The first maidservant, Anna, was still nervous. “But...”
Claire elbowed her. “That’s the Irishman, silly.”
“So?” A knowing look from Claire caused her to brighten and she exclaimed. “Oh! That Irishman. Well, Sir Sile-er-Patrick, please help yourself.”
The two maidservants rushed out of the kitchen, tittering in their Anglo slang. Patrick watched them leave, then shrugged to himself and opened the pantries. He found some cheese, a not-too-rubbery chunk of bread, cured ham, and even a flagon of wine, and sat down with his meal at the table by the door, where the scullery maids sat to cool off whenever they had a moment.
He was halfway through the bread when a sleepy-eyed Aimeé appeared in the doorway. A hand pushed her from behind and she was forced farther into the dying firelight near the hearth. She turned behind her and then turned to Patrick, then again to the doorway she had just come. Her expression was just as confused as Patrick’s.
The Irishman stood. “Good evening, Mademoiselle de la Chasse.”
Aimeé pulled the blanket she still wore about her. “You remembered my full name.”
Patrick nodded.
There was a moment of silence. Aimeé looked about the room to pass the time. She looked everywhere but at Patrick.
“Please, won’t you have a seat? Join me for some food,” he said finally.
The maidservant shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but I will sit with you, if you like.”
“I’d like that very much.” Patrick offered her a seat next to him at the kitchen prep table. “You look in much better shape than I,” he said when she sat. “Your face, I mean.”
Aimeé smiled. “I’d agree. You look as if a hundred wild horses trampled you.” She looked away. “I heard what happened between you and Geoffrey... I guess you fought over bragging rights, eh?”
Patrick’s brow furrowed in anger. “No, mademoiselle. It wasn’t like that at all. And if you knew me any better, you would know that.”
“But that is it, isn’t it? I don’t know you at all,” she quipped, losing some of her fear. Under the deference, she wasn’t so unlike Katherina.
“I’m sorry for that. I behave the way I do towards you not because you are a servant, but because I feared liking you...and lately in my life, I have feared liking anyone.”
The hard line of Aimeé’s mouth softened a bit. “That doesn’t seem to be the case with the Lady Katherina.”
Patrick picked at his ham. “Well, the only reason she reached me to any extent to begin with is because I was obligated by duty to spend time with her. She was in a position to work her way into my life.”
“You sound as if you almost regret that.”
Patrick was quiet for a moment. Aimeé didn’t rush his answer, but found a whetting stone and produced a small knife, the kind all the servants carried, and worked on the blade. It was short and narrow, and her hands moved as if this was a task she’d done so many times that she no longer needed to pay attention to her work.
“Maybe I do regret that.” Patrick shrugged. “As I said, I’ve been afraid to let any one near me. They have a tendency to leave me in one way or another.”
“That sounds like a classic man perception,” Aimeé laughed. “Does Katherina know this? Or are you doing another classic man-thing and letting it all happen without her knowing your intention.” She turned the blade and whetted the other side.
“We have talked about it much. She knows how I feel, and I know how she feels. We have a common understanding. We are only the best of friends. As for my intentions, I have no idea what will happen.”
“Most men don’t.” She rolled the knife back into the waistband of her skirt.
Patrick was glad to see the maidservant in good humor for once. He finished the last of his meal, stretched, and shivered a little. “It may be spring, but this Avalon evening was cold. I think it will be a while before I recoup my warmth.”
Aimeé opened up her blanket. “We can share, if you like.”
Patrick hesitated.
“You’re cold,” she said, “so here’s a blanket. I’m cold, so I want some too. Be practical.” She extended the blanket and he wrapped the opposite side about him. He now sat next to her body, trying to preserve an inch of propriety between them. They sat silently for a while, watching the dying embers of the fire. The light was a brilliant orange and the heat felt good.
“Sir Patrick?” Aimeé said.
He grunted.
“Can I be your friend?”
“Yes, of course.”
Another silent moment passed and Aimeé ventured another question. “Would...would you put your arm around me? It’s not the same from another woman.”
Patrick hesitated again, then relaxed a little and lifted his arm. “Yes, I can’t see why not.” She slipped under his arm and held on tightly. After a moment, he held her back just as strongly. Now that he actually touched her, he was surprised by how firm her body was. Her skin was smooth and the color of buttermilk. Except for her hands; they were calloused from years of work and perpetually off color. He expected her to smell of wash water and sweat, but she did not at all. She smelled of apples and heather.
The servant girl’s body started to shudder almost imperceptibly, and the shudders grew into little convulsions. Sobbing noises came from her chest.
Patrick stroked her thick wild hair and rocked her gently.
#
In the darkness of the corridor outside the entrance, the Lady Katherina stood watching. Her wintery eyes iced over and her jaw set firm. She turned and briskly walked away.
#
Sir Corbin jogged down the path, holding onto his sword so he would not trip over it. He called to the Irishman. “Patrick, hold up.” He didn’t have a hard time catching Patrick; the poor fellow looked exhausted.
“Corbin, what can I do for you?” Patrick asked, and then smiled. “Actually, what can I not do for you?”
Corbin slapped a hand to Patrick’s back, then looked over their shoulders and steered him in another direction. “I have a request for you.”
Patrick nodded. “Easy enough, what is it?”
“I’d like you to be the one to go to Aesclinn and tally up what we owe the pig farmers for this week’s account.”
Patrick stopped in his tracks. “The pig account? Why me? That is such a tedious and menial thing to do. Besides, it’s Waylan’s turn this week, isn’t it?”
Corbin made a face and rubbed his pot belly where it hung over his belt. “The truth of the matter is, you are scheduled for valley patrol today and so is Geoffrey. We thought it would be best if we kept you two boys apart for a while. Otherwise you will kill each other. Then where will I be? A dead Avangarde, a dead Reservist, funeral arrangements, explaining to do...”
“So send Geoffrey on pig patrol. He’d be right at home with the swine.”
Corbin laughed. “Maybe, but there is that pesky seniority thing.”
Patrick nodded. “All right, all right. I’ll do it if it helps.”
Corbin winked at the Irishman. “There’s a good man.”
#
Before he left the keep for the day, Patrick went looking for Katherina to tell her that he would be late for their afternoon walk.
“That is fine, Patrick, I already made plan,” she said.
Patrick blinked. “What? Why?”
Katherina returned her attention to a complicated piece of embroidery. “You have been very busy lately, I thought you would have to skip on walk again. So when someone invite me on carriage ride, I accept. Is there problem?”
“I, uhm, well no. I don’t mind.”
“Mind? I hope not. After all, we agreed...”
“Yes, yes. Serves me right for even starting to be selfish. I hope you have fun.”
“Oh, I will.”
Patrick hesitated in the doorway. The options were to either leave and torture himself, or ask and look like a fool. His hand lightly traveled the grain of the door, and he frow
ned. “Just out of curiosity, who is it that invited you?”
Katherina crossed her arms. “Viscount Loki.”
Patrick winced. But on the bright side, he thought, once one came to know the Viscount, his abrasive nature was obvious enough. Katherina would not tolerate such a man for long. “Well, I must be going. Have fun.”
“Duty calls, I know, Sir Patrick. I will enjoy myself.”
#
Patrick was irritable throughout the bargaining session with the farmers. It wasn’t really much of a bargaining session: the farmers quoted what they felt they should receive and Greensprings offered the money, and not much negotiation went into it. Any staff member from Greensprings could have done it, but the duty was left to the Avangarde. It was a continuation of Wolfgang von Fiescher’s vision of a humble order of knights. When the money had changed hands, he left Aesclinn in a hurry.
His last words with Katherina troubled him. She had seemed cold and distant and annoyed that his duties interfered. She had so often encouraged him to become more active with the knights, and now that he was, she was jealous of his time. He still didn’t understand the girl, but he was eager to see her and try to patch things up.
While putting up Siegfried, he noticed that Loki’s horses were still in their stables. Pig duty had taken several hours, but that was not long enough to go out for a proper ride and come back.
He searched for her then in the keep, and came up empty.
Jon the Informant, of all people, would know where she was. Patrick came across Sir Jon and Sir Jeremiah at the edge of the garden.
“Did they not go on a carriage ride?” he asked.
Jon looked puzzled. “As far as I know they never intended on it. That would require an escort, and they never ever requested one.”
Patrick pursed his lips. “Are they together at all?”
Jon looked defensive and a little uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“Then where are they?”
Jon tilted his head in the direction of the path to the garden. Patrick’s heart stopped. The garden was the place people went for privacy. That would explain why they did not go on a carriage ride, because that would require going outside the walls of the keep and an Avangarde escort...which would negate privacy. But why would Katherina lie about it?
The secrecy, Jon’s hesitant behavior, Katherina’s distancing. His heart not only stopped, it fell from his breast onto the dusty ground. He approached a stone pillar and leaned on it heavily. Sir Jon and Sir Jeremiah rose and touched his shoulder, and headed back toward the keep, sensing that he wanted to be alone.
It became incredibly apparent what had happened. What he had allowed to happen. How could he be so stupid? Why did he let this happen? He wasn’t quite sure what he was more angry at: that he had let Katherina down by not paying her enough attention, or by letting himself down by allowing himself to fall for her when he was trying so hard not to.
He sighed, sat on the bench, and hung his head. He rested like that for some time, damning his luck and pondering what to do next. He had just started to laugh again with her. To be carefree and liberated of worldly matters. She had made him feel good and gave him attention and affection. Even the annoying arguments she caused, he enjoyed. However annoying they had been, they had made him reflect and question his beliefs―and consequently he had taken steps to better himself which looked good in the eyes of the Avangarde. And he had fallen into the trap of taking it all for granted. He was under the blatantly idiotic impression that she would always be there. And he had been absent, inconsiderate, and less-than-honest on such matters as Aimeé.
He felt stupid and sick.
Yet this was exactly the behavior Katherina would condemn. She did not tolerate defeat. He stood and strode quickly into the garden. He would find her, apologize for his insensitivity, and to hell with this “agreement” they had forged. He would let his true feelings be known and show her he had changed. He would not be Sir Silence.
Along the garden path, he stopped at a rosebush and plucked a flower, careful not to prick himself on the thorns.
#
“So, Lady Katherina, your face isn’t quite as long as it once was. Does this mean you have taken command of the former situation that caused you to have difficulties walking earlier?” Viscount Loki asked. He walked slowly with his hands grasped behind his back. The sun beat down hot and bright on the flagstone path and white rose blossoms.
“Let’s just say I take command of my heart.” She too walked with hands behind her back. “Lord Loki, why did you cancel our carriage trip for this?”
He shrugged. “I thought it would be more comfortable to speak in private. I doubt you wanted a knight riding beside us, bending his ear to our every word. Rumors find their beginnings in such a manner, and can have unpleasant repercussions.”
“Some more evident than others.”
“What was that, my Lady?” Loki inquired.
Katherina politely waved him off. “Nothing.”
The came to a central fountain, and Loki sat at the water’s edge and traced his fingers across its surface. The fountain was a masterful piece of work, almost magical in its elegance. It caught the sun and glowed whiter than the roses. Loki motioned for Katherina to join him. “Tell me, are you in need of a shoulder to lean on yet?” he asked. “The offer still stands.”
Katherina smiled. “Do you speak in symbol, or want me actually to lay head on you?”
Loki shrugged. “I must admit, I would rather it be literal. It would make me feel good to be of service to someone—but whatever makes you happy… I would be pleased either way. I am fortunate just to breathe the air around you, and I hope never to cause you to be so distracted that you would trip over your own feet in the darkness, as I witnessed some nights ago.”
Katherina’s eyes flicked up in a faint roll. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I have had too much of that recently.”
Loki gently grabbed her chin and looked at her with intense eyes; they swirled like a lightning-filled storm cloud. “I do not make promises I cannot keep,” for a split second, his demeanor became fierce, almost wicked, “and I do not tolerate those who do not keep theirs.”
Katherina stiffened at his sudden touch. He was leaning into her personal space, pressing his body against hers. Her jaw firmed and she nodded slowly, refusing to shy away from his gaze.
“I see,” she said, leaning away and breaking their contact. “You are sort who not suffer fools lightly. You take charge of situation. You set the rules. Am I correct?”
Loki shrugged, smug in his silent assent.
“You remind me of my uncle,” she said after a moment of staring off into space.
Loki’s teeth flashed. “Why, thank you.”
Katherina turned to him with a cold stare. “Not a compliment.”
Loki’s expression fell. “Oh, well, my apologies for being me.” He stood and wrung his hands nervously. “I sense there is a story with this uncle-fellow, but I won’t pry. I can assure you I’d never use my ego, considerable as it is, to hurt you.”
“Then I hope what you said earlier is true, that you keep promises.”
Loki kneeled at her feet, gesturing over his chest. “Cross my heart, hope to die, may you stick daggers in my eyes.”
Katherina’s eyes flared and a hint of a smile creased her lips. She leaned forward and cradled the Viscount’s craggy face in her hands. “Careful what you wish for.”
Loki reached up and pressed her hands into his face, his smile deepening. “As long as it is these hands pushing those blades.”
Katherina once again broke contact and pulled away. “Being confident is not bad thing―in fact, it very attractive. But when it becomes arrogance, it no good.”
“I concur,” Loki said, standing. “I take it this uncle was insufferable. If you would be so kind as to tell me what it was in particular about him that put you off, I shall find it easier to avoid making his mistakes.”
Katherina went icy. “I
would rather not talk about him, or why I am in Avalon.”
“I beg your forgiveness,” Loki said, bowing at the hip. “Despite my earlier statement, I find myself prying. I mean only to win your trust.”
“Then just be friend.”
After a moment of silence Loki said, “Certainly, but I have a suggestion as well. I want to tell you something about myself. Something I haven’t told anybody here. I have no one to share such things. I’d be honored if you would listen to me, and at the same time hope you will better understand and trust me.”
Katherina’s lips parted slightly but she did not speak. The awkward silence hung in the air. “I—I suppose that is acceptable.”
Loki took a deep breath. “Splendid.”
He stood then and paced, not saying anything for a while, keeping his back turned to her. At last he said, “I know it is not proper to divulge one’s reasons for being here. It is a sanctuary, a safe haven from the outside world and one’s problems there. Well, I do not mind telling you that I am in exile. I was forced away from my people due to a misunderstanding.” He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her as he spoke. “I say ‘my’ people, but they actually adopted me into their clan after tragedy had struck my homeland before that. They took me in when I had nothing. Their leader made a blood-brother out of me. It wasn’t long before they truly treated me like one of their own.” Loki started pacing, staring off into a different time. “They were a big-hearted and magnanimous folk, especially their leader and his wife. I called them ‘Father’ and ‘Mother.'We really were one big happy family.
“But for all their kindness and generosity with me, they were a simple and barbaric people who acted from their hearts more often than their minds. They were unsophisticated, even naive. They made enemies just as fast as they made allies. I am from a more diplomatic people. I used my skills on behalf of my new family and many times saved us all from tragedy. It wasn’t long before we were a secure tribe, and powerful. Father thanked me and was gracious, even when my personality and nature began to chafe the others. Father stood up for me when others grumbled, which became often. I found myself more and more at odds with my siblings. I tried to change them, modernize them too quickly.”
Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) Page 35
