“I am not certain it was necessary to strike him, but I suppose it cannot be helped now,” she said, studying his strong face. “We should probably go before he awakens.”
Brogan smiled at her, his dimples deep. He truly had no idea that hitting William on the head had been a bad thing; to him, it was nothing out of the ordinary. “It will be a pleasure, my lady,” he said, extending his arm to her.
Avalyn returned his smile, but it was of the ironic sort. He saw nothing wrong with what he did. “Can we at least pull William out of the way so that no one will accidentally run over him?”
Without hesitation, Brogan reached down, grasped Inglesbatch under the armpits, and dragged him over to the wall of the White Tower. He propped him upright against the cold stone, turning to Avalyn to seek her approval.
“Is this good?”
Nodding her head, and passing another glance at William’s still form, she motioned for Brogan to join her. He reached out a hand to her and she took it, the two of them quickly moving across the compound.
Certain areas of London did not sleep. Brogan knew those areas well since he, too, did not sleep. He could function for days on just a few hours rest, the curse of the dedicated soldier. While his mother’s shop was off to the east of the Tower, the area that Avalyn wanted to visit was to the south and east. As he took her from the entrance near the Middle Tower, they were along the wharf that lined the Thames. It was a cool night, the moon glistening brightly above as Brogan put his arm around her shoulders and led her over the bridge crossing the Thames. It was the exact bridge where they had first met.
But he did not linger on those memories, only of the woman clutched against his big body. They hadn’t said a word to each other, perhaps fearful that ears would hear and curiosity would force prying eyes. Neither of them wished to be discovered, increasingly concerned that their surreptitious meeting would be discovered and ended. Once they were over the bridge, however, Avalyn felt brave enough to speak.
“I’m told the theater is on Thurlow Street,” she said. “A steward at the Tower told me that we should follow East Street to Thurlow.”
Brogan already knew the area, a den of pubs he had spent time in and brothels he had not. He’d noticed the poorly-built theater in passing, but never gave it a thought. He wasn’t particularly comfortable taking Avalyn into the rough and lawless neighborhood, or into a leaning building, but he would not deny her wish to see an entertainment. He was so looking forward to it that he would have taken her into Hell itself had she wished it.
“I know where it is,” he said, pulling her more tightly against him as they entered the dank, dirty streets of the Walworth borough. There were a few people out and about, mostly women of questionable reputation. He could tell by just looking at them.
Light and noise spilled out of the pubs along the avenue. A few people milled around outside, passing curious looks at Brogan and Avalyn as they passed by. Avalyn returned the looks; having spent most of her time around kings and nobles, it was rare that she came this close to the rabble that populated the meat of the cities. They were poorly clad, dirty people. Avalyn wasn’t ignorant about how the general population of England lived; still, it was somewhat discomforting to see them in their stark existence. She had so much and these people had so little. It was a sad reality.
There were a few children huddling against the doorway of the pub, hoping to glean a little warmth from the stale air wafting outside. It was another sad reality of the dirty city, the orphans that roamed the streets. Her natural compassion ached for the street urchins and, more than once in the past, she had wished she could help them. She wasn’t beyond giving alms at mass. But her life was the life of a de Neville, swept up in politics and greed. No de Neville gave particular thought to the less fortunate. It was just the way of things. She passed a little girl on the street, no more than three or four years of age, and the little girl smiled brightly at her.
Against her better judgment, Avalyn’s forward progression came to a halt as she gazed down at the blond-haired child. Her blue eyes were enormous pools of fear, hunger, and oddly enough, hope. Brogan came to a halt when Avalyn did, noting the object of her focus.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Avalyn said softly. “What are you doing out so late? Where is your Mummy?”
The little girl blinked her impossibly big blue eyes. “No Mummy.”
Avalyn’s eyebrows lifted. “No Mummy? Where do you live?”
The little girl just smiled up at her. She didn’t have an answer. Avalyn took a long look at the child; she was tiny, bony, and absolutely filthy. But she had the face of an angel. Her heart began to tug for the beautiful little girl and she knew, for her own sake, it would have been better had she never stopped to talk to her. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? Is there anyone to take care of you?”
The little girl blinked again, this time in thought. “Sometimes the biggers do.”
“The biggers?”
Avalyn didn’t understand until the little girl pointed behind her. In the shadows, a host of children huddled, filthy and hungry and covered with vermin and sores. They all stayed to the darkness but she could see the glitter of the eyes that that looked fearfully back at her. Avalyn sighed softly, her gaze returning to the little girl.
“What is your name?”
The little girl shivered, her little arms going around her spindly body as if to block out the chill. The rags she wore as clothing hardly did the job. “Poupèe.”
Avalyn smiled faintly. “So they call you Doll, do they? You certainly look like one. You are beautiful.”
The little girl’s smile broadened, if such a thing was possible. She was already smiling broadly. She held up her hand. “Do you have a coin?”
Avalyn’s smile faded. The child was starving and begging was a way of life. A glance at the children staying to the shadows behind her suggested that they sent Poupèe out to beg for their group, as no one could resist such a beauty, including Avalyn. She could imagine that once the child gained a coin that she would see little benefit; the ‘biggers’ probably took it from her for their own use. The little girl looked as if she hardly ate at all. It was survival on the streets and little Poupèe was only the bait, the bottom of the food chain.
A strange sense of anger rushed through Avalyn. She would not contribute to the child being taken advantage of. Touching the little face, she stood up and snaked her hand into the crook of Brogan’s elbow. Without a word, she resumed walking.
Brogan didn’t say anything as they moved down the avenue; he was more intent on watching her face, discerning the emotion that crossed her lovely features. He had refrained from saying anything at all as she spoke to the child, mostly because orphans littered the streets aplenty and he saw nothing unusual about them. But it was clear that the lady did. He was intrigued with her show of compassion, something he was most unfamiliar with. Compassion was not something he entertained on a regular basis. Just as they neared a small intersection on the dimly lit street, they could hear cries and sounds of impact behind them.
Avalyn froze, whirling in the direction they had just come. More cries and more sounds of impact. It sounded as if someone was being beaten. Horror surged into her chest as she took off at a run with Brogan on her heels. By the time she reached the place where she had last left the little girl, the sounds of crying and beating were very loud. In the shadows along the alleyway that ran beside the pub, she could see several children in a writhing mass. The cries were coming from the center of the huddle. Outraged, she plowed forward and began pushing older children aside. In little time, she saw the tiny little girl huddled in a protective ball against the wall of the pub. Her head came up and enormous blue eyes were spilling with tears.
“Stop it,” Avalyn hissed to the older children standing around her. “How dare you attack this child. Keep your hands off her!”
There was no possible way any older child, no matter how brave, was going to tangle with the lady and the massive man at her side. Brog
an stood next to Avalyn as she picked the little girl up and covered her in the folds of her cloak, wiping her tears and the trickle of blood from her nose. He covered her retreat back to the street, backing up and keeping his eyes on the gaggle of astonished children. When he was finally convinced they weren’t all going to rush them in a fit, he turned to Avalyn.
She was holding the little girl tightly, rocking her gently as the child’s sobs died. Brogan stood there, watching, thoughts of his own boy filling his mind. He remembered when Shaw was very young and his mother used to cradle him the very same way. There was such kindness to it, such tenderness. He could see the same intense motherhood instinct in Avalyn and it warmed his heart as nothing in his life ever had. To most, it was just another orphan. But to Avalyn, it was a sweet little life.
He could tell by the look in her eye what she was thinking. Had he been a betting man, he would have wagered on it.
Chapter Six
“My lord, if it is any consolation, I told him to stay away from her also,” St. Alban was in a dire predicament. “I told him that it would not be healthy for him.”
Having been awoken from a dead sleep by angry de Neville men, St. Alban sat in the middle of the chamber he shared with Brogan, wondering where all of this madness was going to take them. A bulldog of a knight with a round face and big blue eyes stood over him, firing questions at him as if to wrest a confession. Several other de Neville soldiers milled about, some of them upending the chamber searching for something they had not, as of yet, made clear.
“We spoke with the Master of the Barracks and he says that you live with d’Aurilliac,” Inglesbatch said with very little patience. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“He also said that you are the only man who can remotely communicate with him. Surely he has told you his intentions towards Lady Avalyn?”
St. Alban shook his head; he wasn’t about to betray whatever information Brogan had divulged to him. “He never stated his intentions, my lord.”
“Do you know how they met?”
“An accident, I believe, my lord,” St. Alban said calmly. “He saved her from her runaway horse.”
“What runaway horse?”
“Last night. Her horse spooked and Brogan saved her from sure death.”
William fell silent a moment. He knew she’d gone to the stable the previous evening to check on her horse and she had returned unharmed. He had heard nothing about a spooked horse, but that would explain why both Avalyn and d’Aurilliac were sighted at the stables examining the high-strung colt. Now it made sense. There had been a time when Avalyn used to tell William everything and he was feeling the slighted bit hurt. The brief infatuation with d’Aurilliac was growing, no matter how hard he’d tried to stop it.
His envy began to seep into his manner. “Be that as it may, it does not give him excuse to take license with her,” he hissed. “She is a woman of the highest noble order and, I might add, betrothed to a powerful lord. D’Aurilliac is playing with fire.”
That drew a reaction from St. Alban. He looked at William, horror and shock in his eyes. “She is betrothed?”
Inglesbatch nodded slowly. Then, he suddenly bent over the man threateningly, his mailed arms braced on either side of the heavy chair. “I do not know what magic d’Aurilliac seems to have over the lady to cause her to behave so, but I have caught her in clandestine situations with him twice already. And tonight, she was out well after midnight, roaming the grounds of the Tower in, I can only assume, her quest to rendezvous with d’Aurilliac. But before I could forceably escort her back to her apartment, I was hit on the head and knocked unconscious. I do not have to guess who did that.”
St. Albans tried not to look shocked. “So what is it you want from me?”
William exhaled sharply and pushed himself off the arms of the chair. He paced away from the old man, his agitation evident. “I want you to tell me where he has taken her. I want to find her before her uncle does.”
Though his guard was up, still, St. Alban could sense that this was growing from bad to worse.” What do you mean?”
The round blue eyes focused on him. “I mean precisely that. When I regained consciousness, I returned to the de Neville apartment to collect my men to go and search for the lady. But her uncle awoke and demanded to know what was amiss. I was compelled to tell him.”
St. Alban didn’t like the look in the man’s eye. “He will kill Brogan when he finds them, won’t he?”
For the first time since entering the small, stanky chamber, William seemed to calm. “It’s not d’Aurilliac I worry for, but the lady. De Neville justice is swift.”
“They would harm her?”
“Perhaps. I know that her uncle sent word to her betrothed to aid in the search.”
“And you want to help her?”
William’s stance weakened further. “I want to get her away from d’Aurilliac before her uncle finds them together. If I can get her back to the apartments and give de Neville time to calm, then things should go better in her favor. But as it is, the man is bent on fury right now. I must get to the lady before he does. Now, will you tell me what you know?”
St. Alban shook his head, slowly. “If I knew, I would help you, but I truly do not. Brogan did not confide in me, perhaps because I have spent my time attempting to warn him off of Lady Avalyn. Perhaps he did not want to be judged.”
Though the old man seemed sincere, William didn’t believe him. He knew more than he was telling, of that William was sure. His frustration was growing again. He resorted to a very seldom used tactic in the House of de Neville; he pleaded.
“If you could guess where they have gone, what would be your speculation?”
St. Alban was a wise old man. He had been through enough intrigue and warfare to know enemy tactics of coercion. But the young knight with the big blue eyes did not come across as attempting to be particularly hard or clever, simply honest. Part of him wanted to help and part of him didn’t. It was a tense internal struggle.
“He tends to haunt the boroughs to the east of the Tower,” he said softly. “Or he is fond of Walworth. Beyond that, I can tell you no more.”
“Hopefully it will be enough.”
As Inglesbatch turned for the door, St. Alban stopped him. “My lord?”
William paused. “Aye?”
“Would it be possible for an old knight well past his prime to assist you?”
Inglesbatch new he meant himself. His first instinct was to deny him, but on second thought, he might prove useful. One nod of his head had St. Alban up and searching for his antiquated armor.
As William watched him dress, he felt as if he had a distinct advantage now. At least he had a starting point, which was more than de Neville had. Being a dedicated de Neville knight with a good deal of power, he should have rushed back to divulge everything to his lord. But his heart was ensnared by the Lady Avalyn and he truly wanted to find her before the situation veered out of control.
Already, he could feel it slipping from his grasp.
Avalyn looked up from wiping tears and snot from the little child’s face only to see the oddest expression on Brogan’s features. Something between desire and mercy. When their eyes met, he smiled faintly.
“Now that she has caught you,” he said quietly, “what do you intend to do with her?”
Avalyn’s expression washed with indecision then determination. “I cannot let her go back to those children who would beat a helpless baby,” she said. The she looked at the lowered blond head, resting sweetly against her shoulder. “We must feed her, Brogan. She is starving.”
“What about your entertainment?”
“This is more important.”
His smile grew as he once again put his arm around her shoulders and took her back down the street to a pub that he was familiar with. He knew the innkeeper and knew the man would deal fairly with them. Moreover, it didn’t usually have the disparaging type of rabble he was trying to avoid.
> The establishment was a typical wood and mortar building, with a patch of green moss growing up the north side of the structure. Brogan yanked the door open, ushering Avalyn and the child inside. It was a one-room building with a loft above, smelling of old ale and dung. There were a few people dotted around the common room as Brogan put his enormous hand gently on Avalyn’s back and guided her into the heart of the warm room.
The innkeeper saw Brogan from behind his crudely-built bar; immediately, the round face lit up and he held up a dirty hand in greeting.
“Empfang, mein Herr,” he said. “Es ist gut, Sie wieder zu sehen.”
It was apparent that the man and Brogan knew each other. Brogan was actually friendly with the man. “A table for my lady,” he said to him. “And food. The best you have.”
The innkeeper’s bulbous eyes focus on the lady and he bowed a few times, very quickly and respectfully. “Of course,” he said in heavily accented English. “Right away.”
He lumbered away, barking orders in German to a skinny lad behind the bar. Avalyn watched him curiously.
“Is everyone you know German?” she asked.
The corners of Brogan’s mouth twitched. “When one is a stranger in a strange land, you learn where your countrymen have settled. My mother knows this man. They lived in the same village as children.”
As she nodded in understanding, he led her to a table near the smoldering hearth, offering some warmth against the chill of the room. He held the chair out for her as she settled carefully, shifting the child in her arms so she was seated across her lap. Brogan took the chair opposite, his eyes never leaving the beautiful lady. She had the little girl so tightly wrapped up in her cloak that the only thing visible was the top portion of her little head; big blue eyes and dirty blond hair peeked out at him.
Brogan couldn’t help the smile on his face as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. A big hand lay gently across Avalyn’s knee.
“So I will repeat my question,” he said. “Now that she has caught you, what do you intend to do with her?”
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