Anne snored softly in the other bed. Avalyn sat up in the darkness, only a hint of silver moonlight streaming in through the window to illuminate the black room. Her gaze moved to the massive wardrobe against the wall, the one that held all of her garments and valuables. She’d had to dress for bed, pretending to lay down for sleep just as the rest of the house was.
Uncle Richard himself escorted her back from the feast, along with the rest of the de Neville women tagging along behind. He’d made small talk, not unusual for her uncle who rarely said what was on his mind, instead preferring to throw out leading questions and then glean his information from the answers received. He had asked about her evening, her health, and finally what she thought of Aubrey. All Avalyn could think to say was that he seemed kind enough. Uncle Richard was looking for her to thank him for the smart marriage which, of course, she wasn’t about to do. She wasn’t thankful at all.
In the darkness, she quietly made her way across the room to the wardrobe. It was partially open, Isobel’s garments from that evening strewn across the door. Since she did not want to go digging for clothes, she took Isobel’s soft pink shift and slid it over her head, followed by the deep purple surcoat her cousin was so proud of. It was a truly lovely garment, but Isobel was shorter and smaller than Avalyn, so the surcoat clung almost indecently to her stunning curves. She could feel the snugness of the garment even in the darkness.
Her own hose were on the floor near the wardrobe and she slipped them on, tying them with the ribbons also strewn on the floor and not even caring if they were of the same color. Sliding on the matching slippers, as Isobel’s feet were indeed her same size, she fumbled for a cloak on the pegs near the wardrobe and came away with the heavy dark blue damask with the gray ermine lining that belonged to Anne. Now, Anne was taller by a few inches over Avalyn, and the cloak drug along the ground as she walked.
Carefully, Avalyn opened the door leading into the lavish sitting room. A fire burned low in the hearth, creating phantom shadows along the opulent walls. A servant was sleeping on a pallet near her aunt and uncle’s chamber door; Avalyn kept her eyes on the man as she slipped into the room and moved to the door that led out into the hall. Seeing that he was undisturbed, she very carefully lifted the iron latch, let herself into the corridor, and silently shut the door.
There were soldiers on guard out in the hall. She had known that she would run into them. There were four that she could see and probably more, and they all looked at her rather curiously. She decided the best way to handle it was to act as if she was doing nothing out of the ordinary. She pulled the cloak about her tightly and focused on the nearest man.
“I cannot sleep and need to clear my mind,” she said quietly. “Everyone else is asleep and I have no desire to wake them. I am going for a walk.”
The soldier was young, obviously fearful of her. “You will need an escort, my lady.”
It was more a question than a statement. She shook her head firmly. “No need. I shall stick close to the halls and will not wander far. If I need assistance, I shall scream. You will be able to hear me.”
The soldier blinked uncertainly, knowing he should probably go with her, but not wanting to dispute her. He simply nodded his head. “Aye, my lady.”
She almost kept walking, but something made her look closely at the man. There was threat in her expression.
“If my uncle or Inglesbatch come looking for me, you will swear that you have not seen me. You know nothing of my whereabouts. Is that clear?”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “Aye, my lady.”
“Good. Betray this promise and you shall regret it.”
With a lingering glare at the astonished man, she moved swiftly down the corridor, disappearing into the distant stairwell. The de Neville soldiers watched her go, each man looking curiously at the other. They had no idea what to make of it. But they let her go.
*
It was quite cold outside as Avalyn made her way from the Beauchamp Tower towards the White Tower. The moon had shifted positions in the sky, brighter than it had been earlier that night. She could see things more clearly. As she entered the shadows of the White Tower, someone slipped up behind her.
“Where are you going?”
Fully expecting it to be Brogan, she was shocked to see that it was Inglesbatch. His round face was pale in the ghostly moonlight, his expression nothing short of furious. Disappointed, not to mention rightly guilty, she held her ground against him.
“What are you doing out here?” she countered.
“I asked you a question, my lady.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ll not take that tone with me, William. It is not your place to question me.”
“It is when you are deliberately disobeying your uncle and putting your life in jeopardy.”
“How do you know what I am doing?” she fired back at him. “I am not a prisoner that needs to be watched. I am a trusted advisor of Richard de Neville’s inner circle, as well as his niece. I am beyond your suspicion and I resent the implication.”
William drew in a long, deep breath. He eyed her. “Where are you going? Just tell me that.”
“It is none of your affair.”
He pursed his lips, struggling with his anger. “Perhaps not, but can you not see that I am trying to protect you? It has been my duty for ten years; therefore, I will ask you again: where are you going?”
Since Avalyn and William had very nearly grown up together, he would often speak to her more informally than most knights would address their liege, which was both a good and bad thing. Right now, he was having difficulty walking the fine line between obligation and need. He was obliged to serve her without question, but he needed to help her as someone who had loved her almost as long as he had known her.
Aye, he loved her.
Avalyn wasn’t oblivious to that. She had known almost as long as William had. But she clearly did not, nor had she ever, returned his feelings. He would often inadvertently cross the line when dealing with her, sometimes acting as a husband would in his concern or close attention.
“William,” she softened her stance. “If you must know, if you must truly know, I am going into town for an entertainment. We are leaving on the morrow and I want to see a play before we go. You know my aunt believes they are vile spectacles unfit for women. My only hope is to see it when she is unaware, for I have no way of knowing when next we will be in London.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going alone?”
“You do not see anyone with me, do you?”
“That is not an answer.”
“You ask the obvious.”
“If that is true, then I will go with you. You will not do this alone. You need protection.”
Before she could reply, a massive silhouette suddenly formed behind William, an enormous shape of blackness emerging from the shadow of the White Tower. It was ominous, growing larger by the moment, hovering behind the knight like a malevolent phantom. William suddenly jerked as something smacked him sharply on the head and he collapsed in a heap at her feet. Avalyn gasped with surprise, watching Brogan’s face materialize from the darkness.
“Brogan,” she hissed. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to hear most of the conversation,” he stepped over William’s supine form. “He was going to take you back to your apartment.”
Avalyn bent down over William, making sure he wasn’t too badly hurt. There wasn’t even any blood. Brogan had clobbered him just hard enough to knock him out, but not hard enough to truly injure him. Satisfied that William wasn’t dying, she stood up and faced the enormous soldier.
“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 plea
sure, 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. It was a warren 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 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. “Poupée.”
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 Poupée 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 Poupée 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. Brogan 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.”
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