William nodded. “At the Battle of Wakefield when your great-uncle was killed. He fought with us that time, lest you forget that there was a time when de Neville sided with Edward. We supported the king back then.”
She was somewhat surprised. “He never told me he was at Wakefield.”
“He was indeed.”
“And?”
William just shook his head slowly; he did not want to say what he was truly thinking. “I saw him rip heads off with my own eyes. Something about d’Aurilliac when he enters into battle… it is as if the smell of blood seeps into his veins and turns him into an animal. He becomes something not-human. That is why I did not engage him today when we found you on the edges of the Tower arena; had we been the first to draw blood, d’Aurilliac could have quite possibly turned into that maniac we all fear. Moreover, he had you by the arm. I did not want you injured in his hysteria.”
Avalyn began to think hard. She believed William; that much was certain. He had never lied to her. Yet she was having difficulty fathoming Brogan’s beast-like tendencies. The man was so gentle when he held her that surely William must be mistaken somehow.
“Then would it not stand to reason that it would be advantageous to have someone like that as our ally?” she asked.
William bobbed his head. “For certain. ’Tis better to serve with the Devil than be in his path.”
“Then how can my interest in him be detrimental to our cause?”
“Because he is unpredictable. I do not know if unpredictability like that, no matter how strong the man is, would be advantageous.”
“But you would rather have him as an ally than an enemy.”
“That is something you must discuss with your uncle.”
She drew in a long breath, her shrewd mind working. She didn’t want William to think she was scheming, so she simply took his elbow and turned him around for the distant feasting hall.
“Not a word, please?” she asked softly. “I will discuss this with my uncle in my own way.”
“Be sure that you do. And I do not want to catch you with d’Aurilliac again. Please, my lady. For your own sake.”
“Do not follow me and you’ll not see anything you do not want to.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “If I find you with him again, I will have no choice but to tell your uncle.”
She looked up at him, a sort of threatening glare, but did not reply. She did not want to lie to him, or force him into a promise that would compromise his relationship with her uncle. Inglesbatch had always been very kind and fair to her, and she had a better relationship with him than her aunt and uncle. Still, she respected him enough not to push him. She wanted him to work with her, not against her, and she knew for a fact that she would see Brogan again.
Aubrey was more than glad to see her returned. The moment she entered the hall on Inglesbatch’s arm, he bolted up from his chair and practically ran to meet her. He was breathing heavily, red-faced and sweating, and Avalyn passed a long look at William as he turned her over to her future husband. William could do nothing more but gaze back at her. Whatever happened, no matter how he felt about it, was out of his hands.
“Your uncle has gracious given permission for me to escort you on a short walk so that we may talk and become better acquainted with each other,” he said eagerly. “Will you consent?”
Avalyn felt sick just looking at him. She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t his fault that Uncle Richard had betrothed them. Charles was as much a pawn as any of them.
“A… a short walk, if you don’t mind, my lord,” she said. “I am feeling rather tired this evening.”
“Of course,” he said, his manner switching from eager to greatly concerned in a matter of seconds. “Is there something I can do? More wine, perhaps?”
She shook her head strongly. “Nay, no more wine.”
For lack of a better response, Charles took her hand and led her out the way she had come. Avalyn made sure to make eye contact with Inglesbatch, silently pleading that he follow. William remained at his post until they quit the door and then silently followed, if only to protect Charles from a fairly unstable Avalyn. If he laid an unwelcome hand on her, there was no telling what she would do and the baron might come away missing fingers.
At the head of the table, both Anne and Richard saw Avalyn’s departure with Aubrey and Inglesbatch’s subsequent disappearance. Anne casually turned back to her wine.
“She’s not happy in the least,” she murmured to her husband.
Richard was into his fourth cup of fine ruby port. “That is her misfortune,” he said flatly. “We should have wed her off long ago. The older she gets, the more headstrong she becomes. She must know that with disobedience comes swift punishment.”
“And you think Aubrey will keep her in check?” Anne snorted, very unladylike. “You’re mad. More than likely, she’ll dominate him within an inch of his life. The man will be lucky if he survives this marriage into old age.”
“Aubrey will hold his own with her,” Richard didn’t look at his wife as he spoke. “But if he cannot handle a strong wife, then that is his misfortune. What I am more concerned with is the fact that Avalyn will marry into the massive fortress of Guerdley Cross and a husband who controls the water rights for all of Merseyside. This is where we need her to be. We need this alliance.”
Anne sighed, having second thoughts about the entire thing. “We really should have asked her if this was acceptable. We should not have treated it as a punishment.”
“I cannot afford a rebel so close to me, not even my own niece. If she disobeyed me once with something as insignificant as d’Aurilliac, who is to say that she will not do it again with something of more significance. And I need Avalyn; I need her wisdom and obedience. She must understand that.”
Anne didn’t say anymore. But she wasn’t so sure betrothal to Aubrey was the right answer any longer.
Nor was Avalyn. The more she walked beside Charles out into the chill night, the more nauseous she became. The man reeked of foul odor, she was sure, as a result of his profuse sweating. He hadn’t said a word to her yet, but he kept her hand tucked against his meaty elbow. She could feel his sweat soaking through his tunic.
“You… you’re uncle says that you enjoy horses,” he finally broke the ice. “I have several fine warmbloods in my stable. I do not ride them too often, however; I leave that to my grooms. They are much more agile than I am.”
“Do you breed the horses for sale or for your own pleasure?” Avalyn forced herself to continue the conversation.
“For sale,” he seemed thrilled that she had responded. “They bring about a tidy sum. And I have three stallions that command a high price for breeding.”
Avalyn nodded, not sure what else to say. He seemed so genuinely nervous around her that it was almost touching. “It sounds as if you have good business sense, my lord,” she finally offered.
Aubrey nodded humbly; by his expression, it was apparent that he was wracking his mind for more things to say. “Do you hunt, my lady?” Even as the question left his mouth, he quickly corrected himself. “I am sorry; that was a silly question. Ladies do not hunt.”
“On the contrary,” she replied. “I have and I do. I like it.”
“You do?” his fat face lit up. “’Tis my favorite past time. What is your beast of choice?”
Fat, foolish barons who talk too much. “Wild boar, I think, for the simple fact that they tend to be cunning. It is almost as if they can reason.”
“Oh, I agree,” he said enthusiastically. “Last year, we hunted a boar for three days before finally killing it. It was an amazing creature. I was almost sorry I had to destroy it.”
Avalyn didn’t have anything to say to that. Somehow, they had wandered over near the White Tower and Avalyn instinctively looked around, wondering if Brogan was still lingering nearby. Charles studied her face in the moonlight, thinking her to be the most heavenly creature he had ever seen. He had never hoped to
achieve such loveliness or prestige in a marriage, but here it was, in front of him. It was too much for him to believe. Yet he wasn’t so overcome that he could not see that she didn’t feel the same way.
“My lady,” he brought them to a stop, facing her. “If I may speak plainly?”
“Of course.”
He smiled feebly, summoning the threads of courage. “I realize that you were surprised by this betrothal and I further realize that I am probably not the kind of man you would see yourself marrying. But I assure you that you will never want for respect or affection. I will be your most devoted servant, always, and any wish you have, no matter how small, shall be unquestionably fulfilled.”
It was a heart-felt statement. Avalyn felt her irritation wane as she looked into small brown eyes, knowing that it was hard for a man to admit that he probably wasn’t up to her standard. In a way, it was very sad. She tried to muster the will to be kind to him in reply. She couldn’t tell him how much she was coming to hate her uncle and the politics that had forced her into this unwanted betrothal.
“You are most considerate, my lord,” she said. “I have no doubt that you will be everything you say you will. But in truth, this betrothal is still something of a shock. I fear I shall need time to become accustomed to it.”
“I understand. I should like to help if I can.”
“How, my lord?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Perhaps… perhaps you will allow more time such as this, where we can talk and become better acquainted.”
It was not an unreasonable request. But her heart was screaming with reluctance; the only man she wanted to spend time with was Brogan, not this sweaty-faced stranger. His mere presence sickened her. Still, until she could figure out a better solution, she had little choice.
“Of course, my lord,” she sounded resigned. “Whatever you wish.”
His fat face lit up with a bright smile. Taking her hand again, he turned them around and led them back in the direction of the bright, stuffy hall.
It was an hour before midnight by the time everyone left the feast and retired to sleep. The events of the evening had sparked enough excitement so that Isobel could barely sleep at all, but eventually she faded off into a fitful doze. When Avalyn felt her go limp and her breathing grew strong and steady, she knew her cousin would not awaken again until morning. Isobel tended to sleep soundly that way.
Anne snored softly in the other bed. Avalyn sat up in the darkness, only a hint of silver moonlight streaming in through the window to illuminate the black room. Her gaze moved to the massive wardrobe against the wall, the one that held all of her garments and valuables. She’d had to dress for bed, pretending to lay down for sleep just as the rest of the house was.
Uncle Richard himself escorted her back from the feast, along with the rest of the de Neville women tagging along behind. He’d made small talk, not unusual for her uncle who rarely said what was on his mind, instead preferring to throw out leading questions and then glean his information from the answers received. He had asked about her evening, her health, and finally what she thought of Aubrey. All Avalyn could think to say was that he seemed kind enough. Uncle Richard was looking for her to thank him for the smart marriage which, of course, she wasn’t about to do. She wasn’t thankful at all.
In the darkness, she quietly made her way across the room to the wardrobe. It was partially open, Isobel’s garments from that evening strewn across the door. Since she did not want to go digging for clothes, she took Isobel’s soft pink shift and slid it over her head, followed by the deep purple surcoat her cousin was so proud of. It was a truly lovely garment, but Isobel was shorter and smaller than Avalyn, so the surcoat clung almost indecently to her stunning curves. She could feel the snugness of the garment even in the darkness.
Her own hose were on the floor near the wardrobe and she slipped them on, tying with the ribbons also strewn on the floor and not even caring if they were of the same color. Sliding on the matching slippers, as Isobel’s feet were indeed her same size, she fumbled for a cloak on the pegs near the wardrobe and came away with the heavy dark blue damask with the gray ermine lining that belonged to Anne. Now, Anne was taller by a few inches over Avalyn and the cloak drug along the ground as she walked.
Carefully, Avalyn opened the door leading into the lavish sitting room. A fire burned low in the hearth, creating phantom shadows along the opulent walls. A servant was sleeping on a pallet near her aunt and uncle’s chamber door and Avalyn kept her eyes on the man as she slipped into the room and moved to the door that led out into the hall. Seeing that the man was undisturbed, she very carefully lifted the iron latch, let herself into the corridor, and silently shut the door.
There were soldiers on guard out in the hall. She had known that she would run into them. There were four that she could see and probably more, and they all looked at her rather curiously. She decided the best way to handle it was to act as if she was doing nothing out of the ordinary. She pulled the cloak about her tightly and focused on the nearest man.
“I cannot sleep and need to clear my mind,” she said quietly. “Everyone else is asleep and I have no desire to wake them. I am going for a walk.”
The soldier was young, obviously fearful of her. “You will need an escort, my lady.”
It was more a question than a statement. She shook her head firmly. “No need. I shall stick close to the halls and will not wander far. If I need assistance, I shall scream. You will be able to hear me.”
The soldier blinked uncertainly, knowing he should probably go with her but not wanting to dispute her. He simply nodded his head. “Aye, my lady.”
She almost kept walking, but something made her look closely at the man. There was threat in her expression.
“If my uncle or Inglesbatch come looking for me, you will swear that you have not seen me. You know nothing of my whereabouts. Is that clear?”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “Aye, my lady.”
“Good. Betray this promise and you shall regret it.”
With a lingering glare at the astonished man, she moved swiftly down the corridor, disappearing into the distant stairwell. The de Neville soldiers watched her go, each man looking curiously at the other. They had no idea what to make of it. But they let her go.
It was quite cold outside as Avalyn made her way from the Beauchamp Tower towards the White Tower. The moon had shifted positions in the sky, brighter than it had been earlier that night. She could see things more clearly. As she entered the shadows of the White Tower, someone slipped up behind her.
“Where are you going?”
Fully expecting it to be Brogan, she was shocked to see that it was Inglesbatch. His round face was pale in the ghostly moonlight, his expression nothing short of furious. Disappointed, not to mention rightly guilty, she held her ground against him.
“What are you doing out here?” she countered.
“I asked you a question, my lady.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ll not take that tone with me, William. It is not your place to question me.”
“It is when you are deliberately disobeying your uncle and putting your life in jeopardy.”
“How do you know what I am doing?” she fired back at him. “I am not a prisoner that needs to be watched. I am a trusted advisor of Richard de Neville’s inner circle as well as his niece. I am beyond your suspicion and I resent the implication.”
William drew in a long, deep breath. He eyed her. “Where are you going? Just tell me that.”
“It is none of your affair.”
He pursed his lips, struggling with his anger. “Perhaps not, but can you not see that I am trying to protect you? It has been my duty for ten years; therefore, I will ask you again: where are you going?”
Since Avalyn and William had very nearly grown up together, he would often speak to her more informally than most knights would address their liege, which was both a good and bad thing. Right now, he was having difficulty walking the fi
ne line between obligation and need. He was obliged to serve her without question, but he needed to help her as someone who had loved her almost as long as he had known her.
Aye, he loved her.
Avalyn wasn’t oblivious to that. She had known almost as long as William had. But she clearly did not, nor had she ever, returned his feelings. He would often inadvertently cross the line when dealing with her, sometimes acting as a husband would in his concern or close attention.
“William,” she softened her stance. “If you must know, if you must truly know, I am going into town for an entertainment. We are leaving on the morrow and I want to see a play before we go. You know my aunt believes they are vile spectacles unfit for women. My only hope is to see it when she is unaware, for I have no way of knowing when next we will be in London.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going alone?”
“You do not see anyone with me, do you?”
“That is not an answer.”
“You ask the obvious.”
“If that is true, then I will go with you. You will not do this alone. You need protection.”
Before she could reply, a massive silhouette suddenly formed behind William, an enormous shape of blackness emerging from the shadow of the White Tower. It was ominous, growing larger by the moment, hovering behind the knight like a malevolent phantom. William suddenly jerked as something smacked him sharply on the head and he collapsed in a heap at her feet. Avalyn gasped with surprise, watching Brogan’s face materialize from the darkness.
“Brogan,” she hissed. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to hear most of the conversation,” he stepped over William’s supine form. “He was going to take you back to your apartment.”
Avalyn bent down over William, making sure he wasn’t too badly hurt. There wasn’t even any blood. Brogan had clobbered him just hard enough to knock him out but not hard enough to truly injury him. Satisfied that he wasn’t dying, she stood up and faced the enormous soldier.
Romantic Legends Page 10
