Avalyn nodded, trying to sort out her muddled thoughts. “The guests must be told, including my uncle,” she looked at William as she made the statement, something unsettling in that idea. “This marriage was of his making, after all. He will want to know.”
William was crouched beside the fire, meeting her gaze, reading her thoughts. He knew de Neville better than anyone and knew exactly what a wealthy widowed niece would mean to him.
“You have Guerdley Cross and a great deal of wealth now, my lady,” William stood up with the poker in his hand. “I mean no slander against your uncle, as you well know, but he will insist on marrying you off immediately. You are more valuable to him now than ever.”
More burdens added to Avalyn’s weary mind. Something ominous and sickening was settling over her. She sought out her chair again, sinking heavily. There was hesitance writing all over her face. “I do not wish to marry again anytime soon,” she murmured. “But you are correct, William. The moment he is told of Charles’ death, he will be planning my next husband.”
Barton’s expression was one of concern mixed with duty. “He would do this, my lady? Would he give no respect to your mourning?”
She nodded strongly. “Without hesitation. And you, Sir Barton, would have a new lord, perhaps one you would not be so fond of. It would be completely out of my hands.”
Barton didn’t particularly like that thought; his gaze moved between Avalyn and William. “Then what are you suggesting?” he asked.
William’s gaze never left Avalyn’s face. “Wait until he leaves for Warwick,” William spoke to her as if she was the only person in the room. “Do not tell him now. Go up to your chamber and stay there until he has left. We will bury Lord Aubrey after he is gone and perhaps send him a missive in a few months when everything has settled down.”
“Or perhaps not send him one at all,” Avalyn fired back softly. She clutched at the cloak as if it could protect her from her uncle’s evil reaches and cunning manipulation. “Let him think what he will. Let him think that Charles is alive and well. And when he should eventually find out, perhaps… perhaps by that time I will have already married someone of my own choosing, a man that I am familiar with who possesses moral character and a noble background.”
Barton’s expression was now stamped with uncertainty. “What about the other guests? What about the soldiers?” he looked at them as if they were bordering on insanity. “If we tell them that Lord Aubrey has passed, the word will get back to de Neville. If we do not tell them, eventually, they will deduce that something is wrong. We cannot keep Lord Aubrey’s death hidden forever.”
“Nay, not forever,” Avalyn looked at him. “But for the time being. Are you so eager to have a new liege, Barton?”
St. John lifted an eyebrow. “It does not matter what I want, but what is right.”
“And is it wrong for us to keep this news from my uncle? Considering all the man is and all you know him to be, what do you think he will do?” When Barton didn’t answer fast enough, she continued. “I shall tell you what he will do; he will find a new husband for me within a few weeks at most. Guerdley Cross will cease to be an Aubrey holding and will be passed over to a rich baron or earl, or even a French mercenary. You know that my uncle has dealings with those men, too. Slimy creatures with foul habits and even fouler ethics. If that is the case and I am forced to marry someone else, then any child Charles and I might have will not inherit Guerdley Cross and the Aubrey name will cease to exist. In fact, any child born as a result of my marriage to Charles will more than likely be sent away to foster, probably never to be heard from again. Have no doubt that this could very well be the case given the greater implications of my uncle’s dealings and the wealth of this holding. Is this something you would wish to see?”
It was a passionate speech. By the time she was finished, Barton was gazing at her intently. His big arms were crossed, his blue eyes serious. After a moment, he slowly shook his head.
“Nay, my lady,” he said slowly. “It is not.”
It was Avalyn’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “Then you must trust me that it is best if no one knows of Charles’ passing but those of us in this room.”
Barton drew in a long, contemplative death. He looked at William, reading his expression, before turning back to Avalyn. “If that is your command, Lady Aubrey,” he said quietly. “I will obey it.”
Avalyn stared at the man a moment before rising to her feet. She made her way over to him, laying a soft hand on his big arm. Her golden eyes were sincere. “I know you do not like this, Barton,” she said softly. “I know you are a man of truth and honor. But your world has always been one of following orders and upholding the knightly code. I come from a world where men would manipulate God himself in order to have their ways known. My uncle is such a man. Surely you know that.”
He met her gaze. “I do,” he said quietly. “And I do not disagree with your command. I said that I would obey it.”
“I know you will. But I want you to understand why. It is for Charles’ sake as well as mine. My uncle will erase the Aubrey name from this earth if he finds out I am a widow in control of Guerdley Cross. Everything Charles held dear will belong to another. I would like to hold that off if I can.”
Barton just looked at her, trying to figure out if her motives were self-serving or if she was truly being self-sacrificing. Perhaps it was a little of both. He could not blame her. “And I shall help you, my lady.”
She patted his arm gently. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Now, where did you put Charles’ body?”
“I left him in the chamber, my lady,” he replied. “Where would you like me to move him?”
She moved away from Barton, back towards the fire that was now starting to blaze. “Is there another place to keep him? Somewhere secure until we can arrange a secret burial?”
Barton thought a moment. “There are several places I can think of off-hand,” he replied. “Perhaps it is best to wait until dark before moving him, however.”
“Agreed,” she said. “I would now have you ride to St. Helen and tell the priest what has happened. Swear the man to silence in exchange for a large donation. Tell him we will have to bury him in the utmost secrecy and make arrangements for that time and place.”
“Aye, my lady,” Barton was already moving for the door. “Anything else?”
She shook her head. “Not that I can think of. Go about your business.”
Barton was gone, leaving Avalyn and William alone in the solar. William just stood there, staring at her delicate profile. He took a timid step towards her. “Are you all right, Avalyn?” he asked softly.
She looked over at him, her eyes growing moist. “I am well,” she whispered. “He never touched me.”
William’s eyes widened. “What?”
“He never touched me,” she repeated quietly. “We talked a long while. Then… then he never got the chance. It was over before it began.”
“But you told…?”
“I know what I told him. I had to.” She could see the shock on his face and she sought to make him understand. “William, Charles told me that he was physically incapable of performing as a man. He said that he had been that way for years. He was terrified that I was going to tell my uncle and that Uncle Richard would have the marriage annulled. So to tell Barton a slight untruth… it saves Charles’ manhood to the world. Perhaps this child was conceived for a reason and perhaps everything happened as it did for the greater good. This child will be born an Aubrey and will know all of the wealth and benefits that Brogan could never provide.”
William understood a great deal, then. Now it all made sense. “How noble of you, my lady,” he said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “You never cease to amaze me.”
She smiled weakly, her features pale in the growing light of the room. She moved to the lancet windows, gazing at the awakening bailey beyond. The sky was amazingly clear, none of the fog that was so usual. It was going to be a lovely day.<
br />
“William,” she said softly. “Will you do something for me?”
“Anything, my lady.”
A soft breeze caught her chestnut hair, lifting soft tendrils around her face. “I want you to bring me some ink and vellum,” she murmured. “I have something I must write.”
William eyed her a moment before turning to the great desk Charles had conducted his business from. He went over to it, finding vellum in the special box that writing paper was usually contained in, and a bit of further digging turned up another box containing ink and quill. As he pulled everything out, Avalyn rose wearily from her seat and made her way over to the desk, planting herself in Charles’ enormous chair. It had been designed to fit his girth.
Avalyn sighed pensively as she pulled out the quill and dipped it in the ink. She had so very much on her mind, thoughts and ideals swirling in the weary depths. She had been pondering the course of her future since the realization that Charles was dead, thoughts that became clearing as the day began to dawn.
Even as she had spoken with Barton, and with William, in the back of her mind she still know what she needed to do. She would not remain here, waiting to be used as a pawn again by her ambitious uncle. Nay; she intended to take charge of her life as no woman ever had. As always, she intended to do what she wanted to do, and to the devil with her uncle. He may have won the battle, but she intended to win the war. As William lit a bank of fat tapers, producing more light for her to see by, Avalyn began to carefully scribe.
She could feel William’s curiosity from where she stood but she ignored him as she cautiously sketched out each letter. She was nearly finished before she spoke again.
“This is a directive to my uncle,” she said softly, scratching out the last few letters. “As I said before, he will undoubtedly be planning on who else he can wed me to once he discovers that Charles has passed. We cannot keep my husband’s death from him forever, so this missive is designed to circumvent anything he might try to do. Whatever happens, I want Guerdley Cross to remain intact. I want it for this child.”
William was listening to her with both concern and interest. “What will you do?”
Avalyn stopped writing and turned to him. “This missive makes my wishes known, as Lady Aubrey,” she replied. “In this missive, it states that even though my husband is dead, I am pregnant with his child and the Aubrey estates are my child’s birthright and will be held in state for the child until I return. It also states that I am taking an indefinite leave of Guerdley Cross. I will be traveling for an unknown amount of time and during my absence, Barton St. John is in charge of Guerdley Cross and has my permission to make any and all decisions regarding the Aubrey estates in my absence. I also make it very clear that I will return someday but I do not say when. Truthfully, I do not know if I will ever return, but this way, Barton is in charge of Guerdley Cross and my uncle cannot touch it. If he cannot locate me, then he cannot marry me off, and Guerdley Cross remains in state until I return.”
William understood well her logic; he had to admit that it was brilliant. But something more concerned him. “Where will you go?” he asked.
Avalyn met his gaze steadily. “To a little bread shop in London,” she said softly. “After that, I am not entirely sure. I will send you word when I know.”
William’s expression tightened dramatically at the realization of something he should have suspected all along. Avalyn may have married Aubrey, but Brogan was not out of her mind, not in the least. Now that Aubrey was dead, there was nothing to prevent her from going to Brogan and finishing what she had started.
“So you will go to d’Aurilliac?” he hissed. “Avalyn, how can you do that? With everything you have put that man through, how can you return to him and continue his torment?”
Avalyn knew it would be his reaction and it was difficult not to react in kind. “I will not continue his torment,” she murmured. “I will marry him.”
William’s eyebrows few up in disbelief. “Marry him?” he spat. “What of the conversations we had where you acknowledge there was no possibility of a harmonious marriage for the two of you? What about everything you said whilst locked in the vault? Was that all a lie?”
She was growing increasingly defensive. “I said all of that because of my betrothal to Charles and you know it,” she fired back softly. “I had to say that to save all of us from spending the rest of our lives in the vault. Now, with Charles dead, there is no reason why Brogan and I cannot be married. William, I love him. He is the father of my child. I will always love him and not being with him, to be a pawn in my uncle’s schemes for more power and wealth, have ripped out my soul. I want Brogan and I will have him, right or wrong. If I have to choose between love and my honor, I will choose love every time.”
It was a passionate speech, enough to cool William’s building rage. He just stood there and stared at her, sickened to the bone.
“As I would choose love,” he muttered, “for I have loved you as long as I can remember. Forget about Brogan, Avalyn. Marry me and we will live here at Guerdley Cross as man and wife, and I will love you and only you until I die. Do me this honor; please.”
Avalyn’s defensive stance took a direct hit; she had been expecting a confession like this for a very long time and the expression on his face cut her to the bone. Her dear friend, the man she could not do with out… but she did not love him. It was a horribly painful thing to tell him.
“Oh… William,” she whispered sorrowfully. “You are my very dearest friend and I love you as such. But I do not love you as a wife would love a husband. You deserve a woman who would worship you, but that woman is not me.”
William knew that but to hear it from her lips cut him all the same. Still, he could not give up; he had loved her too long to give in so easily.
“Will you not at least consider it?” he whispered.
Avalyn’s expression was wrought with pain as she reached out, putting her hand over his. “I cannot,” she murmured. “I love Brogan and I will do whatever necessary to be with him. As you love me, surely you can understand that. If we were separated, and in love, surely you would do whatever you had to in order to be with me.”
He could feel her palm on his hand, the heat searing his flesh. God, it was a painful moment for him, one he’d hoped would have gone more in his favor. But he could see that it was not to be. If he was honest with himself, he supposed he knew that all along. But letting go… that was the difficulty.
“Aye,” he whispered, barely audible. “I would do whatever necessary.”
Avalyn squeezed his hand and let go. “Then you understand that I must go to London now,” she said softly. “I will not expect you to escort me, but mayhap you can arrange for someone who will. I would be grateful.”
Jaw ticking, face lined with sorrow, he shook his head and averted his gaze, moving away from the desk.
“Nay,” he muttered. “I will take you myself. I have been with you this far. I will be with you until the end.”
Avalyn watched him go with tears in her eyes. She wanted to say more to him but dare not; she was afraid any further exchange would end up in heated words and she did not want that. Next to leaving Brogan in that dirty cell those weeks ago, it was the singularly most painful thing she had ever had to do. William had always been so good to her; it would seem he would continue to be until his services were no longer required. With a heavy sigh, she sanded the ink on the missive and rolled up the vellum, sealing it with the Aubrey seal. Her entire life was sealed up in that document, and before the sun hit noon on that day, she and William were riding on for London.
When Richard read the missive two days later, delivered by Barton St. John no less, he was so angry that he burst a blood vessel in his eye. Whether or not she was physically present, it looked to all concerned that Avalyn had left her uncle with a figurative, and literal, black eye.
She’d won the war.
Chapter Seventeen
Three weeks later
&nb
sp; Brogan couldn’t help but notice that little Lake was gaining weight. With his mother’s constant tending, and feeding, the little girl had turned into a healthy little cherub with round rosy cheeks. She was sweet, and funny, and an utter joy to be around. In fact, it had almost been enough to take his mind off his horrendous grief at times, but not entirely. He still had moments of melancholy so painful that he would literally double over from it.
It had been over two months since that painful scene with Avalyn in the vault of Guerdley Cross. He lived that moment over and over in his mind on a daily basis. Because he had a tendency towards great and almost suicidal depression, as evidenced on the night he met Avalyn, his mother and St. Alban were with him almost constantly. If one wasn’t around, the other was. He knew it was because they were worried about him and he had reassured them both more than once that he would never again do anything foolish against his life. Even though they nodded their heads, he knew they didn’t believe him.
But their doubt and constant attention didn’t bother him now like it had in the earlier days. In fact, everything had bothered him in the first few weeks as they had all returned to London like a rag-tag band of gypsies; him, St. Alban, his mother, little Lake, and the sirens. All of them traipsing back to London in defeat. The sirens had returned to their lair in the troop house while St. Alban had split his time between there and the bread shop. All of them, trying to resume their lives before they had uprooted everything and had traveled north. Still, the normalcy they sought was fragile; there were days that all seemed well and days that seemed dark.
But little Lake gave them all something to focus on, her youth and beauty filling their lives like the brilliance of stars. For Brogan, in particular, since she went nearly everywhere with him. No longer a soldier for Edward, he now lived with his mother in the little apartment over her bread shop. He didn’t want to be a warrior any longer; he wanted to live as a simple man because it seemed the more pleasing thing to do. He found that he was actually happier there than he’d been in a very long time. Memories of Avalyn, for the most part, were easing.
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