plans. She and Brogan would have to be well on their way before that date. They had less than three weeks. Three weeks and she would begin her new life with him.

  A strange sense of excitement swept her.

  Charles wasn’t surprised when she didn’t appear at the feast. Inglesbatch, St. John and Gervaise were already there, imbibing the fine Port he had purchased last year on a trip to Lisbon. He held the food as long as he dared but finally ordered everything served, and served it was in elaborate fashion. He finally sent Barton up to the lady’s bower to discover what was taking her so long, but she sent Barton back to the great hall with orders to send Inglesbatch to her. William, seated at the edge of the long dais, promptly put his chalice down and left the hall. Charles watched the man go with a great deal of jealousy.

  Brogan watched William leave with a certain amount of curiosity. He was concerned that Avalyn was ill, having no idea of the conversation between her and Aubrey earlier. He had been waiting with baited breath for her appearance, having suffered through an afternoon without seeing her. He’d brought St. Alban with him to the feast, the old knight sitting quietly by his right. St. Alban thought it risky enough to bring him into Aubrey’s stronghold, but Brogan saw nothing wrong with bringing his ‘father’ with him to the feast. Even now, the old man’s eyes surveyed the room as Brogan could focus only on Avalyn’s absence.

  “You make yourself suspicious staring at the stairwell,” St. Alban said quietly as he lifted his chalice. “Pay no mind to where William went. Watch the room and speak with me instead.”

  Brogan’s gaze returned to the table reluctantly. “What do you suppose is wrong?”

  “If anything, William will take care of her. You mustn’t worry.”