Chapter Seven #2
“If he is not in the barracks, then he must be at his mother’s bread shop, to the east of the Tower along the avenue that borders the training field.
” It was the little bit of information that they had tried to force from her for the past fifteen hours, flowing from her lips so freely now.
“If he is not either of those places, then I do not know. You will have to ask St. Alban de Sotheby, the old knight he rooms with at the barracks. Perhaps he will know.”
William didn’t say anymore. He knew he should not be doing this, but he couldn’t stand to see her so unhappy.
He pulled her to unsteady feet and half-carried her from the room.
She was so exhausted that by the time they entered the corridor, he swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way back to the apartments.
By the time they reached the warm, lavish chambers, she was asleep against him. She was exhausted, and so was he.
Leaving Avalyn with her very sympathetic aunt and oblivious cousins, William made excuses and went about his duties. One duty in particular.
*
“St. Alban,” Brogan said steadily. “What are you doing at my mother’s shop in the dead of night?”
The old man was in no mood for games or pleasantries. “Trouble, Brogan. Very big trouble. Where have you been?”
Brogan’s gaze moved between his stricken mother and the old man. “Out,” he said. “What trouble has happened?”
His mother sudden burst into sobs. “Ach sind, Brogan, die soldaten nachdem sie!”
Brogan looked at her. “What soldiers?”
“De Neville’s men,” St. Alban’s face was grim. “Brogan, what have you done? Where is Lady Avalyn?”
Brogan remained characteristically calm. He could see that he and Avalyn’s evening had not gone unnoticed and fear began to take hold in his belly. He suddenly very much wished he had not left her at the Tower.
“You will start from the beginning and tell me why you are here,” he said to St. Alban. “But first, I must get my daughter into bed.”
Mama Stark’s sobs instantly lessened in favor of blatant shock. Her big blue eyes widened to the point of bursting when Brogan shifted the bundle in his arms and a sleeping little face came into view. Tears forgotten altogether, Mama Starke raced to him, nearly bowling him over in her haste.
“Brogan, what is this?” she demanded, though not unhappily. “Was haben sie?”
Brogan gazed down at the child, a smile on his lips. What he said was loud enough for St. Alban to hear. “This is Lake du Brant d’Aurilliac. She is my daughter and Avalyn’s daughter. We plan to be wed tonight.”
St. Alban closed his eyes in sorrow, shaking his head and turning away as Mama Starke ignored the implications of that statement other than the fact that Brogan now had a daughter.
Several hours of abject terror, caused by St. Alban’s appearance and explanation, were now vanished.
She reached out a fat hand and touched the pale little cheek.
“Oh, Brogan, she is so lovely,” Mama became choked with emotion. “But I do not understand; how is she your daughter? You do not have a daughter. And she belongs to Lady Avalyn, too?”
Brogan shifted the baby and placed her in his mother’s arms. The old woman began to weep silently at the sweet presence of the baby and Brogan put his massive hand on her shoulder.
“We found her starving in the streets,” he explained softly.
“The other children were making her beg for coin and then beating her when she did not get any. Avalyn has decided to adopt her as our daughter.”
Mama Starke’s sobs grew. “Oh, mein liebling kleines baby,” she murmured. “Poor little thing. She is so tiny and helpless.”
“She is tiny, but she is anything but helpless,” he told her. “I am proud to call her my own and I would ask that you tend her until Avalyn and I return for her.”
Mama Starke tore her gaze away from the child. “You are leaving?” she fearfully looked at St. Alban. “But the soldiers are looking for you!”
Brogan looked at St. Alban also. The old man had seated himself back in the chair at the front of the shop, staring out of the front window. Brogan wasn’t sure he wanted to hear all of it but knew he had no choice. He patted his mother on the shoulder.
“Take her upstairs and put her to bed,” he commanded softly. “She is your baby now, too. Take great care of her.”
Mama Starke didn’t need to be told twice.
She kissed the sleeping child on the cheek and carried her up the narrow steps to the second-floor chamber.
Only when she was out of earshot did Brogan approach his old friend.
He pulled up a three-legged stool from beside the hearth and sat, his big body tense.
“Now you will tell me everything,” he growled.
St. Alban sighed heavily; he looked far older than Brogan remembered. The old man shifted in the squeaky chair and looked up at him. “What is the meaning of that child?”
“You heard me. The lady and I have claimed her as our daughter. We plan to wed this night.”
St. Alban looked sick. “Do you have an idea how badly you have complicated things? You don’t need the added burden of a starving child to tend. And a wedding is out of the question.”
“My future plans are not your concern. Tell me what has happened.”
St. Alban lifted an eyebrow with a tinge of irony; what hadn’t happened this night?
“De Neville’s knight came to me this evening looking for you.
It would seem that Richard and Lady Avalyn’s fiancé were out scouring the town for the two of you and he wanted to know where you had gone so that he could find the lady before her enraged uncle did. ”
Brogan gazed steadily at him. “And so they did not find us.”
“Brogan, did you even know the lady was betrothed?”
“I did, but it is an unwelcome one. She does not want it.”
St. Alban shook his head wearily. “It does not matter what she wants; the fact remains that she is contracted to another. You have no right to focus your attentions on her.”
Brogan’s jaw ticked. “I love her.”
“But she belongs to someone else!”