Chapter Eight #3
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 only message the lady sent for me?”