“And you are waiting, in a sense. You are simply staying close by so that the lady will not have to look far for you when she sends word.”
Brogan looked at the old man. “Of course,” he said quietly, looking over at the girls on the bed. He fixed on Thel. “The lady told you to go to her before dawn?”
Thel stood up. “Aye,” she said. “She said that she would tell her betrothed that she would take us as her servants. For all he will know, we are simply local serving women.”
“Good,” Brogan nodded; at least that part of the plan was seeming to go well. He looked back at St. Alban. “What about the rest of us? What will we do on the morrow?”
St. Alban turned and moved back to his fire; his old bones were feeling their age tonight as a result of travel and Brogan’s emotional tumult. “I have been thinking of just that,” he said as he sat. “As far as I can deduce, Inglesbatch is the only knight who knows you on sight. Correct?”
“Correct.”
St. Alban leaned back in the fragile chair, ignoring the creaking of the wood. His expression was reflective. “You already have a charger,” he said as if he was thinking aloud. “What… what if we were to commission armor for you? A sword, a shield and weapons. What if you were to ride into Guerdley Cross posing as a bachelor knight and swear fealty to Aubrey? The man wouldn’t know who you truly are, and I doubt Inglesbatch would give you away.” He suddenly sat forward, his old yellow eyes glittering. “What if you were to become another knight in Aubrey’s arsenal? You could stay close to the lady and her betrothed would be none the wiser.”
Brogan should have scoffed at the ridiculous idea, but instead, he was actually intrigued. “It will take money to do what you have suggested.”
“I have money,” St. Alban said flatly.
“You do?”
“An inheritance from my father. He owned a small piece of land in Kent that was quite rich. The land came to me upon his death.”
“How come you never told me of this?”
“You never asked.”
Brogan simply shook his head, awed at the possibilities. “You would do this for me?”
“Would you do it for me?”
“You are my only friend. I would kill for you. I would also die for you.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled with warmth. “And I for you.”
“Brogan,” Mama Starke’s soft voice filled the air. “You do not need to have armor commissioned.”
Brogan and St. Alban looked over at the round lady in the corner, cuddling a sleeping child. “What do you mean, Mama?” Brogan asked.
Mama Starke shifted Lake and the child whimpered in her sleep. The woman waited a moment as the child settled down again. “You have your father’s armor,” she said softly. “It is back at the shop. I saved it for you all of these years. You are bigger than your father was, but it should fit you.”
Brogan’s expression moved from curiosity to recognition; he remembered, as a lad, packing his father’s armor away after the man died. He further remembered taking it with them when they came to live in England, though he’d not given it another thought since that time. Mostly because it brought sad memories of the bear of a man with long hair he kept in a long braid down his back. Tygor d’Aurilliac had been much loved, and much missed, by his son.
Lost in thought, Brogan didn’t realize that St. Alban was staring at him, watching the emotions fluctuate across his face. The old man leaned in his direction.
“Brogan?” he said tentatively. “If this is true, then you must return and claim your father’s armor. In fact, you should assume your father’s identity. He was a knight, as you should have been. No man has ever lived that was more worthy to carry the title than you.”
Brogan scowled at him. “You are mad. I am to become my father?”
“Assume his name, his lineage. Surely you know it. Where did your father foster?”
“Schwalenberg Castle.”
“Who was his liege?”
“Volkwin, Count of Hesse.”
“Do you know the rest of your father’s history?”
“Of course I do. He was a great knight in Saxony.”
“Then his legacy shall become yours.”
Brogan wasn’t completely convinced, though he was increasingly intrigued. “If I call myself Tygor d’Aurilliac, they will recognize the name.”
“Gervaise,” Mama Starke piped up. “That was my name before I married Tygor. Brogan, you can call yourself Tygor Gervaise and no one will ever know the truth.”
Brogan looked back at his mother. There was a good deal of indecision in his eyes. “You believe this to be wise, Mama?”
Mama Starke nodded faintly. “You’ve had little happiness in your life, Brogan. It seems unfair to let this chance slip away without fighting for it. Schritte der herrlichkeit.”
A slow smile spread across Brogan’s lips; wiser words were never spoken. He did not want to lose the glory and felt foolish that he had to be reminded of that. Somewhere in the turmoil of the past day, he had forgotten the true meaning of what he was willing to live and die for. All of his indecision, his hesitation, fled. He looked back at St. Alban.
“Though I am a warrior, there is much to learn about being a knight,” he said. “My father did not live long enough to school me. You must teach me what you know.”
The old man nodded firmly. “All that and more.”
Feeling confident and full of determination, Brogan suddenly moved to the door. St. Alban leapt up as quickly as his fat body was able.
“Where do you go?” he demanded.
Brogan’s hand was on the latch. “To Avalyn. She must know what is happening.”
St. Alban shook his head. “There is no time, Brogan.” When the man opened his mouth to protest, St. Alban shut him down with a raised hand. “If you go to her now, I can predict that you will not be separated from her before morning. You will not want to leave her and by morning we will have lost much precious time. If you return to London now, you can be there by morning, collect the armor, and ride hard to catch up to us. There is no time to waste.”
Brogan’s indecision was back. “But…”
St. Alban shook his head firmly, his hands on Brogan’s arms. “Nay, lad, you cannot go to her. She will never let you go and you know that. If there is any chance of our plan succeeding, then you must return for your father’s armor. Considering how slowly the party is traveling, I would suspect you can catch up to us in two days if you ride hard.”
Brogan gazed at him a long moment. “Very well,” he could hardly spit out the words. He wanted to go to Avalyn so badly that he ached, but he knew that St. Alban was right. “And when I catch up to you, then what?”
“Then I teach you what I know. And you go to Guerdley Cross and swear fealty to Aubrey as Sir Tygor Gervaise.”
“And then what?”
St. Alban’s expression tightened. “You bide your time and wait for the proper moment to spirit the lady and your daughter away. Go back to Saxony where you came from. But until then, the Sirens will be your eyes and ears with Lady Avalyn and I will be your aged father who happens to travel with you.”
“But you are English. We do not speak the same way.”
“I am not your real father. Your mother married me after you were born.”
Brogan drew in a long breath, his gaze moving to his mother and Lake dozing in the corner. “What of Mama?”
“She is my wife and the child is yours. Your wife died in childbirth.”
“You are sure this will work?”
“It will work if you play the part you were born to play. You were born to be a knight, Brogan. Have no doubt.”
It was smart, convenient and plausible. Brogan felt more hope than he had in a long time. Hope filled him with power, and power with determination. He looked at the Sirens, still huddled on the bed.
“Thel,” he addressed her far more kindly than he ever had. “You will tell the lady what has happened. Tell her I have no
t 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 shoulder. They had even found some jewelry tucked away in a case that they used as hair ornaments. In truth, her hair looked marvel
ous.
“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.”
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