Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

Brogan drank deeply of the rich red Port; it was his third chalice and he was beginning to feel it in his veins. “Did you see the way Aubrey looks at William? There is no love for the man in his gaze.”

  “I noticed,” St. Alban said casually. “I wonder what has happened.”

  Brogan could only shake his head. “He behaved in the same fashion earlier in the stables when William was tending her horse. He does not like William.”

  “Perhaps because William is sent by de Neville to protect the lady?” St. Alban wondered aloud. He shoveled a large bite of beef into his mouth. “Perhaps William has been making a nuisance of himself.”

  “Doing what?”

  St. Alban shrugged. “Perhaps keeping an amorous groom at bay?”

  Brogan lifted an eyebrow, glaring at the old man. But in the same breath, he knew that he could very well be correct. William had promised Brogan that he would protect Avalyn; even if that meant protecting her from her betrothed. Brogan didn’t know if he felt better or worse. Having not been privy to the activity between Avalyn and Aubrey over the past few weeks, he could only imagine what might have gone on.

  St. Alban could read the man’s mind; it wasn’t difficult. Brogan had never learned to hide his feelings as true knights would have. He poured the man more wine.

  “William will bring her to the feast, have no fear,” he said, attempting to shift the focus. “Meanwhile, has St. John given you your duties?”

  Brogan took another drink, nodding, though his mind was still lingering on Avalyn. “I am in charge of the armory. I must inventory and repair the weapons.”

  “Excellent,” the old man replied. “’Twill be an easy but exacting task.”

  Brogan didn’t say any more. He wasn’t hungry but St. Alban kept pushing his trencher at him so he ate. Over to his left, Aubrey and St. John were shoving food into their mouths, talking animatedly about something Brogan couldn’t quite hear. Neither man had made a move to talk to him or St. Alban, of which he was grateful. He didn’t feel like conversing. He wondered what was taking William so long when the knight suddenly reappeared, with Thel in tow, and went directly for Aubrey. Brogan’s ears perked.

  “The lady does not feel well, my lord,” he said. “She begs your pardon for not attending your feast. She has sent her lady to bring her meal to her.”

  Charles’ fat face was a mask of disappointment. He knew why the lady was ill and he furthermore knew that he had caused it. He shouldn’t have asked such a foolish question about her and Inglesbatch. St. John had told him that he did not believe there was anything between the lady and her knight, and Charles should have believed him. Furthermore, he should not have set a wedding date without her consent or input. It had been wrong and impulsive of him. The courage he had felt so recently drained away, leaving a pliant and indecisive man in its wake.

  “I see,” he said, having difficulty holding William’s gaze. He wondered if the lady had told the knight of his suspicions. “I do hope it is nothing serious.”

  William shook his head; he had indeed heard of the baron’s question and it was a struggle not to let his distaste show. “Nothing serious that I could sense, my lord,” he said. “I am sure that tomorrow will see her well enough.”

  There was nothing more for Charles to say, although St. John and William exchanged glances. St. John just shook his head, imperceptible though it might have been. He was increasingly coming to disapprove of the lady’s behavior but it was not his place to say so. William went back to his seat.

  Meanwhile, Thel had made her way over to the opposite edge of the table, speaking quietly to a servant. Brogan’s eyes tracked her; to anyone else, it might have seemed he was simply interested in the dark-eyed wench, but to St. Alban, it seemed as if Brogan was going to jump out of his chair and grab her. He wanted news of Avalyn so badly that he was nearly crazed but if Thel noticed his stare, she never let on. She stood near the edge of the table, waiting patiently until the servant returned from the kitchens with a trencher for the lady. Thel thanked the man, took the trencher and passed to the rear of St. Alban and Brogan on her way from the hall. But she made sure to pass close enough to St. Alban that he could hear her whisper.

  “Stables,” she murmured. “One hour.”

  St. Alban barely heard her. Brogan only heard hissing. Thel continued on her way, slipping from the hall virtually unnoticed. St. Alban leaned casually in Brogan’s direction.

  “The stable,” he said, taking a bite of bread. “One hour.”

  Brogan’s stomach was in knots. He couldn’t eat, but he continued to drink. St. Alban had to eventually take his chalice from him to prevent him from inebriating himself. It was the longest hour of his life.

  As Brogan drank, Aubrey brooded, and Inglesbatch pondered, the rest of the room was in fine form. Several senior soldiers milled about, enjoying the fare and pinching the serving wenches when they walked by. Near the massive hearth, the man who had been field marshal and his companion the sergeant sat at the edge of a cluttered table, enjoying their brew and watching two of their men arm wrestle. They could see the activity on the dais on the opposite side of the room, watching knights come and go. There seemed to be quite a bit of activity.

  “I wonder where the lady is?” the sergeant wondered.

  The field marshal shrugged. “She’s not made her presence well known since her arrival,” he said. “Too bad, too. She’s a lovely thing. But I hear she’s de Neville.”

  “Then she probably thinks she’s too good for the rest of the rabble,” the sergeant snorted into his cup. “They’re a pompous lot.”

  The field marshal popped a piece of apple into his mouth. “You fought for de Neville, did you not?”

  “I did. At Wakefield.”

  The sergeant was about to take another sip from his wooden cup when he suddenly froze. “Wakefield,” he murmured. His eyes widened and slowly, with great intent, moved to the dais. Specifically, his gaze lingered on the end of the table where the new Germanic knight sat with a fat old man. He stared hard at the knight. At his side, the field marshal noticed his expression.

  “What is the matter with you?” he asked. “Is your drink suddenly foul?”

  The sergeant shook his head. He put the cup down and sat forward, his eyes still on the distant table. “That knight,” he muttered after a moment. “I recognize him now. He was at Wakefield.”

  The field marshal passed an unconcerned glance at the head table. “So? Many men were at Wakefield.”

  The sergeant was growing more animated as he spoke. “I realize that, but that knight… he wasn’t a knight. He was a foot soldier. Aye, I remember him clearly now. Enemy and ally alike were afraid of him. He fought like an animal, just as you saw him do today.” He was silent a moment, his mind working furiously to remember the name he had heard, long ago. It was almost on the tip of his tongue. “But I cannot remember his name.”

  “It’s Gervaise,” the field marshal failed to see any concern.

  “Nay,” the sergeant shook his head. “It wasn’t Gervaise. It was something else. It will come to me.”

  Lacking any interest whatsoever, the field marshal convinced the sergeant to play a game of cards. But it didn’t divert the sergeant’s attention entirely; he knew that knight was not a knight, but he could not recall the man’s name. All he remembered of him was fear.

  He began to wonder if his liege knew who his new pledge really was. When the big knight left the hall a half hour later, the sergeant followed.

  Avalyn was waiting for him.

  The stable was dark, musty with hay and urine, as Brogan entered the stalls where she kept her big bay colt. The horses shifted in their stalls, snorting softly, and he caught sight of a dark figure at the end near the bay colt. He went straight to her, taking her in his arms before he uttered a word. Avalyn threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

  “Oh, Brogan,” she breathed in his ear. “I’ve missed you.”

  He kissed her neck, her ear, finally l
ingering tenderly on her lips. “As I have missed you,” he murmured. “Are you well? William said that you were ill.”

  She shook her head. “I am fine,” she said. “I simply did not want to spend the evening with Charles. Brogan… we must leave this place as soon as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Charles has set our wedding date. Three weeks from tomorrow.”

  Brogan lifted an eyebrow. “I see,” he said slowly. “Then we must indeed leave as soon as possible. When will you be ready?”

  “I am ready with the clothes on my back. Can we leave tonight?”

  “I believe so. But I must get St. Alban and The Sirens to safety before I take you. Aubrey’s wrath would more than likely fall on them when you and I are discovered missing.”

  “Of course,” she touched his face, running her fingers along his stubble. “Where is Lake? We must take her with us.”

  “She is with my mother, in the little village just south of here,” he said. “We will indeed take her.”

  Avalyn looked up at him. “Your mother is here, too?”

  He smiled wanly. “Everyone who cares about us has come with me. I brought quite a troop.”

  She returned his smile, still touching his face. “How will your mother get back to London, then? Or will we take her with us?”

  He shook his head, his body growing increasingly warm from her tender touch. “St. Alban will escort her and The Sirens back to London. All will be well. You mustn’t worry.”

  She was trying not to, but there were so many people involved that she had to make sure no one was left behind to suffer when she and Brogan made their move. As she nodded her head compliantly, Brogan swooped down and slanted his lips over hers, suckling fiercely. Passion flared in her slender body and she allowed herself to be upswept in his power and virility. They’d had so little time together; she’d never truly enjoyed or explored the man. Every moment like this was more precious than the last.

  In a fused pair, they sank back into the stall where the bay colt chewed lazily on his feed. And in the shadows outside the stable, the sergeant who had fought the Battle of Wakefield with the man they called ‘The Monster’ had heard everything.

  He went running for the keep.

  It was soft and dark and quiet in the stables as Brogan pinned Avalyn against the stable wall. His mouth worked her furiously, against her mouth, her jaw, her neck. There was almost a frenzy to his passion, having been denied the woman so long, unsure of their future, that his tenderness knew a hint of roughness. But Avalyn didn’t care; she, too, felt the frenzy and the passion as much as he did. It had been pent up since the day they had met. All she knew was that she wanted the man, in spirit and soul and body, and she had to have him or die.

  The straw beneath them was clean and dry. Brogan lay her down on her cloak, untying the fastens as his lips suckled her neck and collarbone. When the ties fell away, she was in a yellow brocade with a plunging neckline and he took advantage of the exposed white swell of her breasts. The rabbit fur got in his nose, however, and he sneezed more than once. Avalyn laughed softly, as did he. But it did not stop him. Pulling Avalyn tight against his hard chest, his fingers went to work on the laced stays that held her surcoat in place.

  Avalyn would not wait to be disrobed. She helped him. In between removing her surcoat, she unlaced the stays on his tunic and pulled it over his head. She paused a moment in the weak light, studying his magnificent torso for a moment; his muscles were bulky and defined, the tanned skin covered with a matting of soft dark hair. She ran her fingers over his chest lightly, acquainting herself with it, feeling him shudder when she drew a finger over a dark puckered nipple.

  He captured her mouth in his again, his tongue pushing sensually into her pink recesses. Now that her surcoat was off, he went to work on the corset, leaving her only in her shift and pantalets. His massive hand fondled her round breast through the soft wool, feeling her nipple harden against his palm. When he could take no more, he tore her shift from her shoulder with a growl, exposing her left breast. His mouth hungrily descended on it.

  Avalyn gasped softly, feeling his wet heat on her nipple. Soon the other breast was exposed and he suckled her madly. Before long, the shift was pulled off completely and she lay nude beneath him. Quickly, Brogan lowered his hose, rubbing his enormous erection against her thigh.

  Avalyn felt his hardness, torn between lust and curiosity and apprehension. She loved the man, she was determined to be his wife, and she saw no wrong with what they were about to do. She wanted it as badly as he did. As his mouth moved across her chest again, he shifted and settled between her slender legs. Avalyn lifted her knees, accommodating his bulk, excitement and apprehension running side by side in her mind.

  His fingers moved down her belly to the dark curls between her legs. She started unsteadily at first, but his kisses soothed her and his fingers stroked the moist, tender folds. When he felt her relax, he slipped a finger into her wet heat and listened to her soft grunts of pleasure, of anxiety. His lips claimed her mouth again.

  “I love you more than my life,” he murmured against her. “You must always remember that.”

  She opened her eyes, gazing into his dark blue orbs. There was such warmth and passion there. As they lost themselves in the tenderness of the gaze, Brogan slid his manhood into her waiting body.

  She was wet and hot and slick. As she gasped with surprise, he slanted his mouth over hers again and continued is steady thrust. One more thrust saw him seated to the hilt, ridding her of her virginity and claiming her completely. Avalyn groaned and gasped, but her discomfort was momentary. She had never in her life felt more close to someone, or so completely whole. He filled her like nothing she had ever known to exist. It was a magical moment for them both.

  Brogan gave her a moment to become accustomed to his body embedded within her. When his thrusts began, they were gentle and slow. Avalyn moved with him, relishing the new sensations, feeling his hands upon her and his body within her. She’d never felt so womanly, so loved. When his thrusts increased, a spark started in her loins that grew in intensity. Brogan’s hot, rapid breath in her ear only seemed to increase the sensation. His hands were on her breasts, in her hair, snaking around her back and holding her close. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him fast as the pace quickened.

  She could feel him grinding his pelvis against her Venus Mound, every contact bringing a shock of sensation. His mouth was on her lips again, suckling her, and she suddenly felt a burst of sensation from within her groin. It was enough to bring a loud gasp to her lips, one of pure pleasure and exhilaration. Brogan swallowed up her cries in his mouth, giving one last, hard thrust and his entire body shuddering. But still, he continued to move, not wanting the magic to fade but knowing it must. His kisses softened until they stopped completely. When Avalyn opened her eyes, he was gazing softly at her.

  “Did I hurt you?” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “Not at all.” She touched his cheek, watching him kiss her palm as it moved by his mouth. “You consume me, Brogan. I wish I could tell you everything that is in my heart, everything that I am feeling.”

  He smiled faintly. “If it is anything close to what I am feeling, then I understand it well. I never truly loved a woman until I met you, Avalyn. Now I understand why life is worth living.”

  They exchanged smiles, touches. The straw poked at her back but Avalyn did not want to move. She wished she could stay with him, like this, forever. But the reality was that they must leave, and quickly. The longer they stayed, the more chance for discovery. She tilted her head up and kissed him.

  “I love you, my darling,” she murmured. “But we must get dressed.”

  He sighed heavily. “I know.”

  “Up, then, my love. Quickly.”

  He gave her one last, final squeeze before releasing her. In the darkness, they dressed, Brogan’s hands lingering on her as he helped her with her stays. He couldn’t stop touch
ing her and more than once they fell into a passionate kiss. Avalyn wanted to run from the gates that very moment and never look back, but she knew that Brogan had to take care of St. Alban and The Sirens. She was anxious to help them, too.

  “I shall send the girls down to you shortly,” she said. “There is a servant’s gate in the wall near the kitchens. That would probably be the best place to leave unnoticed. Will you have St. Alban waiting to escort them?”

  He nodded, securing the last tie on his tunic. “I will make sure he is there,” he said. “However, it will be more difficult for me to leave with my charger. I believe you should go with the Sirens so that St. Alban can take all of you from the servant’s gates. It would be a lot easier than trying to spirit you out through the main gates with me.”

  She nodded in agreement. “That is a wise suggestion. Where will we meet up?”

  He was moving out of the stall, making sure they were still alone. “I will arrange a rendezvous point outside of the fortress with St. Alban. Then we ride for St. Helen to collect Lake.”

  “And then freedom.”

  He sighed, his gaze lingering on her. He could hardly believe their plans were finally coming to fruition. There was a good deal of excitement and apprehension in his belly, but it was nothing compared to his utter adoration of Avalyn. He would have escaped through Hell simply for a chance to be near her.

  “Freedom,” he said softly, taking her in his arms again. “I shall escort you back to the keep. There is nothing strange about us being seen together. I will say that I ran into you in the stables when I was checking on my horse and you were tending your colt.”

  She nodded. “And, being a chivalrous knight, you would not let me walk unescorted.”

  “Exactly.”

  He kissed her one last time, sweetly, before letting her go. “Ready?”

  She squared her shoulders. “Ready.”

  They made it out of the stable without incident. The moon overhead was a sliver, casting little light on the stable yards as they casually passed through. The moment they entered the main bailey, however, there was a loud noise and Brogan suddenly ended up in a heap at her feet. Shocked, Avalyn looked up to see Barton with the butt-end of a mace in his hand. He had clobbered Brogan on the head with it. Horrified, her gaze moved beyond St. John to see Charles standing several feet behind him with a group of soldiers. The ghostly moonglow illuminated his chubby features; even in the dimness she could see that Aubrey did not look pleased.