Chapter Seven #3
St. Alban was growing agitated. Not wanting to get into a verbal altercation with him, Brogan shifted the subject slightly. “Where are de Neville’s men now?”
He shrugged weakly. “Not being able to locate you or the lady, they have gone back to the Tower to wait. You cannot return to the barracks; they are waiting for you there, too. Where is the lady?”
“She has returned to her apartment.”
“Then they have her.”
Brogan stood up so swiftly that the stool toppled. “I must go and…”
“Nay,” St. Alban grabbed him before he could move away.
“If you go to the Tower, they’ll kill you.
Brogan, no matter how strong you are, they will overwhelm you by sheer numbers.
I beg you; for your sake as well as the lady’s, do not go back to the Tower.
You’ll be walking into your death if you do. Is that what you want?”
Brogan glared ferociously at the old man, but in the same breath, knew he spoke the truth.
But he could not just stand by and do nothing, which was what St. Alban was asking him to do.
Confused, furious, his big body began to twitch.
That which he feared was coming to pass and he could see his entire life crumbling again before his eyes.
But he fought it: this time, he would not give in so easily. He would fight.
“No,” he rumbled. “But I cannot stand by while they punish her. Is that what they are going to do? Punish her for being with me?”
St. Alban lifted his puffy shoulders. “I do not know,” he said truthfully.
“The knight that came to me – Inglesbatch – seemed to be more sympathetic to the lady’s plight than spurred with the overwhelming need to see her punished.
He convinced me to help him find the two of you so that he could intervene on the lady’s behalf.
But we could not find you, no matter where we looked.
So we returned to the Tower, and I came here alone, hoping to find you. ”
Brogan’s face was taut with emotion, thinking on Avalyn at the mercy of her uncle. “You did not tell Inglesbatch of my mother’s shop?”
“Nay,” St. Alban shook his head slowly. “There was still a part of me that did not trust the man. He is, after all, de Neville’s knight.”
Brogan’s guard slipped just a little more. He sighed heavily and dropped his head, raking his fingers through his dark gold curls. After several painful moments, his head came up again. The dark blue eyes were dull with pain, sorrow.
“What do I do?” he murmured. “Tell me what to do.”
St. Alban felt the pangs of grief from the man. Brogan had known so much heartache that the latest turn of events were as unexpected as they were unfair. He hated being so blunt with him, but it was necessary.
“Stay out of sight,” he advised him in a low voice. “Let me return to the Tower and see if I can find out what has happened. But you must stay well hidden. If de Neville’s men catch you, your life is forfeit. Do you understand me?”
Brogan nodded, dully. The deep blue eyes were dim with sorrow. “Why… wenn alle gut ist…”
“In a language I can understand, please.”
“I said, why, when all is well…,” Brogan shook his head, staring at the floor. “Why is God so determined to see me miserable? What have I ever done to deserve such special punishment?”
St. Alban put a meaty hand on the man’s shoulder. “You aim too high,” he hissed. “She is not meant for mortal man. You may as well have wished for the moon and stars as to set your sights on Avalyn du Brant.”
“But she loves me, too. She wants to marry me. What we feel, we feel together.”
St. Alban pursed his lips, knowing it was futile to argue with the man.
There was no dissuading such strong emotion.
“Be that as it may, it has gotten both of you into trouble.” He stood up, unsteadily, feeling his fatigue.
But he felt useful, something he’d not felt in years.
He had a mission, as dangerous as any he had ever faced in his youth, and he was eager to accomplish the task.
“As for me, I will return to the Tower and see what I can discover. Perhaps I can contact Inglesbatch and he will be able to tell me something.”
Brogan stood up beside him, his expression full of angst and trepidation. “You will send word when you know something?”
The old man nodded, moving for the door. “When I know, I will send word to you.” He suddenly paused with his hand on the iron latch. “Do not leave this shop, Brogan. I implore you. Be patient and I will send word.”
Brogan’s jaw flexed. Though he knew the old man was correct, still, his instinct was to go charging into the Beauchamp Tower in search of Avalyn. It was near impossible for him to remain inactive.
“I will wait for news,” he finally agreed.
With a lingering glance, St. Alban quit the bread shop and disappeared into the night.
Brogan stood there, watching him fade into the darkness, feeling more desolation than he had ever imagined possible.
Somewhere, a night bird sang and he glanced into the dark sky, wondering if it was a bad omen.
The door closed softly and he locked it.
There was nothing left to do now but wait.