Barton was standing a few feet away from her, looking down into her pale face. “I understand that, my lady. But it does not change what has happened or what you have done. You seek to assert power over something you have absolutely no control over, and you do not care who you hurt in the process.”
“You are so wrong, Sir Barton,” she said softly. “I do indeed care who I hurt. I care very much. But your liege was thrust into the middle of something that was in process long before he entered the situation. It was never my intention to hurt anyone, least of all Charles. But if my choice is between his contentment and mine, I will once again apologize for being a very selfish woman. I would like to marry a man of my choosing, not my uncle’s.”
Barton just looked at her, understanding her words but not agreeing. But in speaking with her, hearing her softly-uttered explanation, he was coming not to think so harshly of her. She was young and in love. And, truth be told, deep down, he very much admired her devotion to d’Aurilliac. More than he would admit. Still, he could not condone her actions. His gaze moved to Aubrey as he turned away, pacing back towards the long lancet windows that lined the west side of the solar. He had nothing more to say.
Charles alternately watched him go and watched the lady’s expression. She was still on her knees, still holding his hands. When she finally did turn to look at him, there were more tears welling in the golden eyes. She squeezed his hands.
“Please, my lord,” she begged softly. “Let William go. He was only doing what I ordered him to do. He is a true and faithful knight.”
“But he betrayed me.”
“He does not serve you. He serves me.”
Charles pursed his lips at the technicality. “If I release him, it will be to send him back to de Neville. I do not want him here.”
Avalyn blinked, realizing she was gaining at least part of her request. William would be released and sent back to Warwick in disgrace. But at least he would be free.
“Very well,” she breathed. “And Brogan? What do you intend to do with him?”
Charles shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Barton. The knight refused to look at him, still gazing from the lancet windows. Avalyn could see his indecision and she pounced.
“If you think on it, my lord, he’s truly done nothing wrong,” she insisted softly. “He did not actually commit a crime other than pretend to be his father.”
Barton could not remain silent. “Impersonating a knight is a serious offense, my lady,” he said sharply. “Punishment for that is thirty days in the stocks at the very least, and another year in the vault. I’ve even seen men with their right hand cut off in punishment. What he has done is indeed a crime.”
She let go of Charles’ hands and stood up, facing Barton. His ire had roused her own. “Your agitation at this offense couldn’t be because he beat you in the estor and almost defeated you in the mêlée, could it? Had I not asked Charles to stop the battle, the outcome could have been, shall we say, less than positive in your favor.”
Barton would not show his frustration any more than he already had; it had been a mistake, he could see. She was taking advantage of it, trying to unbalance him. He realized at that moment that the lady was quite a formidable opponent and he gained a strange respect for her. Yet, being a de Neville, he should have expected her to do exactly what she did.
“That is possible,” he said evenly. “But we are not speaking of me. We are speaking of d’Aurilliac and his punishment.”
“What punishment?”
Barton’s gaze traveled to Charles once again. “That is for Lord Aubrey to decide.”
Avalyn turned back to Charles. “Please show mercy, my lord,” she was back on her knees before him. “He committed a crime as the result of his love and devotion to me. He was not attempting to harm you in any way. All he wanted was me. Can you not understand a man’s love for a woman and show mercy in your judgment?”
Charles looked at her. “I will ask a question, my lady, and I would like an honest answer.”
“You have my word, my lord.”
“If you were in my position, knowing what you know and how this deception has been carried out, what judgment would you render?”
She stared at him blankly for a moment. He saw her hesitation and stood up, his brown eyes boring into her. “Honestly, my lady. Answer me honestly.”
Avalyn thought a moment, knowing exactly how her uncle would have handled it. He would have done away with Brogan simply to be rid of the threat. But she was not her uncle. Cornered, she knew she could not speak anything but the absolute truth and hope that he would not take her advice.
“There are two options that I would probably consider,” she said quietly, feeling weak and sorrowful as she spoke. “The first option would be to keep him in the vault and make sure the marriage took place as quickly as possible. After that, I would make sure the man was escorted to the nearest port and shipped to points Far East with the promise that if I saw him again, I would kill him. The second option, of course, would be to simply keep him a prisoner indefinitely.” Her gaze came up to him, the golden eyes brimming with emotion. “Or you could simply let him go.”
Charles met her gaze, feeling the anguish. Lord, he was such a weak man. “I would let him go only if you agreed to marry me this night,” he said. He made soft demands. “No more delays, Avalyn. No more foolishness.”
She hung her head, hating the words she must bring forth, hating herself for thinking with her heart and not her head. “I would rather spend the rest of my life in the vault with Brogan than spend the rest of my life as Lady Aubrey.”
Her words were like a slap across his face. Charles’ head literally snapped back. Inflamed, he made an uncharacteristically impulsive decision, so swift that the words poured from his mouth before he could stop them.
“Very well,” he said with more strength to his voice than she had ever heard. “Barton, take her to the vault and lock her up. Maybe a few days in a cold cell will cause her to see the error of her ways.”
Barton was across the floor in two long strides, taking her firmly by the arm. Avalyn didn’t so much as look to Charles; she kept her head lowered and did not resist when Barton pulled her from the solar. Once through the entry and down the steps into the faded afternoon sunlight, Barton guided her across the dusty bailey. Hard and professional though he might be, it did not prevent him from hearing her soft sobs and being touched by them. He fought off the sympathy that threatened.
The vault of Guerdley Cross was in the gatehouse at the front entry. Barton took her into the cool, dark room that held the stairwell that led into the bowels of the vault. The narrow stairs were slippery and had it not been for Barton’s iron grip, she would have fallen. Once into the sublevel that held four small cells and a bottle prison in the floor, her eyes adjusted to the weak torchlight and she could see three familiar faces gazing back at her.
Brogan, William, and St. Alban were in various positions in the same cramped cell. When they saw her face, the three of them collectively gasped.
“Avalyn,” Brogan breathed, his big body pressed against the iron bars. “Why are you here, sweetheart? This is no place for you.”
She didn’t answer as Barton used the old iron keys to open the cell opposite the men. He didn’t throw her inside, but his firm guidance into the small, dank cell was obvious. Avalyn just stood there in the middle of the cell as he locked her in. Ignoring the curious men behind him, he faced her with his hands on his hips.
“Listen to me, my lady, and listen well,” he rumbled. “I seem to be the only person in this entire castle that is thinking clearly, for I have no emotional ties nor personal investment in this situation. If you are wise, you will heed my advice.”
Avalyn looked at him, forlorn and weak. She was struggling with defeat, struggling not to let it overtake her. But it was a losing battle.
Barton’s jaw ticked as he continued. “Agree to marry Aubrey this night and I swear that your friends shall go free,
” he said quietly, firmly. “Inglesbatch will go back to your uncle without a word of why he’s been sent back, d’Aurilliac will be sent back to London under escort, and the old man, whoever he is, will be released outside of Guerdley and sent along his way.” He took a step closer to her, his hands now on the iron grate. “Avalyn, you are betrothed to Aubrey. No matter how much you love d’Aurilliac, or how much you think you love him, the truth is that you and he will never be able to live a normal life in England. And here is where your family is; it is where you were born, where you have wielded considerable wealth and power your entire life. Never imagine that a life of poverty with a foot soldier is something you will be grateful for in the long run. If you marry Aubrey, you will be thankful that you did your duty, that you married whom you were told to marry, and that you retained your honor and dignity. Running off with d’Aurilliac will only bring you resentment and regret in the years to come. You must understand this.”
By the time he was finished, she wasn’t feeling so disoriented. In fact, much to her horror, he made a good deal of sense. “Why would you give me such advice?” she whispered. “You’ve held no great love or respect for me. Why should you help me?”
“’Tis not you I am helping,” he said, though by the expression on his face, she could see that it was not the truth. “I serve Aubrey. You are making him miserable and he’s done nothing to deserve it. Through your behavior, you have demonstrated that you are not worthy of him, yet he wants you all the same. Do something right, my lady. Do what you have been pledged to do. Regain your honor and cease with these lies. They do not become you.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment before he turned and walked away. Avalyn’s gaze moved with him, watching him fade up the dark stairwell. St. John’s words left a lingering aftertaste, soft yet unmistakable. The more she dwelt on them, the more powerful they became. Then she looked at the men in the cell across from her; Brogan had a black eye, St. Alban looked haggard, and William was just plan miserable. She knew that their despair was all her doing. Barton was very correct and very wise.
“Is he right?” she whispered as if the thought suddenly occurred to her. “Have I lost my honor? Have I been so horrid and deceitful that I have defiled myself completely?”
No one answered right away. Brogan’s deep blue eyes glittered at her with bottomless emotion, brimming with sentiment that reached out to touch her. It had been the first time he had seen her in nearly two days, and the sight of her in a cell, weary and beaten, was almost more than he could take. Her words were destroying him.
“You did what you had to do,” St. Alban said, seating on the dank straw behind Brogan. “We all did what we felt was right. It is immoral for two people in love to be kept apart. We took a chance to help you. But that chance has failed.”
“It has not failed,” Brogan growled, his hands gripping the iron bars and his eyes riveted to Avalyn. “It has only been delayed. She is not married to him yet. There is still a chance.”
“It is over, Brogan,” St. Alban said, stronger. “You have been defeated.”
“I have not been defeated,” Brogan roared even before St. Alban finished his sentence. “I will not give up. I will continue to fight until there is nothing left to fight for.”
“And look what it has gotten you,” William said from his other side, his voice strong and resolute. “Look where you are, d’Aurilliac; you’re in a dungeon. Your lady is in a dungeon and all of the people sworn to help you are in a dungeon. Your pride has condemned us all.”
Brogan whirled on William. “So you would give up? You would waste every effort you have made to help us? Why would you crumble so easily, William?”
William’s round blue eyes did not back down from Brogan’s intense expression. “Look around you and ask yourself if the fight is not over.” He moved away from the mossy stone wall, making his way towards Brogan. “I told you I wanted to see Avalyn happy. More than anyone, I wanted to see that. I agreed to help you both when I knew very well that it was wrong. But this plan was risky from the onset; like a house of cards, if one card fails, the entire structure crumbles. Somehow, somewhere, a card failed. I do not know where or how, but it did. Now there is nothing left to salvage. You heard St. John; if Avalyn agrees to marry Aubrey this night, then they will let us go. I believe that is a show of infinite mercy, considering this is not the first time that you and Avalyn have been caught trying to run off together. If you try again, they will kill you. Know when you have reached your limits, man, if for no other sake than for Avalyn’s. She has far more to lose than you do.”
Brogan did not want to agree with him, but something deep inside him was struggling to burst free, to be heard, and to concede that the fight was, indeed, over. He looked over at Avalyn; she was crying, tears running in rivers down her cheeks and onto her neck. He couldn’t stand her tears. As always, he found himself deferring to her, wanting so badly to keep fighting but knowing that William was, by all accounts, more than likely right.
“Avalyn,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want to do. Tell me what to do and I shall do it.”
She blinked, fat tears dripping off her lashes. “Oh, Brogan….”
“Do not cry, mein schatz,” he murmured. “There is no need for tears. Tell me what you want to do.”
The sobs came forth and she wept softly before answering. “Perhaps William is right,” she whispered. “Perhaps… perhaps the fight is over. As much as I love you, and will always love you, there are stronger forces at work against us. Look at William and St. Alban; they are all but ruined. We did this to them, you and I. We must beg their forgiveness and right our wrongs. We must not be selfish any longer.”
Brogan gazed at her, hearing her words, knowing that she was preparing to surrender. Gripping the iron bars, he hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off the tears and the cries of anguish. He ended up crumbling, falling to his knees, lethargically rolling over onto his buttocks and leaning his back against the old iron grate. He sat there, staring into the darkness of the cell, pondering the future now that Avalyn was slipping away from him.
“No, Avalyn,” he breathed. “God, please, no….”
“We must, Brogan,” she sobbed quietly. “To save your life, and William’s life, and St. Alban’s life… we must.”
“But I cannot….”
“You must, Brogan. We must.”
He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. There was a long, heavy pause before he finally spoke. When he did, his voice had the resonance of a dead man.
“If that is your wish, mein schatz, I will abide by it.”
“It is over, Brogan.”
“Aye, my lady. There will be no schritte der herrlichkeit for us. It is over.”
Steps of glory. His words took all of the strength from her body. Avalyn collapsed on the dank cell floor, her tears flowing freely. Brogan turned to face her, reaching his arm out between the bars, trying to touch her. She saw his hand and she extended her arm though the restrictive grate, her fingers stretching for him, wanting so badly to feel him.
“I love you, Brogan.”
“And I love you.”
Twenty inches and an entire country separated them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
One month later
It was the most lavish wedding anyone in attendance could remember seeing.
The bride was clad in yards of ivory satin and jewels, while the groom, red-faced and sweaty, was giddy throughout the entire ceremony, so much so that he dropped his Bible, dropped the ring, and had difficulty standing from prayer. Barton stood close behind him most of the time, as Aubrey seemed to be having trouble holding his balance. He laughed, and attributed it to his nerves and too much wine. Avalyn thought he looked rather sickly, but she too attributed it to the excitement. She’d never seen someone so completely thrilled.
Uncle Richard and Aunt Anne were in attendance, as was young Anne. Isobel was with Clarence, having married him two weeks prior in London. Avalyn was
sorry she had missed the ceremony for her cousin’s sake, but she had been busy planning her own ceremony and trying to focus on something other than her complete misery. Every time she thought of Brogan, she burst into tears. She had gone about her tasks with no heart and no soul, a former shell of her once-vital self. She was, for all intents and purposes, dead.
But there were small things to be thankful for, even in the darkness that surrounded her. Charles had showed his true benevolence the day she had agreed to marry him without delay; he had Brogan and St. Alban escorted from Guerdley Cross that very day under St. John’s watchful eye and, in a complete show of mercy, allowed William to remain. After his anger had calmed, and profound remorse set in for his show of temper, he was eager to make amends to the lady.
Though Avalyn had agreed to marry him immediately, Charles knew that everyone, especially the de Nevilles, were expecting a massive affair. To marry her in a ceremony lacking pomp or circumstance would not have been fitting for either of their stations. Therefore, with Brogan gone, and on the lady’s word that any relationship between she and Brogan was forever ended, Charles agreed to postpone the wedding for a few weeks so that a sumptuous event could be planned.
In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, William kept a very discreet presence around Avalyn. If Charles wanted to be near her, he would politely excuse himself. No longer was he the cloak that shielded her from her betrothed; Avalyn had made it clear that it was no longer necessary. Even so, William felt some jealousy and concern over Aubrey’s unchaperoned visits with the lady. For some reason, he still felt the strong need to protect her, even from her intended. Aubrey was a good man, a benevolent man, but he still didn’t like him close to Avalyn. He wasn’t good enough for her, in William’s opinion. Perhaps there was just the smallest part of him that didn’t think anyone was good enough for her.
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