Chapter Nine #2
“Inside, my friend,” he pulled the massive man into the darkness of the shop.
He tried to steer him into a chair as Mama Starke, having made herself scarce during the course of the conversation, suddenly emerged from the kitchen with a big trencher in her hand.
The two of them hovered over the devastated man.
“Eat, Brogan,” she whispered. When Brogan looked up at her, he saw tears all over her face and knew she had heard everything said between him and Avalyn. “Eat and be strong. The baby will be awake soon and she will need her papa.”
The baby. Their baby. Mama Starke was trying to give him something positive to focus on but all it did was remind him of his destruction.
Brogan looked back down at the trencher, filled with bread and cheese.
He just stared at it. Then he tried to pick up a piece of cheese, not knowing what else to do.
He was numb. But the moment he picked up the morsel, the tears came.
He dissolved into gut-wrenching sobs as his mother and St. Alban stood by in mute witness.
It was something neither one of them ever wanted to see again. It nearly broke St. Alban’s heart. But he wasn’t one to let a situation slip away, especially one as critical as this, without trying to resolve it. He had to help.
He had an idea.
“Brogan,” he put his hand on the man’s heaving shoulder. “All is not lost, lad. You must trust me.”
Brogan wiped at his eyes, his nose. He hadn’t wept since the death of his father; not even his son’s death had brought on such a raw level of emotion.
What he had felt for Shaw’s passing had been deep and agonizing and he had congratulated himself for his self control.
But what he felt for Avalyn was new and tender and spilling out all over the place.
“Trust you how?” he sniffed loudly. “There is nothing to do but… wait.”
St. Alban’s mind was working swiftly. “I fear we should not. I fear we must take action if you do not want to lose the lady.”
“Action? What action?”
St. Alban met the man’s deep blue gaze as Brogan struggled to compose himself. “Can you be ready to travel in an hour?”
Brogan’s tears were fading. “Why?”
“Can you?”
“Do you have a plan?”
Brogan’s softly weeping mother broke into the conversation. “Listen to him, Brogan. He will help. Er wird helfen!”
Brogan didn’t look at his mother, but he felt the impact of her words. At this moment, he wasn’t thinking clearly and he knew it. He had to trust that others could.
St. Alban could see his confusion. “Aye,” he murmured. “I have a plan. Be ready to leave in an hour.”
*
“I have need of you.”
St. Alban’s words were softly uttered. Thelchtereia, Aglaope and Peisinoe weren’t sure if St. Alban meant one of them, or all of them.
He stood in the doorway of their musty chambers, exhausted to the point of collapse, which was strange for the normally well-kempt man.
Moreover, he wasn’t a usual customer. None of the girls had ever pleasured him. Thel lifted a dark eyebrow.
“Which one of us, St. Alban?” she asked. “Aggie has been up all night and Noe…”
“I do not mean what you think I mean. And it’s not me who truly needs you; it’s Brogan.”
Noe and Aggie were suddenly not so tired. They visibly perked at the mention of Brogan’s name.
“Where is he?” Aggie asked eagerly, grabbing for the hose she had just yanked from her skinny legs. “I will go to him.”
St. Alban held up a hand before the three of them worked themselves up into a frenzy. He could already see their enthusiasm at the mere mention of Brogan. The reality of his purpose must be made clear before the girls succumbed to fits of excitement.
“It is not what you think,” he held up his hands to stop the eager tide. “We have a very serious situation on our hands. Brogan is in trouble and I do not believe I can help him by myself. I need your assistance.”
Surge of excitement fading when they realized that Brogan’s needs were not physical, the girls settled down with a mixture of disappoint and curiosity.
“What manner of trouble?” Thel asked with some suspicion.
The old man sighed, his faded eyes full of remorse and fatigue. “Trouble of the heart.”
Thel was the only one of the three that didn’t look completely perplexed. In fact, she looked rather concerned. A glimmer of understanding came to her dark eyes. “That lady that was here, isn’t it? The one who returned my gown?”
St. Alban nodded. “Brogan is in love with her and she with him. But her uncle is Warwick and has separated them.”
Thel’s eyes widened. “Warwick?” she gasped. “The man is more powerful than God. What do you expect to do?”
St. Alban knew it was foolish. He’d spent the better part of the past hour concocting this scheme, listening to Brogan weep and piecing together a course of action.
For a man who had been useless for years, he felt more alive, more powerful, than he ever had.
It was his youth returned, even for a futile cause. But he was determined.
He smiled weakly. “Have you ever been to Merseyside?”
“Merseyside?” Thel repeated. “Why do you ask?”
St. Alban put his arm around Thel’s shoulder and pulled her into the dim, smelly chamber. Before the door closed softly behind them, quiet words could be heard into the corridor.
“There is a party from the Tower leaving for Merseyside at some point this morning. Can you be ready?”
The door was almost closed. “Be ready for what?” Thel could be heard saying.
The panel snapped shut.
*
They were on the road north before noon.
Avalyn had decided against riding her big bay colt, the very same horse that had caused her introduction to Brogan, instead choosing to ride in a small cab that was a gift from her future husband.
Pulled by a matching team of white horses, it was rather confined but comfortable.
Moreover, it gave her an excuse not to ride next to her intended.
She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and did not want to have to be a part of Aubrey’s attempts, though kind, to come to know her better. She just wanted to be left to herself.
Strangely, that sentiment didn’t seem to extend to William.
Her uncle had agreed to allow Inglesbatch to accompany her and she kept him around her like a shield, watching him puff up every time Aubrey’s captain came around.
Though most of what Avalyn knew of Barton St. John was his hair-pulling and interrogation tactics, he seemed almost cordial as the party bound for Merseyside completed its assembly.
Charles, of course, couldn’t seem to do enough for the lady as they prepared to leave.
He was very nearly groveling at her feet the entire time and Avalyn was very quickly coming to feel some distaste for him; he was coming across as weak and spineless, though his behavior during her interrogation told her otherwise.
Having thrown himself between St. John and William when the men started fighting, she knew that Charles was stronger, and more fierce, than he let on.
But it still did nothing to erase her distaste of him from her lips. When the party was complete, all trunks loaded and a contingent of forty de Neville men in place for the lady’s comfort, Charles mounted his fat gray Belgian warmblood and the party moved out.
Avalyn was not surprised that her family had not come out to bid her farewell.
Perhaps it was a last note at their displeasure in her actions; she suspected it was her uncle’s decision alone as a show of his disapproval.
With all she had meant to the man, for as close as they had been, she found his absence stinging.
Glazing up in the windows of the apartments, she saw Isobel and young Anne with their faces pressed against the windows, tears on their faces.
They waved wildly when they saw they had Avalyn’s attention.
She waved back and blew kisses. Standing next to Isobel was her aunt; the woman gazed emotionlessly back at her niece as the carriage began to pull away.
Just when Avalyn was nearly out of eyeshot, her aunt blew her a gentle kiss.
That gesture alone caused Avalyn to crumble completely.
Even if Richard would shun her, Anne would not.
Sobbing softly into her kerchief, she noticed little as the cab pulled out of the tower and traveled the road that would take them to the main highway north and west. As the party paralleled the Thames, she gazed over the water, watching the cloudy sunlight play off of the ripples.
It was spring and the ground was just coming to life after a particularly hard winter; patches of green dotted the gray landscape, grew in gutters and on patches on thatched roofs.
Somehow, the weather reminded her of her feelings; mostly gray with patches of green.
There was hope among the desolation. Something deep inside her had sprouted and would not give up without a fight.
No matter how gray the world looked at the moment, she had to cling to that hope.
She didn’t know how long a thick red charger was walking next to her.
It seemed as if it had always been there but she was just coming to notice it.
She could see a big red neck and head. Peering out of the window, she gazed up into Inglesbatch’s strong, round face.
His big blue eyes gazed at her steadily through his raised visor.
“Does my lady require anything?” he asked pleasantly.
She shook her head. “I just wanted to see if you were there.”
“I am.”
“Where are we stopping for the night?”
William’s gaze moved to the head of the column where St. John and Aubrey rode. “Beaconfield. Perhaps even as far as Wyecomb if the weather and stamina hold out. But I believe your fiancé is concerned with your health and will leave the decision to you.”
“Has Aubrey said anything to you about my disappearance this morning?”
He shook his head. “No more than he said to your uncle.”