England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  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 of 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 who 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.

  Anne untied the heavy apron before answering. “Your husband’s men will be sworn to you also when you marry him. Why must you take William?”

  Avalyn climbed from the tub as the two ladies cloaked her with linen towels. “Because my future husband’s captain was quite brutal to me earlier. I do not trust him. I would like protection of my own, even from my husband’s own knight.”

  Anne’s thin face tightened. “Aubrey’s man was cruel?”

  Avalyn nodded as the women dried her vigorously. “I am afraid of him, auntie. Please ask U
ncle Richard if I may take William. It would make me feel so much better with him to protect me. Will you please go and ask him now?”

  Anne gazed at her niece, feeling the pity she had been so desperately trying to stave off creep into her veins. She hadn’t been keen on this betrothal since the beginning; it had been her husband’s doing and, as a good wife, she supported him. But hearing of Aubrey’s cruel knight increased her doubt. If taking Inglesbatch made Avalyn feel better, then so be it. She saw no harm in it. With a sigh, she nodded her head.

  “Very well,” she set the heavy apron aside. “I will do what I can.”

  “Thank you, auntie,” Avalyn said softly.

  Anne didn’t respond as she quit the chamber. Avalyn waited a few moments before turning to her aunt’s ladies. The two women were finely bred, older, and were her aunt’s shadow. Avalyn had never particularly liked them; they were hovering, judgmental, and cloying.

  “Get out,” she snapped. “I would dress alone.”

  The women didn’t argue. But when they didn’t move fast enough, Avalyn barked at them and they quickly fled. When the door shut behind them, Avalyn threw off the linen towels and began madly rummaging through the clothes the ladies had laid on the bed. She found a lamb’s wool shift of soft white and threw it on, followed by a pair of pantalets that were Anne’s because they were too narrow and too long.

  Working very, very quickly and a bit sloppily, she put on a pale blue surcoat made from very fine linen and lined with white rabbit. It had a sash tie rather than a girdle or belt, and she hastily tied the sash as she went hunting for shoes. The only shoes she was able to find immediately were Isobel’s doeskin boots with fur lining and she yanked them on, so swiftly that she lost her balance and fell onto the bed. But that was of little matter; she was dressed, albeit not too elegantly, and her last order of business was to grab a yellow hair ribbon that young Anne had tossed on the floor. With a few strokes of the fishbone comb through her damp hair, she braided it very quickly and tied it with the ribbon, leaving the thick braid draped over her right shoulder.

  The hidden servant’s entrance called to her, lodged in the dark recesses behind the massive wardrobe. Avalyn had no idea where it went because she’d never used it, but at this moment, she was desperate. She could only hope it didn’t lead to the dungeons somewhere. Without a second thought, she was through the doorway and heading down a very narrow flight of steps. When the dark stairs emptied out into an equally dark corridor that eventually spilled into an alcove off the main hall downstairs, she knew exactly where she was.

  She ran faster than she had ever run in her entire life.

  *

  The smell of baked bread and other cooking scents filled the air as St. Alban directed William into a cluster of shops and merchant stores, now beginning to open for the day. Just after dawn, the city was coming alive with peasants going about their business. The two big chargers made loud clopping noises against the hard-packed earth of the dirty London avenue; William’s charger had to be muzzled because the beast was particularly vicious and those going about their business made sure to avoid the foaming horse.

  St. Alban steered the horses down a narrow alleyway and dismounted next to a non-descript shop. William obediently stopped his horse and dismounted, looking around at the wood and plaster frame structures. A cinder from a cooking fire had landed on the thatched roof of one of them but the spark had died, leaving a trail of smoke up into the blue sky. As William studied his surroundings, St. Alban pounded on the door of the shop. Somewhere, a dog barked, startling the horses.

  The old wooden panel flew open in a matter of seconds. William turned around to find himself gazing into Brogan d’Aurilliac’s deep blue eyes. Both men froze for a moment, unsure to react, but after the initial surprise faded, Brogan’s expression began to harden. St. Alban could see the storm brewing and he moved quickly to diffuse it.

  “Brogan,” St. Alban said firmly before the man could erupt. “This is Sir William Inglesbatch. He brings a message from Lady Avalyn that he wishes to deliver personally.”

  Brogan didn’t say anything, but his jaw flexed furiously. It was clear that he was shocked, infuriated. His predominate rage was directed at St. Alban for bringing de Neville’s knight to his mother’s doorstep. He did not want any trouble here. But contrary to his nature, he managed to keep his calm. The situation was far too important and he was frankly glad to have any manner of communication regarding Avalyn. Even from one of her uncle’s knights.

  “Is she all right?” he managed to rumble.

  William nodded. “May we speak inside?”

  With the greatest reluctance, and a vicious glare at St. Alban, Brogan stepped back and allowed William and the old man entrance. Mama Starke was up, baking bread for the day, and her big blue eyes were wide at the men entering her small shop. Brogan led them into the front of the store, away from his mother’s sensitive ears.

  “Well?” he demanded when they came to a halt. “Where is Avalyn?”

  Though William had known of Brogan for many years and, as he had mentioned, had even fought alongside the man, he’d never been this close to him. Legends, rumors and visions from a distance did not do the man justice; he was positively enormous, with massive muscles roping along his forearms and disappearing beneath his tunic. He had an angular face and square jaw and deep-set blue eyes that were the color of the stormy ocean. William studied the man for a brief moment, the man that Avalyn was so in love with. He had an inherent curiosity towards the man she had risked everything for.

  “She is in her apartment,” William replied steadily. “She has sent me with a message for you.”

  “And that is?”

  “To stay away until she can think of something.”

  Brogan’s jaw continued to tick and his breathing was coming in strange, heavy draws. He stared at William, who continued to gaze back with an even expression. St. Alban stood next to William, watching Brogan’s body language and feeling the man’s torment. But it was relief he felt when the man finally blinked and his big body seemed to relax. Whatever storm was brewing had stalled for the moment.

  “You are unarmed,” Brogan said as he turned away from the pair in search of the nearest chair. He had to sit down or he would fall down; he hadn’t slept all night and his exhaustion was crippling. “You have not come to take me back to de Neville?”

  William shook his head. “I came to deliver a message for my lady. That is all.”

  “Is she really all right? Did her uncle punish her?”

  William wondered how much he should tell him. But since the man was the root of Avalyn’s problems, he thought perhaps he had a right to know what she had sacrificed for him. Moreover, something deep inside him wanted the man to know and feel guilty for it.

  “I shall be forthright so there are no misunderstandings,” William’s voice lowered. “The lady was interrogated most of the night as to your whereabouts. Her fiancé and uncle were determined to know so that they could find and punish you. But she would not tell them, even when the interrogation turned to brutal tactics.”

  Brogan’s eyes widened and he shot to his feet, weaving dangerously. “What do you mean by that? Did they hurt her?”

  “They tried,” William admitted. “But no real harm was done, I assure you. I would not allow it.”

  Brogan’s jaw was ticking again, flexing so hard that William was sure the man would break teeth. “What did they do to her?”

  William put up a calming hand. “Nothing more than hair pulling in an attempt to frighten her. But she does not frighten easily.”

  Brogan’s jaw tension eased. For the first time, he seemed to soften. “Nay, I would not suspect that she does,” he said, his voice hoarse. He found his seat again, his deep blue eyes looking more closely at Inglesbatch. “I have seen you before.”

  William put his hand to the back of his head. “And I have felt you before.”

  The corners of Brogan’s mouth twitched. “Was that the o
nly message the lady sent for me?”

  William nodded slowly. He, too, had been up all night and was suddenly feeling his fatigue. As he looked around for somewhere to sit, St. Alban shoved a stool at him and William accepted it gratefully.

  “That is all she told me to tell you, but there is more that you should be aware of,” he said with quiet intensity. “You may return to the Tower any time you wish, for the contract on your life is now void. The lady had to bargain to make it so.”

  “Bargain?” Brogan’s body began to tense once more. “What bargain?”

  William was candid. “She agreed to marry Aubrey without delay if her uncle would cease his pursuit of you. You see, d’Aurilliac, the lady was forced to accept the terms of the betrothal immediately in order to save your life. I am not entirely sure what magic you hold over her, but she did what she could so that you would remain untouched. And that is why you must stay away from her. If you go near her, you will destroy everything she has worked for.”

  Brogan just stared at him. After a moment, he averted his gaze, raking his fingers wearily through his hair. “She agreed to marry him?”

  “She had little choice if she was to keep you alive.”

  “So she struck a deal with the Devil.”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “But… this cannot happen. I cannot allow it.”

  William glanced at St. Alban, noting the man’s serious expression. “You have no choice,” William said after a moment. “The lady has never been yours, d’Aurilliac. Surely you realize that.”

  Brogan’s gaze found him, the hardness gone from it. “Legally, perhaps not. But in God’s good grace, she does. Her heart is mine, and mine is hers. We love each other and intend to be wed.”