“Who knows why men truly argue?” she said with a weak smile. “A wrong word, a disagreement over what wine to serve with dinner; who truly knows? They used to be friends, and very good ones. But times have changed.”
Brogan seemed to accept that explanation. His deep blue eyes flickered thoughtfully. “If they are enemies, why is he here at the Tower? This is the king’s residence.”
She smiled ironically. “We are here because my uncle has business with the king’s brother. Moreover, the king is not in residence at this time. He is in the north. We will be leaving in a day or two to return to Warwick Castle just to make sure we don’t bump into the king upon his return.”
Brogan got the strangest look on his face. “You are leaving?”
She nodded. “We must return home.”
“Then I shall not see you again.”
She suddenly realized what he was saying. She thought perhaps the idea bothered him as much as it strangely bothered her.
“That is difficult to say. We return to the Tower now and again. It is quite possible you will see me at some point.”
His brow was furrowed as he thought on that. It flattered her to think that he was not fond of the idea that she was leaving. For lack of a better response, she patted his hand.
“But I am not leaving for at least a day,” she tried to sound positive, though she was unsure why this man should be distressed with her leaving. Unless he was becoming as curious and enamored with her as she was with him. “Until then, perhaps we may spend more time becoming acquainted. I am glad to have made a new friend in spite of the bizarre circumstances of our meeting.”
A bashful smile spread across his lips. It was a charming gesture, reminding Avalyn of a bashful young boy with his first taste of female companionship.
“I do not have any friends,” he admitted.
She thought he was exaggerating and feigned shock. “I do not believe that for one moment. St. Alban seems very fond of you. And those women…”
His smile vanished. “Those women are whores. I’ve not gone near them since they came to live in the barracks and, God willing, I never will. They are not my friends.”
He was deadly serious and she realized she had overstepped her bounds. “I am sorry,” she said sincerely. “I did not mean to offend you. I simply meant that surely a man as pleasant as you must have many friends.”
His eyes widened. Then, his mouth opened up and great guffaws burst forth. He had a full set of even, white teeth, giving him a strikingly handsome appearance. The laughter just made it all the more attractive. Avalyn’s heart did a strange little dance in her chest as she watched him laugh.
“I have never heard anyone say that I am pleasant,” he snorted. “Have you never heard of Brogan d’Aurilliac, my lady? I am the man who can crush with a look, cast death with the wave of my hand, and send men fleeing in terror with just one word. They call me the Monster. I have no friends because everyone is afraid of me. I mean them to be.”
She watched him chortle as the laughter died. “I am not afraid of you,” she said softly.
He stopped laughing and looked at her. “That is good. I do not want you to fear me.”
Something about the way he looked at her made her heart start racing again. She began to walk, heading away from the Beauchamp Tower. Brogan watched her for a moment before following.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
She continued walking, not looking at him. “If I return home, this conversation and this day shall be over. Is that your wish?”
“Nay,” he took a couple of giant steps and ended up next to her. “I wish this day would never end.”
It was a sweet thing to say. She smiled at him. “Would you like to the stable with me and see if my naughty horse has returned? Truthfully, we should thank the beast for introducing us.”
He simply nodded. She put her hand in his elbow and off they went again.
CHAPTER THREE
“He escorted her to the stables. The last I saw, they were inspecting her horse.”
Richard and Anne sat together in the fine reception chamber, the one that smelled so heavily of myrrh and smoke. The knight they had sent to follow Avalyn when she had left earlier that morning was back, and not with pleasing news. Avalyn apparently went right back to the barracks and engaged in some kind of interaction with d’Aurilliac. It was concerning information.
“Very well,” Anne said. “Go back and continue to track her. I would know all of her movements. And do not spare the detail. But if it looks as if it is getting out of hand, you have my permission to intercede.”
The knight who had reported back on the activities of Avalyn had been with Warwick a long time; he was a legacy knight, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather before him. Sir William Inglesbatch was a handsome man with a round face and big blue eyes. Average in height, he possessed a powerful body and a better sword hand than most. He had a natural command presence, great intelligence, a very business-like demeanor, and served close to the earl and countess. They trusted him implicitly, especially when it came to a delicate task such as this.
“Very good, m’lady,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
Though the knight quit the chamber, Anne and Richard were far from alone. There was another person with them. George, Duke of Clarence, was King Edward’s younger brother. He was also greatly at odds with his brother and had been for quite some time. Most Plantagenet families were plagued with sibling hatred and the sons of Richard, third Duke of York, were no exception. George saw his way to the throne through Richard de Neville. Richard had, after all, put his brother on the throne. He had every confidence in the Kingmaker that he would be the next in line. He had worked a very long time to achieve it.
“I would not worry over d’Aurilliac,” George said casually. “I know the man. He’s a soldier and nothing more. He has no great connections and I’ve never known the man to be involved in political intrigue. He’s a great stupid war beast and should be treated as such.”
Anne looked up at him. “Stupid?”
“Aye. Uneducated, dense.”
“He is not from a good family?”
“He is Germanic. I’m told his father was a great warrior, but the son does not have the cunning to be a true knight. He simply does as he is told, and with his enormous strength, that is a very good attribute.”
Anne nodded in understanding, but it still did not ease her. “’Tis not d’Aurilliac we are concerned with; it’s Avalyn. We told her to stay away from him and she deliberately disobeyed. If she disobeys on something as benign as this, who is to say she will not disobey when commanded on greater matters?”
George shrugged. “She has never proven herself untrustworthy before, has she?”
“Never.”
“And how old is she now?”
“She has seen twenty years.”
George threw up a hand. “There you have it. She is almost an old maid. Her great and astute mind has turned to marriage and children. Perhaps she would do better if you were to find her a husband within our ranks, someone loyal and powerful. Avalyn is, after all, a de Neville. She has the power and knowledge to make her a very valuable wife.”
Richard, toying with a pewter goblet, glanced at his guest. “You cannot be suggesting yourself, my lord,” he said, calculation in his tone. “The last you and I spoke, we had very nearly reached an agreement between you and my daughter.”
George put up a hand; he was a small man with a bad complexion. Not particularly likable, he was nonetheless a skilled and cunning negotiator. But one had to get past the boorish personality in order to appreciate his finer points.
“And we are in agreement,” he assured Richard. “Isobel and I shall be married come summer. What I was merely pointing out is that if you betroth Avalyn, a proper husband will keep her foolish female mind from wandering.”
“Avalyn has the least foolish female mind of any woman yo
u will meet,” Richard shot back softly. “Her counsel is wise and I value her opinion, as you well know.”
George sat his wine goblet down. “Then why do you fret over a dalliance with nothing more than a common soldier?”
Richard looked at his cup again. Anne looked at George. “Because she is destined for far greater things,” she said softly, firmly.
George lifted an eyebrow. “Then you had better direct her in the path of those far greater things.”
“Anyone in mind, my lord?”
George smiled. Odd that they should ask such a question.
*
“He does not appear lame,” Avalyn was crouched beside the big bay colt. “’Tis surprising with the sprinting he did over the cobblestones last night. He should have a bowed tendon at the very least.”
Brogan was crouched on the other side. He ran his big hands up and down the horse’s pastern, up the fetlock, feeling closely on the joint. Though he was inspecting the animal, his gaze kept moving to the lovely lady on the other side. It was difficult to concentrate. Finally, he stood up and slapped the horse affectionately on the neck.
“He seems sound,” he said. “This is a big horse, my lady. Why do you not ride something more your size?”
She stood up as well, an amused twinkle in her eye. “He is more my size,” she said firmly. “I like a horse with some spirit and speed, not those docile little palfreys. They are a bore.”
Brogan lifted an eyebrow. “Spirit and speed almost got you killed last night.”
She shrugged. “’Tis possible. Thankfully you were there to break my fall.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “And almost snapped my neck in the process.”
She laughed softly, patted the horse one last time, and came around from its other side. “Is that where I hit you?”
He took her arm to steady her as she picked her way across a pile of horse dung. “You hit my entire backside from my waist up.”
“You can take it,” she teased him. “You are a nice, big lad. You could probably get hit by a runaway ale cart and not feel it.”
He scowled at her, lightly done. “I would feel it, I assure you. But I am surprised you are as sound and whole as you are. Our collision was very hard.”
She rubbed at her belly. “Well,” she began reluctantly. “Truth be told, I am rather sore. My ribs and belly hurt a good deal.”
He paused, looking concern. “Did you see a physic? Perhaps you have cracked some ribs.”
She waved off his concern as they emerged from the stable and into the bright sunlight. “Even if they are cracked, there is naught the physic can do for me. I shall survive.”
Brogan just stared at her. She caught his expression and lifted her shoulders. “Why do you look at me like that?”
He hadn’t realized he was. He just shook his head. “You are unlike any fine lady I have ever seen or heard of.”
“How is that?”
“You are… strong.”
She laughed, the gesture lighting up her entire face. “Strong? Strong like an ox, you mean?”
He was chagrined that she took his meaning wrong. He was so stupid not to know the correct words when speaking to her. He’d done more talking in the past few hours than he had done almost in his entire life, and he still wasn’t any better at it.
“Nay,” he assured her. “I simply meant that you do not seem like one to complain. Your fall yesterday was violent, yet you hardly say a word about it.”
Her laughter faded and she patted his massive arm in a comforting motion. “I know what you meant,” she said, thinking perhaps that he didn’t have the quickest wit about him. “Not to worry, my lord.”
The feeling of her hand on his arm, however innocent, was enough to start his heart racing again. “I respect a woman who does not complain.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I’ve never had much to complain about.”
They emerged once again into the sunshine. The stables were busy around them, and a stray dog wandered close; Avalyn bent down to pet it. Brogan simply watched her, every movement, every gesture. There was something about her that made him gravitate towards her like a moth to flame. She could have walked into the fires of hell and he would have followed. But after the past few months of unadulterated grief, he was subconsciously clinging to the only bright thing that had entered his life. There was attraction most definitely, but there was also need.
Avalyn glanced up at him when she was finished petting the dog. The Tower was off to the southwest about a quarter mile, and the training field where he had just come from was directly south of them, bordering the stables. Now that the task was done, she had nothing further to do except go back to her apartment. But she wasn’t quite ready yet. There was something about Brogan’s presence that made her want to linger with him.
Well,” she came to a pause, gazing up into his angled face. “I suppose I should return home now. Surely you have other duties to attend.”
True, he was needed out on the training field. In the distance, he could see the recruits he had been working with earlier. But he wasn’t about to give this moment up without a fight.
“Have you eaten your morning meal yet, my lady?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
He smiled. “Would you eat with me, then? There is a bakery in town that makes wonderful Semmeln.”
She cocked her head. “Semmeln? What is that?”
“German bread. Sometimes it has raisins or nuts in it.”
The thought of experiencing something new always appealed to her. The thought of spending more time with him appealed even more. “I would like to try it.”
His smile broadened and he held out her elbow to her. She took it and once again, they were off.
It wasn’t a very long walk to the section of London he was speaking of. In fact, it bordered the training field to the southeast. Avalyn had never been to this part of town. One entire section of the street seemed to have nothing but Germanic shops; two bakeries, an import shop, and a merchant shop that sold a variety of goods and services. Brogan took her into the larger of the bakeries, a dimly lit place, and she was hit by the strong smell of baking bread when the door opened. Inhaling deeply, she laughed when Brogan did the same.
“God’s Teeth,” she exclaimed softly. “What a wonderful smell.”
There were a few tables set out before them; dark bread, lighter bread, bread in the shape of a basket, braided bread all met with her curious gaze. Brogan pointed to the different shapes and colors.
“Graubrot, Weissbrot, Schwarzbrot, and Brotbelag,” he said. “These are all different types of Germanic breads.”
She inspected the loaves closely without touching them. Sniffing at each one, she glanced up at him. “They smell strongly, but differently,” she observed. “How do you know so much about bread?”
He smiled, his carved dimples deep. “I told you my mother still lived in London. This is her shop.”
Before Avalyn could reply, a very large, very round woman suddenly came shooting out from the back of the store. Her gray hair was in a braid, woven up around the crown of her head, and she wore a very white shift with an embroidered red surcoat covered in flour dust. She threw her fat, dimpled arms around Brogan’s neck.
“Mein Lieblingjunge!” she exclaimed happily. “Sie sind gekommen, Mich zu sehen.”
Brogan put his arms around the woman, those massive things with every muscle, every tendon defined. He kissed her loudly on the cheek.
“Hallo, Mutter,” he replied. “Ich habe jemanden für Sie gebracht, sich zu treffen.”
The woman’s expression turned to one of surprise and she abruptly turned to Avalyn, standing a few feet away by the bread table. Avalyn smiled timidly and the woman dropped her arms from Brogan, dipping into a practiced curtsy.
“I am so sorry,” she said in a very heavy accent. “I did not see you, my lady.”
Brogan, grinning, put his han
d on the woman’s shoulder. “Lady Avalyn, this is my mother, the Good Wife Starke. Mama, this is the Lady Avalyn du Brant.”
Mama Starke went right to her, taking her hand between her two puffy ones. She studied Avalyn’s face as if inspecting the loveliest creature on the face of the earth. “Oh,” she sighed. “Brogan, she is just beautiful. So very, very beautiful. How did you be so lucky?”
Brogan wasn’t sure how to reply; he wriggled his eyebrows, snorting nervously when he couldn’t think of an answer fast enough. Mama Starke, eager and overjoyed, squeezed Avalyn’s hands happily.
“Do you mean to tell me that you are finally going to wed again?” she asked. “Oh, Brogan, think of the lovely babies you will have!”
The smile faded from Avalyn’s face as she looked at Brogan. He was positively mortified. “Nay, Mama,” he said. “The lady is… she is….”
“A friend, Goody Starke,” Avalyn said quickly, helping Brogan out of this mess. “Your son saved my life and we have become friends. He brought me here to try some of your marvelous bread.”
The woman’s eyes bulged. “He saved your life?” she gasped. “Mein schatz, how did he do this? What happened to you?”
“A run-away horse,” Avalyn explained. “Your son was in the right place to save me from certain death.”
Mama Starke threw a hand up, as if to thank God, and put a big fat arm around Avalyn’s shoulders. She pulled her towards a massive bank of shelves lined with fresh baked goods, practically smothering her with motherly concern. Avalyn had no choice but to follow.
“Then we must take care of you,” she insisted. “What would you like? I know! You would like honey bread with raisins.”
The woman had such a heavy accent that it was difficult to understand her, but Avalyn sensed she was a truly loving woman just by her manner. She obviously adored Brogan. Avalyn could hardly get a word in as Mama Starke shoved honey buns into her hands, insisting she eat, but then in the same breath shoving pieces of very dark and other flavored breads at her. It wasn’t long before Avalyn had enough bread to feed a small village and she looked for a place to sit before it all ended up on the floor.
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