“Nay,” St. Alban shook his head slowly. “There was still a part of me that did not trust the man. He is, after all, de Neville’s knight.”
Brogan’s guard slipped just a little more. He sighed heavily and dropped his head, raking his fingers through his dark gold curls. After several painful moments, his head came up again. The dark blue eyes were dull with pain, sorrow.
“What do I do?” he murmured. “Tell me what to do.”
St. Alban felt the pangs of grief from the man. Brogan had known so much heartache that the latest turn of events were as unexpected as they were unfair. He hated being so blunt with him, but it was necessary.
“Stay out of sight,” he advised him in a low voice. “Let me return to the Tower and see if I can find out what has happened. But you must stay well hidden. If de Neville’s men catch you, your life is forfeit. Do you understand me?”
Brogan nodded, dully. The deep blue eyes were dim with sorrow. “Why… wenn alle gut ist…”
“In a language I can understand, please.”
“I said, why, when all is well…,” Brogan shook his head, staring at the floor. “Why is God so determined to see me miserable? What have I ever done to deserve such special punishment?”
St. Alban put a meaty hand on the man’s shoulder. “You aim too high,” he hissed. “She is not meant for mortal man. You may as well have wished for the moon and stars as to set your sights on Avalyn du Brant.”
“But she loves me, too. She wants to marry me. What we feel, we feel together.”
St. Alban pursed his lips, knowing it was futile to argue with the man. There was no dissuading such strong emotion. “Be that as it may, it has gotten both of you into trouble.” He stood up, unsteadily, feeling his fatigue. But he felt useful, something he’d not felt in years. He had a mission, as dangerous as any he had ever faced in his youth, and he was eager to task. “As for me, I will return to the Tower and see what I can discover. Perhaps I can contact Inglesbatch and he will be able to tell me something.”
Brogan stood up beside him, his expression full of angst and trepidation. “You will send word when you know something?”
The old man nodded, moving for the door. “When I know, I will send word to you.” He suddenly paused with his hand on the iron latch. “Do not leave this shop, Brogan. I implore you. Be patient and I will send word.”
Brogan’s jaw flexed. Though he knew the old man was correct, still, his instinct was to go charging into the Beauchamp Tower in search of Avalyn. It was near impossible for him to remain inactive.
“I will wait for news,” he finally agreed.
With a lingering glance, St. Alban quit the bread shop and disappeared into the night. Brogan stood there, watching him fade into the darkness, feeling more desolation than he had ever imagined possible. Somewhere, a night bird sang and he glanced into the dark sky, wondering if it was a bad omen. The door closed softly and he locked it. There was nothing left to do now but wait.
Chapter Eight
The fat orange cat meowed loudly as its weary master came lumbering into the cold chamber. It was barely dawn as St. Alban closed the door behind him and went to the kindling box for a few sticks of wood. Tossing off his cloak, he went to the old fireplace and pushed the iron pot and arm out of the way so that he could start a blaze. The flint in his cold fingers sparked once, twice, before finally catching hold. In little time, there was a small warm glow in the soot-covered hearth and the old man continued to kneel before the fire, warming his hands and plotting his next move. The entire walk back to the Tower from the bread shop, he’d though of nothing else. When the cat rubbed against him demandingly, he scratched the fuzzy ears with affection.
“Well, my fat little friend,” he said to the animal. “Now he’s gone and done it. It seems our friend has a dilemma on his hands.”
“What dilemma is that?”
The voice came from the dimness. Startled, St. Alban held himself in check admirably as he turned to the source. Old knight reflexes had him remain cool even in the face of a threat. Inglesbatch sat in the shadows, in the chair so often used by Brogan. His round blue eyes were shadowed and his cheeks were unkempt with stubble. The man looked like he’d seen an active night.
“My lord,” St. Alban said steadily. “I did not see you when I came in.”
“I know,” William replied. “I meant that you should not.”
The old man stood up and brushed the soot off his hands. With effort, he moved to the nearest chair and lowered his bulk. When he faced Inglesbatch, it was with an expression that suggested he expected the worst. He braced himself.
“To what do I own the honor of your visit, my lord?” he said with more hospitality than he felt.
William shifted in the chair. “I come bearing a message for d’Aurilliac. I assume that you have seen him.” St. Alban hesitated to answer and William put up a calming hand. “Have no fear; I’m not here to cause trouble. I simply come with a message from my lady. I would prefer to deliver it to d’Aurilliac in person.”
St. Alban wasn’t sure if he should trust him or not. “Is she well?”
“Well enough,” William replied. “Considering she spent half the night being interrogated by her uncle and her intended’s captain. It was not pleasant.”
St. Alban tensed. “They did not injure her, did they?”
William paused just long enough to make St. Alban think that he was not telling the entire truth. “Nay,” William said. “But she is understandably exhausted and frightened. Which is why she sent me with a message for d’Aurilliac.”
“What is the message?”
“Are you offering to relay it or do you simply wish to know?”
“Both.”
“An honest answer, my lord. And to that I will repeat that the lady asked me to give d’Aurilliac the message personally.”
St. Alban sighed. He was attempting to remain congenial, cooperative, but he did not want to give anything away.
“You will forgive me, Sir William, if I am reluctant to reveal Brogan’s whereabouts,” he said quietly. “You are, after all, de Neville’s knight. You could simply be using tactics to locate Brogan and I will not knowingly contribute to his capture.”
William’s blue eyes glimmered in the firelight. “Understood. But you must trust me when I tell you that I am only to deliver the message to d’Aurilliac, not to capture him. The deal the lady made with her uncle negates the need for capture.”
St. Alban didn’t like the sound of that at all. His flabby body tensed with consternation. “What does that mean?”
William’s expression lost some of its hardness. “Take me to d’Aurilliac. There is much he should know.”
St. Alban almost refused again. But there was something in William’s manner that suggested his request was sincere. Still, he would not be so foolish. “I will take you and you alone. We will not be followed or accompanied.”
“You have my oath.”
Being an honorable knight himself, St. Alban believed him. To date, Inglesbatch had been truthful and open. St. Alban had no reason to doubt him other than he was sworn to de Neville.
“Where does your loyalty truly lie, Sir William?” he could not help himself from asking in a strangely pleading tone. “You should be blindly loyal to de Neville yet you demonstrate your loyalty to his rebellious niece over all.”
William’s expression wavered slightly. “I am sworn to Richard de Neville, Earl of Warwick. I would defend the man to the death.”
“I was not attempting to insult your allegiance, Sir William. But if de Neville is intent on separating the lady and Brogan, you have made it clear that the lady has your sympathies. Or… do you seek to gain her trust only to betray her?”
William’s expression slackened further. “Of course not,” he said quietly. “Lady Avalyn and I have known each other for many years. She has always been extremely kind to me. I do not like seeing her so upset and I do not like the situation she has found herself in. I
would help her, if only to deliver a message to someone she has already endured a great deal for.”
St. Alban watched the man’s features, the way his lips moved when he spoke of her. He didn’t know why he hadn’t sensed it earlier; the man was in love with her. There was no other explanation. For a man like Inglesbatch to have risen in the ranks of The Kingmaker, his abilities were beyond question. He had to be a strong, cunning man. But it was evident that even though his loyalty was with de Neville, his heart was with the niece. It made for an interesting situation. And it strangely made St. Alban trust him.
“William,” St. Alban lowered his voice, acquiring a tone of familiarity. “There are things you should know before you proceed. I am not entirely sure how this situation veered so far out of control, but the lady and Brogan were indeed together tonight. Though they did nothing immoral or questionable that I was able to determine, they did pledge their love to one another and agree to marry.”
William didn’t flinch, though his stomach lurched. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his dark, somewhat messy, hair. “But they have only just met. How can they…?”
St. Alban put up a hand. “Love is a strange thing. Sometimes it takes minutes, sometimes it takes years. With Brogan and the lady, the attraction was instant. But there is more.”
William’s eyebrows lifted. “What more could there be?”
“They adopted an orphan. A little girl, absolutely beautiful. They plan to marry and raise her as their own.”
William just stared at him. His choice was to either explode like a father or sink like a jilted lover. For a long, heavy moment, the revelation hung between them. After a moment, William simply hung his head.
“A family,” he murmured. Then his head came up, an ironic smile on his lips. “So Avie finally has her family.”
“What do you mean?”
“Precisely that,” William sighed heavily. “She lost her parents at a very young age and in spite of living with her aunt and uncle, she always felt as if she lacked a true family. Now… now she is apparently trying to make one with d’Aurilliac.”
St. Alban didn’t reply for a moment. In faith, he was he wasn’t sure what to say. But what eventually came out was the truth. “Brogan lost his wife to childbirth eleven years ago. Then, three months ago, his young son was killed. The man has not been the same since. The night he met the lady, he was contemplating taking his own life because the pain was just too great. Lady Avalyn saved his life, William. Perhaps he has saved hers a little bit as well.”
William thought of the lady with the golden eyes, sweet and savvy and wrapped up in her uncle’s politics. She had always been so focused on her uncle’s schemes and desires, as if nothing else existed. It was unusual for a lady, especially one so young, to involve herself in politics the way she did. But in hindsight, William wondered if she wasn’t involving herself simply to belong to something and to feel needed.
“I have known the lady a long time,” he said after a moment. “She’s never truly known the attention or caring of another human being. Her aunt and uncle are as concerned as they can be for her and they have certainly given her everything she could ever want, but the truth is that she has two cousins that take priority. There are those who have tried to show her attention, but… well, suffice it to say that there have been others. But she has given them no regard.”
St. Alban could read the man like an open book. “You?”
William looked shocked. “I am a knight, my lord. I serve the lady, not solicit her affection.”
St. Alban put up a hand to apologize. He knew he was correct but did not push the issue. It was of no regard, anyway. He did not want to make the man feel worse than he obviously already did. Slowly, he stood on weary legs.
“It is past dawn, my lord,” he said quietly. “I would suggest we go now so that you may deliver your message to Brogan.”
Inglesbatch stood also. In full protection, he was also armed. He unstrapped his broadsword, releasing the hide straps on his leg and waist and laying the weapon to the floor. He looked up to see St. Alban’s curious expression.
“So there will be no doubt as to my intentions,” he explained quietly. “I cannot take d’Aurilliac into custody without a weapon.”
St. Alban cocked an eyebrow. “You more than likely could not take him into custody even if you had one. Have you not seen the size of the man?”
Inglesbatch’s only response was to lift an eyebrow. “I am well aware of what the man is capable of.”
St. Alban didn’t say any more. He took William from his musty chamber, out into the corridor of the barracks. Men were up and about, knights preparing for the day as St. Alban and William descended to the first floor and walked out into the dawn. It was cold and damp, dew hanging heavy on the ground as they silently made their way across the compound. Over to the right was the Beauchamp Tower; William’s gaze was fixed on it, wondering if all was calm for the moment as he went about his requested duty. He hoped so. He did not want to have to explain his absence to the Earl.
His pace picked up.
Avalyn was awoken from a dead sleep by her aunt leaning on the bed. Blinking in the light as a servant pulled back the oilcloths covering the window, she rubbed her eyes sleepily, gazing up into her aunt’s brown eyes.
“Auntie,” she struggled to sit up, groggily. “What is wrong?”
Anne’s smooth face was emotionless. It was as if she was trying too hard not to show any sentiment. “Time to rise, dear,” she said, helping her niece sit up in bed. “You must bathe and dress.”
Anne began directing servants as Avalyn struggled to wake up. Bleary eyed as she was, there was something in her aunt’s tone that set her instantly on edge.
“Why must I bathe and dress?” She looked around. “Where are Isobel and Anne?”
“Isobel is a guest of Clarence and Anne is a guest of de Clare. He has a daughter her age, you know. Margaret. She was at the feast last night. Did you not see her?”
Avalyn hadn’t. But, then again, she didn’t really care. But there was something very strange about the bedchamber being vacant at this early morning hour and her cousins being conveniently absent.
“What time is it?” she asked.
Anne threw open the massive wardrobe. “It is an hour after sunrise. I realize you’ve not had much sleep, but today is a busy day.”
“Why is that?”
Anne fixed her in the eye. “Lord Charles is leaving and you are going with him. We must prepare you and pack.”
Suddenly, Avalyn wasn’t tired any longer. Her aunt’s words were like a dagger through her heart. But she recalled the events of earlier, how she had promised to marry Aubrey if Brogan was left in peace. I promised. There was nothing she could do, having agreed to her own fate. But the knowledge didn’t make the end result any easier; she was sick with distress. With a heavy sigh, she hung her head.
Anne saw her from the corner of her eye but said nothing. She was busy directing the servants to fill a big copper tub as her own two ladies pulled forth garments from the wardrobe. As the women piled clothing on the bed and began pulling forth accessories, Avalyn continued to stare at her lap until Anne finally went to her.
“Rise, Avalyn,” she said in her soft, low voice. “Let us get you bathed. Your new husband would like a presentable bride.”
“Presentable,” she snorted, lifting her head and horrified to realize there were tears in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, but not so fast that her aunt did not see her. “By all means, let us give him a presentable wife.”
She tossed the covers off, so strongly that she nearly ripped them from the bed. On her feet, she yanked off her shift and stood naked in the cold room, more anger and frustration in her heart than she could adequately handle. She was oblivious to the sensual manner in which the light fell on her delicious body, her soft white curves and full breasts revealed to the world. One of Anne’s ladies poured scented oil into the bathwater and the fragrance o
f tuberose filled the room. Avalyn plopped into the tub and water splashed over the side.
Anne could see the temper, the hurt, but she kept her mouth shut. It is for the best, she told herself. She would not let her emotions be swayed by an angry niece. As one of her ladies tied a heavy apron around her waist to protect her fine surcoat, Anne went to work washing Avalyn’s hair. The three women scraped and scrubbed Avalyn until she was slick and clean.
The entire time, Avalyn sat and brooded; at least, that is what it seemed. But her mind, ever-shrewd and ever-sharp, was struggling to formulate a plan. As the ladies washed and rubbed, her golden gaze roved the room, trying to think of a way out of the situation. As long as she wasn’t married yet, there was still a way out. Her uncle must be very worried indeed to pack her off so quickly with Aubrey.
Avalyn’s eyes moved over the wardrobe, the doors open and clothes askew. Beyond the wardrobe, something caught her eye; a small, narrow servant’s entrance used to access the apartments. She’d seen it a thousand times but had never given it any thought until now. The door almost blended in with the wall, as it was meant to. The longer Avalyn stared at it, the more her plan took shape.
“Auntie,” she said softly.
“Yes, Avalyn?” Anne looked up from the brush in her hands.
Avalyn turned to the small, dark woman. “I want William to come with me. I do not want to go to my husband without a man that does not serve him. I want someone who will serve only me.”
Anne put the brush down and wiped her hands on a linen towel. “William is sworn to your uncle, dear. You must ask him.”
“Will you ask him for me? I fear his anger towards me is not yet abated.”
Anne didn’t reply for a moment. She knew of Inglesbatch’s feelings for Avalyn; they all did. But she was trying to determine why Avalyn felt the need to take the man. Security? Manipulation? When the pause became excessive, Avalyn turned to her aunt again. “Will you, please?” she asked.
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