Chapter Two #4
This woman was tolerable, Avalyn thought, but she definitely could do without the other two. There was something very dirty and loud about them. She handed the dress to Thel.
“I am much better, thank you,” she said. “I wanted to return your dress and thank you for its use. It was very kind of you.”
Thel nodded her head in acknowledgement. “You are welcome, my lady.”
The visit abruptly came to an end. Avalyn was trying to think of a way to gracefully excuse herself when Brogan suddenly put his massive arm around her shoulders and turned her away from the door.
It was a very protective, shielding gesture.
He didn’t say a word to the three women standing dejectedly and enviously in the doorway, but the glare he shot them was quite enough.
Avalyn looked over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of at least Thel. Somewhere over Brogan’s wrist she made eye contact.
“Thank you again,” she offered, half-farewell, half-apology for the strange departure.
Thel merely lifted a hand, twitching her fingers in a weak wave.
The pasted-on polite smile faded as Brogan, Avalyn and St. Alban faded back down the hall.
It was a wistful expression she now held.
Not for Brogan; for what she wished to be.
She wished to be a lady, too. But it was a secret wish, one that would never come true.
Still, it had made her feel good to have come into contact with a fine woman.
Somehow it had made her better than the others. Softly, she closed the door.
Far down the hall, Avalyn looked up at Brogan. “That was very rude of you not to have at least offered a farewell,” she said frankly.
He looked at her. “Why?”
“Because it is,” she couldn’t believe she actually had to explain his behavior. “That woman, what is her name? Thel? Was kind to me. Did you ever thank her for her assistance?”
He was surprised. “Me?”
“Did you, or did you not, seek some sort of assistance from her after finding me in the river?”
He had. “I did not have any dry garments for you.”
“Did you ever thank her?”
He blinked. He didn’t think he had, but he could not remember. In truth, the thought had never occurred to him. He finally shook his head. Avalyn, receiving her answer, put her hands on her hips.
“You must go thank that woman immediately.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Why?”
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Then she looked to St. Alban, standing silently a few feet away.
The old man had maintained his distance for the past several minutes, observing Brogan and the interaction with the lady.
He was still very protective of his young friend.
But he understood what the lady was driving at, and she was not wrong.
St. Alban had been attempting to teach Brogan manners since the day he met him, twenty-five years ago.
Clearing his throat softly, he took a few steps towards Brogan.
“Because it is right that you should thank those who have helped you, no matter who they are,” he explained patiently. “The lady is correct. You must go and thank Thel immediately.”
At first, Brogan felt as if they were ganging up on him. Then he thought about it, and realized they were probably correct. A well-mannered man would do such a thing. With a long look at St. Alban, he turned and made his way, however slowly, back down the hall towards the Sirens’ lair.
Avalyn and St. Alban stood watching as he knocked on the door.
Two eager faces appeared, but not Thel’s.
A few words were exchanged. After a moment, Thel made an appearance.
As they watched, Brogan apparently made something of a very short speech and abruptly turned away.
He headed back to Avalyn and St. Alban much faster than he had left them.
“Do you suppose it was a proper thanks?” Avalyn wondered aloud.
St. Alban sighed heavily. “Probably not,” he said. “But, then again, Brogan was never one for pleasantries. It is momentous enough that he has even made this effort.”
Avalyn turned to the old man, once again studying him. There was much interesting, and perhaps much secretive, in that old face. It intrigued her.
“He seems very bitter,” she commented.
St. Alban’s expression darkened. As Brogan approached within earshot, he turned away from her. “Lady, you have no idea.”
The words stuck in her head like the ringing of a shrill bell as Brogan came upon them. But she did not have time to pursue the thought as Brogan claimed her hand again. Avalyn didn’t notice; she was still looking at the old man, several feet in front of them, as they proceeded back down the hall.
What did he mean?
Silently, they entered into the foyer at the end of the hall where the main door was.
Sunlight streamed in through the half-cracked door, almost blinding in the weak light of the entry.
Avalyn realized where they were and further realized that her time with Brogan had come to an end.
She was sorry. The more she discovered about this big, silent, awkward man, the more she wanted to know.
And she was especially interested in St. Alban’s last statement.
She turned to Brogan, her hand still in the crook of his elbow. He was gazing down at her with that relaxed expression and a hint of a grin. With a forced smile, she removed her hand.
“Then I suppose my work here is done,” she said, looking between Brogan and St. Alban. “Thanks to you both for your graciousness. I do hope our paths cross again.”
“I believe that our paths crossing in the first place was a stroke of fortune, my lady,” St. Alban spoke before Brogan could. “It is doubtful that a fine lady such as yourself and lowly fighting men like us should meet up again.”
That was more than likely true. Avalyn smiled weakly, bobbed a curtsy, and headed for the door. As she put her hand out to open it, the door suddenly swung away and she looked up to see Brogan standing beside her, opening the door.
“A true gentleman would not let a lady walk unescorted,” his deep blue eyes glittered at her. “I would be honored to walk you home.”
Her smile at him was genuine. “That is kind of you, my lord.”
He returned her smile, held out his elbow, and she took it. Together, they walked out into the bright morning sunlight.
St. Alban stood silently, watching the two fade into the courtyard beyond, knowing that whatever barriers he had been trying to create between Brogan and the lady had been weak attempts.
He cursed himself for his ineffectiveness because he knew, for a fact, that Brogan could not take another broken heart.
Certainly, the lady was a nice distraction for the moment.
But anything more than a moment and Brogan might not recover from the devastation sure to come.
St. Alban could sense this heading towards disaster already.
But he knew that Brogan would not see it that way.
With a sigh, he headed back to his chamber.
Brogan, in fact, couldn’t see anything other than the sky, the birds, the grass, and the lady by his side.
Up until last night, such things had lost their beauty for him.
But today, the beauty was back. Every time he glanced at the lady on his arm, she would smile coyly and lower her lashes.
She had charming dimples in her cheeks, creating more delight to her appearance.
Brogan would smile back, deep grooves carving the vertical length of his cheeks, and avert his gaze.
It was a very strange, and very pleasant, game of flirting.
The amazing thing was that Brogan did not even realize it. He was just caught up in the moment.
“You mentioned your mother earlier,” Avalyn started the conversation. “Does she still live in England?”
Brogan nodded. “In London, still, with my stepfather.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“A half-brother, who will inherit my step father’s merchant business.”
“Is it a successful business?”
“Aye.” The one-word answer hung in the air and he realized he should probably say more. What would St. Alban tell him? Ask her about herself, fool! “What of you? Do your parents still live?”
Avalyn shook her head. “Nay. My mother and father passed away a few years ago, so I came to live with my aunt and uncle and two cousins.”
She’s Warwick, man. St. Alban’s words suddenly rang in his head. Brogan wasn’t a man of tact or politics, only one of truth. He was blunt with his question because he knew of no other way.
“Where do you live?”
She glanced up at him. “In the Beauchamp Tower.”
“I meant when you are not in London.”
She looked back down at the ground, wondering if she should tell him. But she could not lie; if he knew who occupied the Beauchamp Tower, then he knew very well where she lived.
“Warwick Castle.”
“Who are your aunt and uncle?”
She still did not look up. “My aunt is Anne de Neville. My uncle is Richard.”
She did not know what she had expected; that he would perhaps turn and leave her at that moment or curse her for her familial relations.
She almost held her breath to see what his reaction would be.
But Brogan kept walking, the pace leisurely, acting almost as if he hadn’t heard her answer.
After a few moments, he finally let out something that sounded like a low whistle.
“I serve the king, lady.”
“I know.”
“Your uncle is at odds with the king.”
“Aye, he is.”
“Why?”
It was she who came to a halt. She looked up at him curiously. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
He lifted his huge shoulders. “Just that. Why is he at odds with the king?”
She looked more closely at him, realizing that it wasn’t a surly or foolish question. Something about his expression told her that he really wanted to know. How could he not know? She spoke before she could stop herself.
“Are you serious?”
He snorted, a grin on his lips. “Aye.”
Now she wasn’t sure if he was teasing her. “You are a soldier, Brogan. How could you not know this? Surely you must.”