England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  St. Alban was both pleased and surprised; perhaps some of the manners he had been attempting to teach Brogan over the years were finally taking hold. He felt the strange pride that a father would for a son who had just accomplished something good. But the lady apparently did not share his surprise or pride. She eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

  “You are not from England, Sir Knight,” she stated the obvious.

  “Nay, my lady,” he replied with some edge. “And I am not a knight.”

  An odd tension developed. Unsettled, and the slightest bit anxious to leave, Avalyn tossed the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “I thank you for your kind attention, but I am afraid I really must go.” Standing up, she bobbed about dangerously but managed to stay on her feet. “I must find my horse.”

  Brogan took a step towards her, preparing to catch her if she fell. “It is the middle of the night, my lady. You will not find your horse in the dark.”

  “Ah, but I will,” she said, uncomfortable with his closer proximity. She tried to move away from him. “I will return to the stable. I am certain he will go back there.”

  Brogan wasn’t used to having his wishes contested, much less having this degree of conversation with someone. Because of his heavy accent, he rarely spoke more than a few words at any given time.

  “Then I will accompany you,” he said.

  Avalyn eyed him. “My lord, if we are at the Tower as you have said, then that will not be necessary. I know my way.”

  Brogan had nothing more to say. He didn’t even look at St. Alban for silent suggestions on how to handle this. He merely crossed his arms and stepped back as the lady regained her equilibrium. Thel brought her a wooden cup filled with warm mutton broth, but the lady shook her head.

  “Please,” she said. “I simply want my clothes so that I may leave. I do not want to trouble you good people further.”

  “Your clothes are wet, my lady,” Thel said.

  Avalyn looked at her, something of frustration and apprehension in her expression. She grasped at the garment she was currently wearing. “Then whose gown is this?” she asked quietly.

  “Mine, my lady.”

  “Then I shall send it back to you.”

  It was all she intended to say. There was no question of her determination to leave. Barefoot, she staggered across the floor towards the door. Brogan watched her go until he heard St. Alban hissing at him.

  “Go with her,” the old man whispered loudly.

  Brogan’s icy gaze lingered on the old man a moment before slowly, deliberately, doing as he was bade. He followed the lady out of the chamber and down the stairs.

  It was cold, dark, and quiet on the first floor. Most occupants had long since gone to sleep. Avalyn could hear the enormous warrior’s footfalls behind her, stalking her, and it only served to fuel the panic she had been so adept in controlling.

  Her head was clear by now. Her feet were freezing and she didn’t feel very well, but she picked up the pace until she found a door that led from the maze of chambers. Once out into the courtyard, she could see clearly where she was; she was indeed at the Tower of London. The cluster of towers and buildings created one of the busiest and most populated palaces in the world. The sheer scope and craftsmanship of the complex was overwhelming.

  Over head, the moon was barely above the horizon, indicative of the late hour. Avalyn knew that people would be worried over her disappearance. Gathering the soft wool garment about her, she walked very quickly towards the Beauchamp Tower at the opposite side of the compound. Behind her, she could no longer hear footfalls. She dared to glance over her shoulder, noticing that the massive man had finally left her. When she returned her focus to the path ahead, an enormous body was blocking her path.

  Avalyn shrieked in surprise, seeing through the soft moonlight that it was the frightening warrior. She had never even heard him move around her; his skills of stealth were uncanny. She was terrified.

  “If you come any closer to me, I shall scream,” she backed away.

  He didn’t move. “May I say something, my lady?”

  She regarded him fearfully. “What… what would you say?”

  She heard him sigh. It seemed a strange gesture coming from so intimidating a man. “I found you in the river this night. I pulled you from the water so that you would not drown, and I took you back to my chamber to take care of you. Now you run off into the dark night, with no shoes, no protection, and you would expect me not to see to your safety.” His head wagged back and forth, slowly. “What kind of man would you think I am to save you from the river and not make sure you returned to your husband safe and whole?”

  “I am not married.”

  “To your family, then.”

  He had a point. If he’d wanted to do her harm, he’d had ample opportunity. Some of her fear began to dissipate and she studied his features in the soft gray light.

  “Then I apologize if I have insulted your integrity,” she said quietly. “I do not even know your name.”

  “Brogan d’Aurilliac.”

  Avalyn had heard that name before. She’d heard her uncle speak of it, a name to be uttered only in the softest tones. She had never paid any attention to the meaning behind the name. Now she wished she had.

  She moved towards him in the darkness, her size diminutive against his sheer bulk. Standing next to him, she barely came to his chest. Avalyn was petite even by normal standards, but next to Brogan, she appeared no larger than a child. Calming somewhat now that she was fairly certain he was not going to gut her, she studied him intently.

  “I’ve heard your name before.”

  He didn’t react but to slightly cock his head. “Perhaps you have.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Germania.”

  “Have you been in England long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “And you sure that you are not a knight?”

  He gazed down at her, an ironic snort coming from his lips. “I am sure.”

  “But you are a warrior. You must be in order to live in the barracks.”

  “I am a soldier.”

  “For the king or do you serve a House?”

  “I serve the king.”

  She nodded in understanding, though she could not imagine a man of his size and obvious skill not being some manner of noble knight. Moreover, he was fairly mysterious, and possibly bitter, in his short answers. Having nothing more to say, she lowered her gaze and continued along her path. She hadn’t taken two steps when she suddenly yelped with pain.

  She would have fallen had Brogan not reached out to grab her. She was holding her right foot.

  “I stepped on something,” she hissed. “Ooch, I cannot see it in the dark.”

  He did the only thing he could do. He picked her up. Startled, Avalyn’s arms instinctively went around his neck. He held her with absolutely no effort whatsoever. It was like being held by a tree; strong, solid, unbreakable.

  “You should have let me carry you to begin with,” he sounded a good deal like he was scolding her.

  Avalyn’s eyebrows rose. “You should have given me back my shoes.”

  He looked at her, then. Their faces were a few inches from one another and a very odd spark seemed to ignite. It wasn’t tangible, or even describable. But it was something that suddenly made the moment, from this point on, different.

  “You did not have any shoes on when I found you,” Brogan’s voice wasn’t quite so gruff.

  She didn’t have anything to say to that. She tried to ignore the feeling of him all around her, his strength enveloping her. It was a completely new awareness, bringing unexpected thoughts of safety and comfort. Brogan carried her the rest of the way across the ward until they reached the entry to the Beauchamp Tower. There, he stopped.

  “Inside?” he asked.

  “Inside.”

  He took her into the cold corridor. An iron sconce burned low, spitting
out thick black smoke near the stairs. Avalyn directed Brogan up the stairs to the second floor. When they reached the landing, she pushed herself from his arms.

  “I can find my way from here,” she told him. “But I thank you very much for your chivalry this night. I am sure I owe you a great deal.”

  He was sorry she was no longer in his arms. Furthermore, he was uncomfortable with her thanks and had no idea why. Then he realized it made him feel good, and he was unused to such a thing.

  “It was nothing,” he said, almost brusquely. “I just happened to be in a place where I was needed.”

  “Fortunate for me that you were,” her lips formed a sweet, curvy smile. It positively lit up the corridor. “If there is every anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I would be honored.”

  To his horror, Brogan’s heart began to beat just a bit faster. Something about the way the woman smiled made his heart race. She was such a lovely creature. He would have had to have been both dumb and blind not to realize her beauty. And her voice was sweet like honey, a purring tone that felt more like a caress than a sound. It flowed over him, across him, through him, like a warm breeze.

  He must have been standing there like an idiot for an inordinate amount of time, because she bid him a good eve and began to limp away on a foot that still had a burr in it. Brogan felt very strange watching her turn from him; he didn’t want her to go. He wanted to continue talking to her. He’d never had that reaction before in his life and wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. Maybe it was the emotions of the night, the anguish he had been feeling before the lady plowed into him. She had distracted him from his pain and he was glad for it. Before he could think it all through, he heard himself speak.

  “My lady,” he said. “Your horse… if you would like me to help you search for it…”

  She paused, her delicious features bathed in a golden glow from the softly burning hall torch. “I hope that will not be necessary,” she said. “I am fairly certain he will have gone back to the stables. But I thank you just the same.”

  He didn’t say another word. He didn’t want to sound any more like an idiot than he already did. But she stumbled on her injured foot and fell right to her buttocks. He was on her in an instant.

  She was holding her foot up, wincing as she tried to locate the burr that was paining her. Brogan took her little foot in his hand. It was a bold move and she should have yanked her leg away, but she didn’t. Perhaps it was a test of trust, curious about this man who rescued her from the Thames and carried her with such strength. She wanted to see what he was going to do.

  “Hold still.” He almost looked around to see who had said that. It was a tone far gentler than he ever knew himself capable of. He spied the prick immediately. “There it is.”

  He popped it out, leaving a pin-point of blood on the ball of her foot. She removed her foot from his grasp, rubbing the sting. All the while, Brogan just stared at her. She caught his expression, something between wonder and interest.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Why do you look at me like that?”

  He averted his eyes and abruptly stood up, feeling completely stupid now. He extended a hand to her to help her to her feet, but she continued to sit on the floor and look up at him.

  “You’re not much for conversation, are you?” she said, her tone somewhat quiet.

  His gaze was guarded, very aware of his giddy behavior for the past several minutes. Normally, he would not have answered such a question. He would have ignored it. But, for some reason, he felt compelled reply.

  “I am when I have something to say,” he replied.

  She smiled faintly and his heart started thumping again. She pushed herself up from the floor. Brogan reached out to help her, but he was too late. She was already on her feet, still gazing up at him.

  “I would believe that,” she said thoughtfully. “But you do seem to ebb and flow. There are moments when you say virtually nothing. But there are other moments when it seemed as if you want to say a great deal.”

  Now he was feeling cornered, but not in a bad way. The woman had known him all of a half hour and already she could sense him. She was pivoting him from feeling to feeling to feeling with no effort at all, but how she understood something about him in the brief amount of time they had been acquainted was a mystery. It was true that often there was a good deal on his mind, but he simply kept his mouth shut. With his heavy accent and awkward English, no one would want to hear him, anyway. His only real verbal strength was barking orders to terrified soldiers. He’d used his intimidation factor to communicate and had never needed any other method. Until now.

  Avalyn watched him shuffle, seeing his discomfiture. Her smile broadened. “Have no fear,” she assured him. “I am not looking for an answer. It was simply an observation. You are a quiet man and I respect that.”

  He looked at her, his deeply tanned cheeks carved with massive dimples on either side. The deep blue eyes glittered. “If I had something to say to you, I would most definitely say it.”

  She laughed softly. “I am sure that you would.” Standing in her cold, bare feet, she shifted on the floor and thought that perhaps she had better continue her journey homeward. It was getting late. But she realized with surprise that she wasn’t as eager as she should be; she rather liked speaking to the man with very little to say. “Thank you again, Brogan d’Aurilliac. I hope that you will let me repay the kindness some day.”

  His reply was one modest nod. He watched her walk down the hall, her petite frame fading into the darkness. Suddenly, bodies appeared out of the shadows and he tensed. But Avalyn did not start in the least, indicative that she knew those who approached her. One of them passed in front of a lit sconce; Brogan could see that it was a soldier. And there were several of them guarding the corridor. Beauchamp men.

  He faded back, to the top of the steps, watching the men escort her to a door at the far end. The door opened, illuminating her with bright light. He saw her turn in his direction as if to see if he was still there. But then she quickly disappeared inside the door shut. The hallway was dark once again and the dark figures disappeared back into the shadows. He was positive they knew he was there so it was best to leave before there was a confrontation.

  Brogan lingered a moment before descending the stairs and quitting the tower, his thoughts dwelling on the lovely little woman with the big golden eyes. He’d left her in the Beauchamp Tower, which meant she was Lancastrian. Only Warwick and the like occupied that stretch of chambers. He hadn’t wanted to admit that until this very moment. Until this moment, he hadn’t cared. But now he did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You have heard his name before,” a tall, thin man with graying hair spoke. “Do you not recall?”

  Avalyn sat before the hearth in the luxurious sitting chamber, a cup of warmed wine in her hand. She shrugged to her uncle’s statement. “I thought I had, but could not remember the details. Who is he?”

  Richard De Neville had made a life out of being shrewd, calm, and calculating. He had also learned long ago to suppress any emotions he might be feeling, including the anger he was now experiencing towards his niece. In his opinion, she had been foolish this night, certainly not the normal behavior of the niece whose opinion was so valuable to him. Small though she might be, younger still though she might be, she nonetheless possessed one of the sharpest intellects he had ever seen. She had oft counseled him when the path was not clear. But tonight, she had taken the wrong path herself. He would see that she realized it.

  “D’Aurilliac is the master sergeant in charge of the king’s infantry,” he said as if she was a fool not to have remembered. “He is said to have the strength of Samson and the skill of the archangels. There is no one more deadly in Henry’s arsenal. Do you truly not remember any of this?”

  Avalyn stared at him, initially surprised, but vaguely recollecting someone mentioning the man who held the reins of the Tower’s infantry. She set the warmed wine dow
n, shaking her head wearily.

  “Truly, Uncle, there are so many enemies these days that one has to write them all down simply to keep track.” She fixed him with a golden stare. “I do not worry over the common soldier as I do the knights and assassins that abound in this place. I know each and every one by name and by sight. That is the only thing of concern to me at this moment, as it should be to you.”

  Richard lifted a dark eyebrow. “Common or not, I would suggest you stay well away from d’Aurilliac, for he undoubtedly knew who you were.”

  She shrugged. “My name is not De Neville. He would not recognize du Brant.”

  “But he brought you back here, so he must suspect your ties.”

  She still tried to shrug it off. “Perhaps,” she said with more casualness than she felt. “But he did not harm me and I have returned safe, and that is all that matters.”

  In the lush and overly-appointed chamber that smelt of myrrh and smoke, a small, dark woman sat across from Avalyn, listening to the conversation intently. Anne Beauchamp de Neville had been a beauty in her day, a petite woman with flashing dark eyes. She was still quite lovely in spite of her years, but more than that, she wielded as much power as her husband. Her family, the de Beauchamps, was indisputably wealthy and influential, even more so that the de Nevilles from the north. Generations of her family had made and destroyed kings. Between King Edward and King Henry over the past thirty years, she and her husband had played the treacherous games of their ancestors, and still, they continued the path. They knew no other way.

  It therefore stood to reason that Anne was also a bit disturbed at the turn of events with her niece this night. Avalyn was the culmination of four hundred years of de Beauchamp breeding, a woman with wit and intellect that would put most men to shame. The only child of her late younger sister, Avalyn was clear of thought, cunning, and wise, and still only twenty-one years of age. Anne could see such greatness in her, even more than her own daughters, Isobel and Anne. But even greatness had its off moments.

  “Of course the most important thing is that you are safe.” If her husband Richard was ‘The Kingmaker,’ then Anne was ‘The Peacemaker.’ She was brilliant that way. “But I think what your uncle is trying to tell you is that you were fortunate this night. Brogan d’Aurilliac is close to Edward and, presumably, our bitter enemy. ’Tis best to leave things as they are and have no further contact with the man.”