“Thank you again,” she offered, half-farewell, half-apology for the strange departure.
Thel merely lifted a hand, twitching her fingers in a weak wave. The pasted-on polite smile faded as Brogan, Avalyn and St. Alban faded back down the hall. It was a wistful expression she now held. Not for Brogan; for what she wished to be. She wished to be a lady, too. But it was a secret wish, one that would never come true. Still, it made her feel good to have come into contact with a fine woman. Somehow it made her better than the others. Softly, she closed the door.
Far down the hall, Avalyn looked up at Brogan. “That was very rude of you not to have at least offered a farewell,” she said frankly.
He looked at her. “Why?”
“Because it is,” she couldn’t believe she actually had to explain his behavior. “That woman, what is her name? Thel? Was kind to me. Did you ever thank her for her assistance?”
He was surprised. “Me?”
“Did you, or did you not, seek some sort of assistance from her after finding me in the river?”
He had. “I did not have any dry garments for you.”
“Did you ever thank her?”
He blinked. He didn’t think he had, but he could not remember. In truth, the thought had never occurred to him. He finally shook his head. Avalyn, receiving her answer, put her hands on her hips.
“You must go thank that woman immediately.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Why?”
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Then she looked to St. Alban, standing silently a few feet away. The old man had maintained a distance for the past several minutes, observing Brogan and the interaction with the lady. He was still very protective of his young friend. But he understood what the lady was driving at, and she was not wrong. St. Alban had been attempting to teach Brogan manners since the day he met him, twenty five years ago. Clearing his throat softly, he took a few steps towards Brogan.
“Because it is right that you should thank those who have helped you, no matter who they are,” he explained patiently. “The lady is correct. You must go and thank Thel immediately.”
At first, Brogan felt as if they were ganging up on him. Then he thought about it and realized they were probably correct. A well mannered man would do such a thing. With a long look at St. Alban, he turned and made his way, however slowly, back down the hall towards the Siren’s lair.
Avalyn and St. Alban stood there, watching as he knocked on the door. Two eager faces appeared but not Thel. A few words were exchanged. After a moment, Thel made an appearance. As they watched, Brogan apparently made something of a very short speech and abruptly turned away. He headed back to Avalyn and St. Alban much faster than he had left them.
“Do you suppose it was a proper thanks?” Avalyn wondered aloud.
St. Alban sighed heavily. “Probably not,” he said. “But, then again, Brogan was never one for pleasantries. It is momentous enough that he has even made this effort.”
Avalyn turned to the old man, once again studying him. There was much interesting, and perhaps much secretive, in that old face. It intrigued her.
“He seems very bitter,” she commented.
St. Alban’s expression darkened. As Brogan approached within ear shot, he turned away from her. “Lady, you have no idea.”
The words stuck in her head, like the ringing of a shrill bell, as Brogan came upon them. But she did not have time to pursue the thought as Brogan claimed her hand again. But Avalyn didn’t notice; she was still looking at the old man, several feet in front of them, as they proceeded back down the hall.
What did he mean?
Silently, they entered into the foyer at the end of the hall where the main door was. Sunlight streamed in through the half-cracked door, almost blinding in the weak light of the entry. Avalyn realized where they were and further realized that her time with Brogan had come to an end. She was sorry. The more she discovered about this big, silent, awkward man, the more she wanted to know. And she was especially interested in St. Alban’s last statement.
She turned to Brogan, her hand still in the crook of his elbow. He was gazing down at her with that relaxed expression and a hint of a grin. With a forced smile, she removed her hand.
“Then I suppose my work here is done,” she said, looking between Brogan and St. Alban. “Thanks to you both for your graciousness. I do hope our paths cross again.”
“I believe that our paths crossing in the first place was a stroke of fortune, my lady,” St. Alban spoke before Brogan could. “It is doubtful that a fine lady such as yourself and lowly fighting men like us should meet up again.”
That was more than likely true. Avalyn smiled weakly, bobbed a curtsy, and headed for the door. As she put her hand out to open it, the door suddenly swung away and she looked up to see Brogan standing beside her, opening the door.
“A true gentleman would not let a lady walk unescorted,” his deep blue eyes glittered at her. “I would be honored to walk you home.”
Her smile at him was genuine. “That is kind of you, my lord.”
He returned her smile, held out his elbow, and she took it. Together, they walked out into the bright morning sunlight.
St. Alban stood silently, watching the two fade into the courtyard beyond, knowing that whatever barriers he had been trying to create between Brogan and the lady had been weak attempts. He cursed himself for his ineffectiveness because he knew, for a fact, that Brogan could not take another broken heart. Certainly, the lady was a nice distraction for the moment. But anything more than a moment, and Brogan might not recover from the devastation sure to come. He could sense this heading towards disaster already. But he knew that Brogan would not see it that way. With a sigh, he headed back to his chamber.
Brogan, in fact, couldn’t see anything other than the sky, the birds, the grass, and the lady by his side. Up until last night, such things had lost their beauty to him. But today, the beauty was back. Every time he glanced at the lady on his arm, she would smile coyly and lower her lashes. She had charming dimples in her cheeks, creating more delight to her appearance. Brogan would smile back, deep grooves carving the vertical length of his cheeks, and avert his gaze. It was a very strange, and very pleasant, game of flirting. The amazing thing was that Brogan did not even realize it. He was just caught up in the moment.
“You mentioned your mother earlier,” Avalyn started the conversation. “Does she still live in England?”
Brogan nodded. “In London, still, with my step father.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“A half-brother, who will inherit my step father’s merchant business.”
“Is it a successful business?”
“Aye.” The one-word answer hung in the air and he realized he should probably say more. What would St. Alban tell him? Ask her about herself, fool! “What of you? Do your parents still live?”
Avalyn shook her head. “Nay. My mother and father passed away a few years ago, so I came to live with my aunt and uncle and two cousins.”
She’s Warwick, man. St. Alban’s words suddenly rang in his head. Brogan wasn’t a man of tact or politics, only one of truth. He was blunt with his question because he knew of no other way.
“Where do you live?”
She glanced up at him. “In the Beauchamp Tower.”
“I meant when you are not in London.”
She looked back down at the ground, wondering if she should tell him. But she could not lie; if he knew who occupied the Beauchamp Tower, then he knew very well where she lived.
“Warwick Castle.”
“Who are your aunt and uncle?”
She still did not look up. “My aunt is Anne de Neville. My uncle is Richard.”
She did not know what she had expected; that he would perhaps turn and leave her at that moment, or curse her for her familial relations. She almost held her breath to see what his reaction would be. But Brogan kept walking, the pace leisurely, acting almost as if he hadn’t
heard her answer. After a few moments, he finally let out something that sounded like a low whistle.
“I serve the king, lady.”
“I know.”
“Your uncle is at odds with the king.”
“Aye, he is.”
“Why?”
It was she who came to a halt. She looked up at him curiously. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
He lifted his huge shoulders. “Just that. Why is he at odds with the king?”
She looked more closely at him, realizing that it wasn’t a surly or foolish question. Something about his expression told her that he really wanted to know. How could he not know? She spoke before she could stop herself.
“Are you serious?”
He snorted, a grin on his lips. “Aye.”
Now she wasn’t sure if he was teasing her. “You are a soldier, Brogan. How could you not know this? Surely you must.”
His smile faded. He almost looked embarrassed. “I am infantry. I am told who I must fight and not always why I must fight them. I do what I am told. It is not my business to know politics.”
It was coming to occur to Avalyn that Brogan wasn’t toying with her. The manner in which he spoke, the things he said, did not suggest a highly knowledgeable or politically savvy individual. In fact, he came across as something of a simple man. Not stupid, but very uncomplicated and direct. She suspected the knights he spoke of, the king’s knights, liked him that way. There would be nothing worse than an educated killing machine forming his own opinions that could quite possibly go against their own.
“Politics is an ugly affair,” she said after a moment, her voice gentler. She felt pity for the man. “My uncle used to be an ally of the king; very much so. In fact, he was instrumental in putting Edward on the throne about nine years ago. I remember the time; I was very young, but I still remember the excitement and violence of it. But my uncle and the king eventually had a falling out, as sometimes happens, and now they are at odds. My uncle believes that Henry should sit upon the throne, not Edward.”
Brogan nodded seriously, absorbing every word. “Why did he argue with the king?”
Why indeed, Avalyn thought. There were so many reasons, the least of which was the fact that the king was reluctant to wed his brothers to her young cousins, Anne and Isobel. That in particular seemed to greatly anger her uncle, but he had found a way around that. He believed he very much deserved ties to the royal family. She gazed up into Brogan’s curious face, searching for an answer that would not give him too much information. If the man was indeed deeply clever and this was all a ruse to get her to talk, then she would have to be very careful about what she said.
“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 smelt 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 pe
rson 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 know 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 understand 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.”
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