Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Shh,” he shushed her quietly, daring to wipe at her new tears. “He’s your husband, Avalyn. You must let him do his duty. And you must do yours.”

  “But… I do not want him to…”

  “You must. You have no choice.”

  She sobbed loud enough that William shushed her again. “Avalyn, calm yourself,” he whispered sternly. “You must not let anyone see how upset you are. It will only give way to questions.”

  She nodded, knowing he was correct, laboring to relax. He patted her arm, looking around them to make sure no one had heard or seen their exchange. The battlements were quiet but for a few distant soldiers and the party-goers down below certainly were not paying them any attention. He took her gently by the elbow.

  “Come along,” he said, leading her towards the stairs. “You will return to your festivities and enjoy the night. And when the time comes to retire, remember that it is necessary. If Aubrey is to think this child is his, you must not delay. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, sickened, yet knowing he was correct. “Oh, William,” she breathed. “Will this misery never end?”

  He looked at her as they reached the stairwell. The moon was reflecting off of her lovely features and he felt a good deal of misery of his own.

  “It will,” he muttered. “But until then, you must be brave. I know you can do this.”

  She swallowed hard, wiping what moisture remained on her face. She fixed him in the eye, her gaze moving over his round, strong face. A soft hand came up to gently touch his cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything you have done, I thank you. Surely no better friend in this world has ever existed.”

  He simply nodded, letting her take the stairwell alone. Even after she was gone, he continued to stand there, feeling empty and weak.

  Charles was very drunk when they finally retired to the marriage bed that night. The whistles and calls reverberated to the roof as the baron and his new wife ascended the stairs to the third floor of the keep. Charles was very jovial, waving to the crowd and shouting back to the well—wishers, while Avalyn smiled wanly and was properly subdued, as a virginal bride should be. In truth, she was horrified. She was afraid to open her mouth lest she vomit.

  Richard de Neville watched the couple from his chair of honor on the dais, lifting his chalice to his niece when their eyes made contact. He was rather pleased at himself, once again, a master plan coming to fruition. There was nothing in this land that did not obey his wishes, especially not his niece. He knew that she would eventually surrender to his directive. He was pleased to see it was sooner rather than later. When the couple disappeared into the upper levels, he turned back to his wine. Aye, he was very pleased with the final result.

  The landing outside of the master’s chamber had been lined with rushes and fragrant sprigs. Fat tapers on big iron stands lit the landing, leading into the massive chamber. There were candles everywhere, some scented with Pine. The entire room was warm and fragrant. As Charles spoke with one of his servants, Avalyn entered the chamber and removed her heavy cloak. The garment was oppressive in the heat of the room. She glanced over at the roaring fireplace, a massive blaze spitting smoke and sparks into the air. Without looking at her new husband, she went to the large oak table near the windows and poured herself a measure of wine. She drank the entire cup in three big swallows; she found that she needed something to fortify her. It was going to be difficult enough to get through this night.

  When she heard the door shut softly and the bolt thrown, she closed her eyes briefly, tightly, squaring her shoulders and remembering what William had told her; you must do your duty. As much as she liked Charles and for as much as she respected his kindness, the fact remained that she was repulsed by him physically. There was no romantic feeling in her heart, not even the smallest seed. Even if Brogan had never existed, she would not have found Charles an appealing man. And now she was expected to lay with him. She felt bile rise in her throat at the thought.

  “Please make yourself comfortable, my lady,” Charles said, removing his heavy tunic with some difficulty. It was a massive thing studded with semi precious stones and his drunken fingers couldn’t manage it very well. “Would you like to sit by the fire?”

  She shook her head, moving away from the table as he moved towards it. He took the other chalice of wine and drank deeply, wiping his pale sweaty lips when he was finished. He eyed Avalyn, his gaze lingering on her shapely back.

  “My mother was pregnant when she married,” he said for no apparent reason. “She bore my brother six months later. She wasn’t fooling anyone.”

  Avalyn looked at him sharply, her eyes wide. He put up his hands in a sloppy gesture. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said quickly. “I did not mean to offend. It was simply something that someone reminded me of downstairs. My grandfather was evidently furious, though I would not know that personally, of course.”

  Avalyn could see that he was very, very drunk. He was rambling. He was also very pale and sweaty. In spite of her revulsion of the man, she nonetheless attempted to take the attitude of a concerned wife.

  “Charles, you’re drunk,” she said. “Sit down before you fall down. We’ll sit and talk a while.”

  He staggered his way to the chair she was indicating and sat heavily. The chair creaked and popped dangerously. Avalyn sat in another chair opposite him and they looked at each other. Charles couldn’t seem to sit upright; he kept listing to starboard.

  “I never thought we would see this day,” he said after a moment. “So much has happened. It seems like a dream.”

  He didn’t mean it as a reprimand, but Avalyn felt as if it was. Not wanting to linger on the painful past, she spoke of the future. “Do you have any great plans for our keep, my lord? Any great expansions or hopes?”

  He blinked, struggling to focus his drunken thoughts as he wiped again at his sweaty lip. It was then that Avalyn noticed his lips were an odd shade of pinkish-blue. “I would like to increase my breeding stock,” he said. “There is a lot of money in selling good horses.”

  “An admirable goal.”

  He nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat and nearly falling off the chair. “Right now, I have stables enough to house twenty five horses. I should like to increase that to one hundred.”

  “Indeed?” Avalyn pretended to be interested. “You must decide where to put all of those stables. Perhaps they will have to be built outside the wall, like a big arena.”

  “You must like horses, my lady. You ride that big bay colt.”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “Then perhaps you will help me with this endeavor?”

  “I should be delighted.”

  Charles smiled at her, his purplish lips quivering. He was shifting around quite a bit, nervously and drunkenly, rubbing his left hand a good deal. But Avalyn didn’t notice too much; she was more concerned with what the evening would bring. She wondered if it would be better to get it over with rather than try to delay the inevitable.

  “I… I am glad we are finally married,” she said. “You have been a kind and generous soul.”

  He was looking at her with his big brown eyes, like two spots of mud within his fat pasty face. “I have told you since the beginning that I would endeavor to make a fine husband. Though there were a few times when I thought you would slip away, I had always hoped I would break through to you. Perhaps I finally have.”

  She lowered her gaze, looking at her hands. “I understand that I am fortunate.”

  He sat forward in his chair, obvious to the groaning of the wood and leather. “’Tis I who am the fortunate one, my lady. Did you like the gifts I gave you?”

  She smiled weakly at him, fingering the jewelry around her neck. “They were magnificent, all of them; the cloak, the rings, the necklaces. Just lovely.”

  “Good,” he sat back, pleased with himself. “I like giving you gifts. I shall give you a gift every day for the rest of our marriage.”

  She
laughed softly. “If we are married fifty years that could get to be an expensive habit.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly, pleased he could make her laugh. The conversation died for the moment and he went back to rubbing his left hand furiously. It was then that Avalyn noticed what he was doing.

  She gestured towards his hand. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  He didn’t know what she meant until he looked down and saw that he was indeed massaging his hand. He extended the digits, turning his hand over as if to gain a better look at it.

  “Nay,” he finally said, rising from the chair and weaving about. “I must have hurt it somehow. It is sore.”

  She nodded in understanding, noticing that he was looking at the bed. He caught her expression and the pleasant mood that had he tried hard to establish was fading. Charles resumed unconsciously rubbing his hand as he faced her.

  “If you do not want to,” his voice was quiet. “I will not force you. I would be happy just to talk to you.”

  It would have been so easy to accept his offer. Lord knows, she wanted to. She was incredibly close to agreeing. But in the last moment she restrained herself, knowing what must be done. There was no use in delaying it, especially if Charles was to think the child was his. Tears threatened, those of fright and revulsion and sorrow, but she fought them.

  “We are married, my lord,” her voice was small, tight. “It is your right. It is expected.”

  “But we do not…”

  “I appreciate your kindness. But we must.”

  Suddenly, he seemed more reluctant than she did. He yanked the mantle off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a sloppy action. Sitting heavily on the bed, he almost fell off but caught his balance. He just sat there a moment, staring at the floor. Avalyn watched him, growing increasingly curious about his behavior; when the man should clearly be eager to assume his husbandly duties, Charles seemed very reluctant.

  “Is… is something wrong, my lord?” she asked hesitantly.

  He shook his head. Then he nodded. The hand-rubbing grew more furious as he refused to meet her gaze. “I… I should have told you this before, but I could not…”

  He trailed off and her brow furrowed with concern. “Told me what? Is something amiss?”

  He still refused to look at her. He took a deep breath. “I was afraid that you would call off the marriage. You would have every right to, you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Your uncle did not know. He would have never allowed the betrothal had he possessed an inkling of…”

  Avalyn suddenly stood up. “Inkling of what? Charles, you’re not making any sense.”

  He looked at her as she raised her voice. His big brown eyes glimmered with emotion, perhaps those of sorrow and shame. “Please do not be angry with me.”

  He looked like a scolded child. Calming herself, she went to him, kneeling down beside him and laying her hand on his arm. “I promise I shall not become angry. What is it? You must tell me.”

  He gazed down at her for several long moments before taking another deep breath. Then he looked at his hands. “I cannot… that is to say, it has been years since I have been able to… perform as a man should.”

  She didn’t understand for a moment. Then, a slip of a thought occurred to her, what he might mean, and her eyes widened. “You cannot…?”

  He nodded, now completely ashamed. “I cannot bed you this night, Avalyn. I cannot… I mean, my… well, it cannot be aroused and the physics have told me that it is because I have gone too much to fat and my heart is weakened.” He suddenly looked at her, his expression one of near panic. “I do not know if we can ever have children, my lady, but I swear to you that I will still make a fine husband and….”

  Avalyn’s hand flew to her mouth and she suddenly bolted to her feet, turning away from him. Dear God, it couldn’t be true? If he could not perform as her husband then there would be no coupling this night or any other, and he would know that the child she carried inside of her was not of his loins. Panic surged in her veins and she stumbled away from him, towards the lancet window where the cool salty breeze wafted through the opening. She needed a breath of fresh air and she inhaled deeply, struggling to calm herself. Behind her, Charles rose from the bed.

  “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to deceive you. I know this must be horrifying for you, but I promise I will do everything I can to right this problem. The physics have even given me an eating schedule to follow. I promise I will adhere to it if you will only… not tell anyone, especially your uncle. He could have the marriage annulled immediately.”

  Hand still over her mouth, shock written all over her face, Avalyn turned to look at him. He looked so pathetic.

  “You lied,” she whispered.

  “I did. I am sorry.”

  She just stood there, unable to react for a moment. She could tell that he thought she was repulsed by him when the truth was that she was terrified for herself. She had to think fast.

  “Have you… tried?” It was hard to spit out the words.

  He shrugged, embarrassed and upset. “I have. Many times. But nothing works.”

  “You have not tried it with me.”

  His eyes widened at her. “That is true,” he said, almost hopefully. “But I could not ask you to do this with the very real possibility of no end result. It would be demeaning for you, not to mention a horrendous experience for your wedding night. Nay, my lady, I would not allow this.”

  Now it was she who was wringing her hands as she moved towards him, struggling not to let her anxiety show. “I will insist. How are we to know if it will not work unless we try?”

  He just looked at her, his embarrassment fading as sorrow took hold. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Avalyn reached out and took his left hand. Smiling wanly, she put it against her left cheek, hoping to spark some embers into him. Charles gazed back at her, an odd expression coming over his face as he lifted his other hand and gently cupped her face. He stood there a moment, gazing at her with wonderment.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he breathed. “Surely you cannot be too angry with me for wanting to keep you at all cost.”

  “Let us see if it was worth the lies and deceit on both our parts.”

  He nodded, licking his lips as he moved towards her. Avalyn could feel his hot breath on her face, smelling of alcohol, and it was a struggle not to vomit. She could hardly believe the revelations of the night and now the event of something she was loathe to perform. But it had be done. She had to do her very best to make it happen. She prayed that Brogan would forgive her, wherever he was. She screwed her eyes shut tightly. Maybe if she couldn’t see what was happening, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  As his lips hovered above her, Charles suddenly let out a loud groan. Avalyn’s eyes flew open just in time to see him clutch his chest and collapse in a heap.

  He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “The physics knew he had a bad heart. He did not want anyone to tell you.”

  Exhausted, cold and sickened, Avalyn sat in the solar in the pale gray of the coming dawn, listening to Barton’s soft explanations. The weddings guests were still about, having not been told of the groom’s death. For the moment, those that knew were still in shock. Especially Avalyn.

  “Then you knew, too?” she looked at Barton, her voice soft and weary. “So this was nothing surprising, then?”

  Barton drew in a long, slow breath. “It is not surprising. Shocking, aye. The man is only thirty three years old. But he knew his heart was bad. Why do you think he was so eager to marry? He wanted to at least have a wife to leave his estates and titles to, and hopefully any children.” Barton’s gaze fixed on her, guardedly. “Is there… a possibility of children, my lady?”

  Avalyn didn’t dare look at William, standing in the shadows just inside the doorway. She could feel his gaze upon her, questioning, sympathetic. So Barton must not
know of Charles impotency, she thought. Had he known, he would not have asked such a question. She lowered her head, staring at the smoking embers in the massive hearth. She was so very tired of lies and deception, but one more was necessary for all their sakes.

  “Aye,” she murmured. “There is a possibility.”

  Barton took a deep, cleansing breath as he nodded his head. It was clear that the man was struggling with his grief. The events of the past few hours had been disheartening and startling. He was still having difficulty believing it, no matter how he pretended otherwise.

  “God be praised,” he said softly. His gaze lingered on Avalyn’s pale face, now illuminated by the early dawn’s light. “You are the lady of Guerdley Cross, sole commander of her armies. I am sworn to obey you to the death. What is the first order you would have me carry out, Lady Aubrey?”

  Avalyn tore her eyes away from the dying embers of the hearth, focusing on the handsome blond knight with whom she had shared a strange relationship. He’d set her straight on a good many things when her moral compass seemed to be spinning out of control; Brogan would do as she wished, William would bow to her commands, but Barton had been given the advantage of being moderately objective. No matter what had happened between them, she had grown to trust the man. She respected him a great deal.

  She rose stiffly from her chair, moving to the fading fire and throwing a lump of peat on it. William moved forward to take the duty from her, gently but firmly shoving her away.

  “Lady Aubrey does not stoke her own fire,” he said, a twinkle in his tired eyes. “Answer Sir Barton. What would be your first command to us?”

  She could only grin at him, wearily, before looking back to Barton. She pulled her heavy brocade cloak, the one Charles had given her, more tightly around her chilled shoulders.

  “It would seem our first order of business would be to bury my husband,” she said, softly but with a commanding tone that William was familiar with. “Where is the Aubrey family crypt?”

  “In the cathedral in St. Helens,” Barton told her. “I shall send someone immediately to summon the priest.”