England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Charles was clearly unhappy but said nothing. He would, as always, comply with the lady’s wishes. His brown eyes watched with disappointment and frustration as Avalyn quit the solar on William’s arm. He didn’t even notice Thel and Aggie, who were still in the room as they tended to Avalyn’s sewing things. After a moment, he simply walked out.

  When he was gone, Thel and Aggie looked at each other. Thel lifted her eyebrows.

  “He does not like William, does he?” she whispered.

  Aggie lifted her shoulders. “He does not like him so close to the lady.”

  Thel nodded in agreement. She set the thread aside that she had been rolling. “Did you catch a glimpse of Brogan?” she hissed.

  Aggie shook her head. “Nay. Did you?”

  “Nay.”

  “I wonder if we should go and find him?”

  Aggie cocked her strawberry blond head. “We would not attract attention, would we?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “Where should he be?”

  “Outside somewhere. Perhaps the barracks?”

  “Then let us go. Perhaps he will give us a message for my lady.”

  Quietly, the girls quit the room and ran to the front door, only to run headlong into Barton as he topped the landing outside. Skittish, they apologized swiftly and very nearly ran down the wooden steps. Barton paid them no mind, hardly wasting a glance on them. He didn’t even think twice about the fact that they seemed to be heading for the knight’s quarters.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I am tired of waiting.”

  Charles muttered the words as he watched St. John don his armor for the bout with Gervaise. Barton fumbled with a strap on his chest protection, glancing up into his liege’s fat face.

  “Waiting for what, my lord?” he asked.

  Charles sat heavily on the three-legged stool in the corner of Guerdley Cross’ armory. Set in one of the fat, squatty towers, it was a round room with ample storage space. Charles spent a good deal of time here, mostly because he was, in truth, a lonely man without many friends. He had known Barton since they had both been young men. He considered Barton a friend.

  “Marriage,” Charles finally said. “It is clear that the lady does not want to marry me, and I think I know why.”

  Barton knew why, too, and he didn’t particularly want to delve into the subject. But he had no choice. “Why is that, my lord?”

  Charles crossed his fat arms, watching Barton settle his shoulder armor where it was attached to the breast plate. “Because of Inglesbatch. I think she is in love with him.”

  Barton cleared his throat softly. “I do not believe that to be the case, my lord, although I firmly believe the man is in love with her.”

  Charles suddenly bolted from his stool, pacing with agitation. “I know that,” he snapped softly. “De Neville told me as much. If she’s not in love with him, then why does she spend so much time with him? Why are they always together?”

  St. John watched his liege a moment; he had to be careful in his words. Though Aubrey was a sedate man, the event of Avalyn du Brant had him on edge. It was obvious he adored her, and her lack of attention not only frustrated him, it also hurt his feelings.

  “They are always together, I believe, because she takes comfort with his familiar presence,” he replied evenly. “She is in a strange placed surrounded by strange people. He gives her comfort.”

  Charles looked at him. “Do you believe that is all it is?”

  No, he didn’t. The lady wasn’t interested in Aubrey in the least. But Barton did not say what he was thinking. “I do, my lord,” he replied after a brief hesitation. “I would not worry over Inglesbatch. He is a moral man and a good knight.”

  “But he is interfering with my ability to come to know the lady. She is to be my wife, after all. I cannot even talk to her without Inglesbatch hovering over us.”

  “Do you want me to send him away, my lord?”

  Charles pursed his lips, kicking distractedly at the floor. “I do,” he said. “But I fear it would only upset the lady.”

  Barton lifted his shoulders. “Then I suppose you must learn to deal with his presence, my lord.”

  The statement only served to invite a streak of resentment. Charles’ head came up, his blue eyes flashing. “I will demand a wedding date and be done with this foolishness. He cannot interfere if she is my wife.”

  “He will continue to be a nuisance unless you send him away or come to some sort of an agreement with him, my lord.”

  “Then we will have to come to an agreement. And I intend to wed the lady before the week is out.”

  “Then you should send for the priest immediately.”

  “Perhaps I will. Perhaps I will do it today.”

  Barton didn’t want to pursue the conversation any more; Charles was too weak-willed to actually push forward with his wants and Barton had a match to attend. Moreover, he was tired of these frequent frustration-induced conversations. He picked up his massive broadsword and scabbard from where it rested against the wall.

  “I have a bout pending, my lord,” he said. “Perhaps you would enjoy a bit of sport this afternoon.”

  Moping, Charles had the countenance of a spoiled child. But he nodded his head. “Perhaps you could fight Inglesbatch when you’re done with Gervaise. A lance in the wrong spot and William would be disabled for quite some time.”

  Barton raised an eyebrow. “You wish for me to injure him?”

  Charles gazed at him a moment, attempting to ascertain if St. John would really do such a thing. He was such a straightforward man that Charles suspected that, even if ordered, Barton would balk. He finally shook his head, not wanting to force such a confrontation with his knight. Besides, he didn’t really want to do it, anyway.

  “Nay,” he said. “It would only upset the lady.”

  Barton watched his liege a moment before strapping on his weaponry. He knew his liege well enough to know that Charles really hadn’t meant what he had said; beneath the weak-willed character and flab was a man who simply wanted to live a peaceful, easy life. He wasn’t cut out for command of a powerful baronetcy or the powerful marriage brokered by the Kingmaker. Had Aubrey been surrounded by less scrupulous people, he would have been easy to manipulate, as de Neville had so aptly done. But Barton was not only scrupulous, he was also protective of his liege. He thought that perhaps he might have a conversation with Inglesbatch himself to explain the way of things. Like it or not, Lady Avalyn was due to marry Aubrey and Inglesbatch would have to back off his zealous protective instincts where the lady was concerned if he wanted to stay at his post.

  The wind was blowing outside, slamming the door to the armory back on its hinges. The sharp sound startled both St. John and Aubrey from their correlating thoughts. Barton slapped his helm onto his blond head.

  “Shall we go, my lord?” he asked. “I must go to the stables and retrieve my charger.”

  Aubrey was up, moving slowly for the door. Then he suddenly perked. “The lady is there tending her horse. Perhaps we will see her.”

  He sounded just like an eager child. Barton was suddenly coming to feel some animosity towards the lady that would treat his liege so callously. “Perhaps, my lord.”

  Charles picked up the pace.

  *

  The wind was blowing with increasing intensity as the day progressed. The Guerdley Cross pennants of red and yellow snapped at the top of the keep as the wind whipped them about. As Avalyn and William crossed the bailey into the stable yards, Avalyn’s elaborate hairstyle was in danger of unraveling in the harsh breeze. Dust kicked up with the gusts.

  The stables were fairly protected against the northeast wall of the outerwall, a well-kept and busy place considering that Charles had a collection of warmbloods for breeding. Several mares, big animals that were well fed and happy, were in a corral. Avalyn passed by the corral, reaching out to stroke a velvet nose that was close by. The brown mare with the white spot on her forehead tried to
nibble on her and she laughed.

  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.