“Thel,” he addressed her far more kindly than he ever had. “You will tell the lady what has happened. Tell her I have not forgotten her.”
Thel nodded. “I will, Brogan.”
“Tell her… tell her that I will come to her and to have faith.”
“I will.”
There was nothing more to say beyond the obvious. They all knew the stakes and they all knew the part they played in them. Brogan went to his mother and, putting a hand on her shoulder, bent down and kissed the baby on the cheek. She slept soundly. With a lingering glance at the sleeping child, he gathered his saddle bags, his cloak, and fled the cottage.
When he was gone, the room felt eerily vacant as if all of the life had suddenly blown out of it. Thel rose hesitantly and went to St. Alban, still seated by the roaring flames that were spilling black smoke into the chamber. She knelt next to the old man, noticing that he suddenly looked very tired. She wondered if his determination, his bravery, had all been an act for Brogan’s sake. She wondered if this scheme would really work.
“Are you all right, St. Alban?” she asked softly.
He looked at her, a wan smile on his face. “Of course, beauty,” he patted her head. “You and the other girls go to sleep. I shall wake you well before dawn.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Thel did as she was told, but it was clear there was some measure of hesitation. St. Alban didn’t look at all well and that concerned her. She wondered if this undertaking was too much. But she obediently climbed into the bed with the other three girls and went to sleep. In the corner, Mama Starke also fell asleep to visions of a dozen grandchildren with her son’s strength and Avalyn’s beauty.
Only St. Alban did not sleep. He sat by the flames, staring off into the night, wondering if, indeed, his plan was going to work.
A soft knock rattled the cottage door. Avalyn sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes, realizing at that moment that she had fallen asleep somewhere in her wait for Brogan. She had no idea what time it was, but the fire in the hearth was a pile of glowing embers, so it must be very late indeed. Shaking off her grogginess, she went to the door.
She was fully expecting to find Brogan. Instead, three small women were standing on her step. She recognized the Sirens immediately.
Thel bobbed a curtsy. “My lady,” she said, reading the woman’s confusion. “It is an hour or so before dawn. We have come to help you prepare for the day.”
“Dawn?” Avalyn looked at the sky; the east was turning faint shade of gray. She stepped back to allow the women inside. When the door closed, she turned to Thel. “Where is Brogan? Why hasn’t he come?”
Thel smiled timidly. “He says to tell you that he has not forgotten about you. He also says to tell you that he will indeed come to you and to have faith.”
Avalyn lifted an eyebrow, realizing she had not received a straight answer. “Where is he?”
“He has gone back to London, my lady.”
Now she was thoroughly puzzled. “Back to London?” she repeated. “Why?”
Thel pulled back the hood of her cloak. “There is little time before your party leaves, my lady,” she said. “I saw the soldiers already preparing the carriage. Perhaps I can tell you while we help you dress.”
“He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“He is fine.”
Still exhausted, and disappointed to boot, Avalyn was compliant as Thel moved to help her off with the heavy surcoat that she had slept in. Aggie and Noe, meanwhile, were spread out across the room, one of them putting stoking the embers and putting water on to boil and the other one throwing open the great cluster of trunks. Noe cooed over the lovely garments, drawing a quelling look from Thel.
“What will you wear today, my lady?” Thel asked as she began to unlace the back of Avalyn’s shift.
Avalyn’s mind was still a bit muddled, sleepy, filled with thoughts of Brogan’s absence. “There is a gray woolen surcoat with rabbit lining and a matching shift,” she said distractedly. “You can find the hose and shoes in one of the smaller cases.”
Aggie and Noe were delighted to be able to rummage through the beautiful garments. Once in a while they would hold one up to themselves as if imagining what they would look like in it, but then the other one would poke her and they would continue on their quest. Still, the pretty things were tempting. As the water warmed and Avalyn’s shift came off completely, Thel used folded linen squares that she had found neatly packed to sponge her mistress off. Aggie had found a phial of tuberose oil and poured a generous dose into the warm water. The sweet fragrance filled the room.
“Why did he go back to London?” Avalyn asked Thel as the woman pinned her hair up high atop her head so it would not get wet.
Thel slowed in her task of bathing. Her movements grew thoughtful, lethargic. She picked up a wet cloth and wiped it down Avalyn’s back. “To retrieve his father’s armor.”
Avalyn’s brow furrowed. “His father’s armor? Why would he do that?”
Thel moved to the shoulders and arms of the lady, admiring the woman’s stunning body as she cleaned her. She had a beautiful shape with a slender torso and full, round breasts. She could imagine Brogan touching the lady’s body, his mouth on tender places and his hands touching her intimately. The thought was enough to bring heat to her cheeks.
“Because he and St. Alban have decided that he should pose as a knight and swear fealty to your betrothed,” Thel was having a difficult time focusing with thoughts of Brogan and the lady doing private things. “Brogan is to assume his father’s identity as a knight. St. Alban said it was the best way for him to get close to you and then take you and your daughter away to Saxony.”
Avalyn’s eyes widened and she turned to the woman, grasping her hands to force her to stop in her task. “Are you serious?” she hissed. “Brogan will be walking right into the lion’s den. They will eat him alive if he is discovered.”
Thel fixed her in the eye. “St. Alban says that your betrothed has never seen Brogan. Is this true?”
Avalyn thought very hard. She could not remember a time that Charles and Brogan had come into contact. But she did not know if St. John and Brogan knew one another on sight, and that thought alone worried her tremendously.
“I believe so,” she said contemplatively. “But Charles has a knight who is a seasoned fighting man. I do not know if he knows Brogan on sight.”
“Who is Inglesbatch?”
“He is my knight.”
“And he knows Brogan?”
“He does.”
“Will he tell your betrothed of Brogan’s true identity?”
“Nay. He would keep the secret to the death.”
“Then why are you worried, my lady?”
What was she worried about? At the moment, she was truthfully only worried about St. John. But in spite of her concern, a seed of hope was beginning to sprout in her belly. As risky as the scheme was, she believed it feasible; Brogan looked every inch the powerful knight. But she had to talk to William to let him know what was transpiring. Right or wrong, he would soon be pulled more deeply into the situation and they would all need to keep a cool head if the plan, so hard fought, was to succeed.
Thel finished sponging Avalyn off and set about drying her. Meanwhile, Noe had teased the dying embers into a bright blaze that was rapidly heating up the room. As Avalyn stood in front of the fire to both dry off and warm herself, the Sirens carefully dressed her. Thel was more businesslike as Aggie and Noe took great delight in the look and texture of everything the lady was wearing. They were like children in their wonder, touching and playing with things they wouldn’t have normally had the opportunity to. Aggie in particular took tremendous joy in arranging Avalyn’s silken hair; when Avalyn finally looked at herself in the polished pewter mirror, she was surprised to see that her chestnut tresses had been elaborately woven. A single braid encircled her head while the rest of it was gathered and intricately plaited over one should
er. They had even found some jewelry tucked away in a case that they used as hair ornaments. In truth, her hair looked marvelous.
“The arrangement is lovely,” she touched the braid encircling her head. “Who did this?”
“I did, my lady,” Aggie said.
Avalyn looked at the small, pale-haired woman. “You have great talent.”
Aggie flushed. “Thank you, my lady.”
Avalyn touched her hair one last time, suddenly wishing Brogan could see her like this. The Sirens had done a beautiful job. It would make convincing Charles that she needed to take them much easier if he could see their results. She tossed the mirror back on the bed and looked around for her cloak.
“Come along, ladies,” she said briskly. “We must repack everything and be ready to leave.”
Thel snapped softly at the other two, who began yanking things off the bed and cramming them back into the trunks. Avalyn found her gray fur-lined cloak on the peg by the door and swung it over her shoulders. She watched the woman quickly, if not slightly sloppily, repack her trunks. It began to occur to her that women she didn’t know where willing to risk a great deal for her. She’d not had much of that kind of loyalty in her life, not even from her own family. All they could do was distain her when she resisted. These women had stepped in to help when they didn’t even know her. She knew it was because of the regard they held for Brogan, but it didn’t matter. They were still the most self-sacrificing people she had ever seen.
“Thel,” she said softly to the brown-eyed girl. When Thel looked up at her from securing a small capcase, Avalyn smiled softly.
“I… I just want to thank you and your ladies for your help,” she said. “I am not sure how I can repay you, but know that I am very grateful.”
Thel smiled modestly. “We are happy to help you and Brogan.”
“He is lucky to have such friends.”
She laughed softly. “I would not call us friends. But St. Alban is the only man in the barracks that has ever treated us as if we have minds and souls. Once, he asked Brogan to punish a man who had hurt Noe. Brogan broke both of the man’s arms. After that, the men in the barracks treated us with more respect because they feared that Brogan would hurt them, too, if they did not. It has made our lives much easier, such as they are. So we are helping Brogan because he has helped us.”
Avalyn smiled broadly at the woman. “He is very chivalrous.”
Thel nodded, her dark eyes intense on the lady. “Most people would not call him kind. He is very frightening. But I believe he has a good heart and he deserves to be happy. And you, my lady; you were kind to me even when you knew what I was. That is rare. You deserve to be happy, too.”
A grateful expression passed from Avalyn to Thel. There was warmth and genuine thanks in the gentle look. Thel turned back to the capcase and put it on the bed with a couple of others. Soon the soldiers would be coming and they had to be ready.
When Charles finally came for his intended, he was surprised to find three small women in her company. But it took very little convincing to allow the ladies to accompany Avalyn to Guerdley Cross. Dazzled by her beauty as he was that morning, and thinking himself a very fortunate man indeed, he would have agreed to let the Devil himself attend her.
The Sirens went north.
Chapter Eleven
It had been two weeks since Brogan had left Avalyn, two weeks since they had traveled north and found haven at the small village of Rugeley. It wasn’t far from Guerdley Cross; perhaps a day’s ride. St. Alban remembered a friend who owned fortified manor house called Slitting Mill that was situated near the town, but when they finally came upon it, the friend was long dead and the structure was abandoned. It had been enough for St. Alban to set up house. Brogan had little time in order to learn to become a proper knight and St. Alban was determined to teach him.
They were in the small ward of Slitting Mill on a cool, blustery day. Brogan had spent the morning learning to don St. Alban’s old armor, heavy pieces that were outdated yet functional. For a man who had spent his life in mail and leather protection, the introduction of the armor was something alien. St. Alban made him put the armor on over and over, repetitively, until he could put it on swiftly and competently as if he had been doing it all of his life. More than once, Brogan grew frustrated when the armor refused to cooperate but he persevered. Eventually, he was able to put it on like any other knight.
The second lesson was the art of combat from the back of a horse, which was a bit trickier considering Brogan was infantry and was used to fighting on his feet. St. Alban had the man practice on the back of the old charger, teaching him how to gain reach with his broadsword without losing his balance, or how to guide the animal with pressure from his knees rather than the reins. In battle, that was imperative. As Mama Starke and little Lake watched from the sidelines, Brogan struggled with the concept of battle on the back of the horse but kept his temper because Lake was watching him.
He found distraction with the blond little angel, who seemed to constantly have food in her mouth. Mama Starke saw to that, and within those two weeks, Lake had filled out and was starting to look like a little cherub. She was a truly adorable child, waving happily at Brogan from the sidelines as she stuffed her face with bread. He couldn’t help but grin at her, thinking of her as his daughter as if she had always been. He was attached to her. When he saw her, he saw Avalyn and everything he was preparing to fight for. He saw his life.
Now, at the end of the second week of training, Brogan was growing impatient. As the cool wind blew and he climbed off the charger after having practiced jousting all morning with the trunk of a sapling, he approached St. Alban as the man stood vigilant next to Lake and Mama Starke. The ready-made audience was Brogan’s constant companion, but today, he didn’t feel much like performing anymore. He wanted to go north, to Avalyn. His patience with everything was at an end.
“I am finished with this,” he announced to St. Alban as he adjusted one of his gauntlets. “I have learned what I need to know. Now it is time to move forward.”
St. Alban lifted an eyebrow. “There is more to learn, Brogan.”
“What more can there be?” Brogan asked, impatient. “You have taught me how to dress like a knight and ride like a knight. I can already fight better than they can. Now I know what it is to be a knight with all of these fancy trappings. What more is there?”
“More indeed,” St. Alban crossed his arms. “I suppose there is nothing I can teach you about combat; you have learned your lessons well. But the essence of a true knight isn’t fighting; it is chivalry. Listen to me, Brogan. You cannot be a convincing knight based upon brute strength.”
Brogan didn’t look convinced. “What else is there?”
St. Alban held up a finger. “Much more,” he said firmly. “To be chivalrous is to defend the weak and enforced the laws of the church. It is not settling a dispute with a blade; it is using your reasoning and your mind. It is handling each situation with wisdom and calm and, if need be, with your sword. Do you understand what I am saying so far?”
Brogan continued to fuss with the old gauntlet that was chaffing his wrist; he looked down at the glove as he loosened the strap. “I understand that you are asking me to show weakness. I will not do that.”
St. Alban shook his head. “Nay, lad, that is not what I am asking at all,” he said. “I am asking you to grow up, to learn something beyond mere killing. Do you not think that would please Avalyn? Does she not deserve a man who is wise and compassionate, not merely a killing machine?”
Brogan looked up from the glove and stopped fussing. “I am doing all of this for Avalyn. She deserves a strong man who can protect her.”
St. Alban knew that he wasn’t going to get far in trying to explain chivalry but he knew he had to try. The concept was extremely foreign to Brogan. After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“You are a strong man and an excellent fighter,” he said, sounding rather defeated. “But if you are to b
e convincing as a knight, you must show something more, something I cannot teach you. You must show calm and wisdom in every situation. If you do not agree with me, then at least understand my words because if you do not, you will give yourself away. True knights do not act rashly and are not mindless killers. All I ask is that you think before you react, Brogan, especially when we go to Guerdley Cross. If we are to pull off this charade, then you must not think like Brogan d’Aurilliac. You must think like a knight.”
Brogan sighed heavily, struggling with the concept of something beyond fighting and killing. He glanced at his mother, who was holding Lake on her knee, and then fixed on the baby as she licked her fingers of a sticky bun. When Lake saw that Brogan was looking at her, she grinned and slithered off Mama Starke’s knee. Running to Brogan, he picked her up and tried to avoid the sticky fingers that were coming at him. But he couldn’t dodge them completely and they ended up on his face as she gave him a messy kiss. It was sweet, warm and wonderful, enough to melt his heart.
St. Alban watched he interaction, astonished that his serious young friend had the capacity to show such compassion. Over the past few weeks, the man had show complete and utter joy and gentleness with the little girl. St. Alban knew that in spite of Brogan’s resistance to the concept of chivalry that the man indeed had the capacity to not only learn the qualities but display them. Little Lake had proven that. There was hope.
“Just a few more lessons today, Brogan,” St. Alban said. “That is, providing you can separate yourself from your daughter and pay attention.”
Brogan lifted a reproving eyebrow at St. Alban for the comment but dutifully put Lake on her feet. As Lake began to run around and play with Mama Starke in very close attendance, Brogan tried to follow more instructions on chivalry and knightly honor. More than once, he grew frustrated but more than once, St. Alban was able to help him understand. Things that didn’t come naturally to him were going to have to if he wanted to make a convincing knight.
Romantic Legends Page 20
