Chapter Eleven #3
Her cheeks were flushed with concern, with anger. William gave her hand a tug and they continued on their way. “He’s not a knight, William,” she muttered as they walked. “St. John will destroy him.”
William almost laughed. “You forget, my lady; I have seen your soldier in battle. What he lacks in skill or tactics he makes up for in strength. St. John is the one you should be worried for.”
Avalyn drew in a deep, calming breath, struggling to recover some of her composure. Her nerves were on edge with excitement and apprehension. They were entering into the stable yard now and her eyes were beginning to search for the familiar figure in the area.
“I do not wish ill on St. John,” she said softly. “He has proven himself to be a thoughtful, obedient knight over the past few weeks.”
William nodded. “Do you feel safe enough with him now?”
“I do. He has been considerate around me. I do believe his actions on the night he interrogated me were purely at my uncle’s bequest. He was following orders.”
“Aubrey told you that.”
“I know, but I did not believe him at first.”
“Then I will make a request of you, my lady.”
“What’s that?
“Do not tell the baron that you feel comfortable around St. John. Your aversion to him is the only thing keeping him from sending me back to your uncle. He does not want me here as it is.”
She looked up at him, then. “I know,” she said quietly. “Trust me; I’ll say nothing of my growing trust for St. John.”
As they stood in the center of the yard, the emergence of several figures from the charger stalls suddenly caught their attention.
Both William and Avalyn turned to see Barton St. John emerging into the sunlight with Charles and Brogan beside him; Charles was speaking with animation and Brogan was listening intently.
William could feel Avalyn start; he hoped she could hold herself in check.
He began to wonder if it had been entirely wise to bring her out here. As if he could have kept her away.
Charles immediately caught sight of Avalyn, waving eagerly to her and heading in her direction.
But Avalyn couldn’t even look at him; her gaze was fixed on Brogan as if she was incapable of seeing anything else.
A glance from William showed tears forming in her eyes.
William patted her hand and encouraged her to move forward to meet her betrothed.
“Avalyn,” he snapped softly. “No tears. You must control yourself or you will give us all away.”
She nodded swiftly, looking at the ground and struggling to compose herself.
No sooner did she raise her face than Charles and the two men were upon her.
She did not look at Brogan; she kept her eyes fixed on Charles, praying that she could keep herself in check when she and Brogan were introduced.
It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her life.
Charles smiled happily at her, blissfully ignorant to the treachery going on around him.
“Lady Avalyn,” Charles took her hand from William in a possessive gesture. “I would like to introduce you to Sir Tygor Gervaise. Sir Tygor, this is my fiancée, the Lady Avalyn du Brant.”
Avalyn summoned the courage to look at Brogan, trying to remain as emotionless as possible.
But the moment she gazed into his dark blue eyes, she felt her knees buckle.
Had she seen him under different circumstances, she would hardly have recognized him; dressed in worn armor and mail, he looked every inch the massive, experienced knight.
She thought she might collapse, for she had experienced nothing in her life as powerful as the emotions currently surging through her veins.
She almost lost her control. But in the very last second before the implosion she was able to recover and dipped her head towards him in an acknowledging gesture.
She was so jittery that she thought she might fall on her face.
“Sir Tygor,” she hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt. “Welcome to Guerdley Cross. Are you passing through on your travels?”
Brogan shook his head, the dark blue eyes liquid and soft on her. “Nay, my lady. I have offered my services to the baron. I would hope to settle here.”
“I see,” Avalyn was in imminent danger of dissolving. “You look capable enough. But you are not from England. Where were you born?”
“Saxony, my lady,” he replied steadily. “I have been in the service of the Earl of Hesse.”
She simply nodded, unable to continue the conversation. She was afraid that if any more words were exchanged, she would burst into tears. “We are honored that you have come.”
Brogan simply nodded his head; he was having more difficulty than he ever imagined maintaining a neutral expression.
Here she was, in the flesh, looking lovlier than he had remembered; he broke out in a cold sweat as he continued to stare at her.
For the past twenty-two days, he had done nothing but think of this moment, every action, every effort he made moving him closer and closer to the time when he would be face to face with her again.
Now that the moment was upon him, he could hardly breathe.
But any more conversation or exchange of looks would have caused suspicion. Avalyn wisely turned away from Brogan and re-focused on Charles’ fat, smiling face.
“Charles,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I’ve come to see to my colt. I was told he spooked again the other night and almost trampled a stable boy.”
Charles looked deeply concerned. “I heard that also. Would you like me to accompany you?”
The first word on her lips was a negative. But not wanting to appear cruel, or suspicious, or just plain mean, she agreed.
“Of course.”
Charles took her elbow and led her off in the direction of the stalls.
William and Barton watched them go, but Brogan was focused on anything other than the lady.
He was struggling so hard not to look at her that sweat peppered his brow.
Barton’s gaze eventually returned from his liege and lady back to Brogan; a big man himself, Barton only came up to Brogan’s shoulder.
He ran a hand through his chin-length blond hair, feeling the sweat on his scalp from the pulse of the weak sun.
“Well,” he said, his blue-eyed gaze raking the yard. “I have a few things to attend to before our bout this afternoon. Inglesbatch, can you take Gervaise in hand? I don’t want him wandering around alone, getting into trouble.”
There was mirth in St. John’s eyes but Brogan, at first, thought he was serious. He looked at the blond knight with a measure of venom as Inglesbatch quickly intervened; he saw Brogan’s menacing expression and sought to divert the pending snap.
“I’ll take him in hand,” he told Barton. “You’d better prepare for your bout with him this afternoon. From the looks of the man, you’ll be lucky if you can walk away.”
Barton grinned, sizing Brogan up. “We’ll see.”
The cocky knight strolled away, back across the bailey. Brogan realized the man had been jesting with him and his anger rapidly cooled. They waited until St. John was out of earshot before turning to each other. William jerked his head in the direction of the knight’s quarters to the south.
“Come along,” he said quietly.
They had barely taken three steps when Brogan spoke. “I’d forgotten just how beautiful she is. Is she well?”
“Well enough,” William said. “But I will tell you the same thing I told her. You must never acknowledge her in any manner of familiarity. You must never speak her name. To do so would only jeopardize all of us. Is that clear?”
Brogan nodded, though he did not say anything. William looked at him, noting the sheer size of the man in armor. The foot soldier was now a full-fledged war machine. He’d never seen anything so intimidating.
“Would you mind telling me what is going on now?” he said with quiet casualness, his eyes roving their surroundings to make sure no one in particular was listening. “I would hear the entire story so I know what I have gotten myself into.”
Brogan, too, surveyed his surroundings. “My name is Tygor Gervaise. My father’s name was Tygor. The patins you saw was his. This armor belonged to him. My father was a great knight in Germany.”
William nodded in understanding. “Avalyn told me that was your plan. So you have become your father to get close to her?”
“Aye.”
“And then what?”
“And then I take her and our daughter back to Germany. Did the Sirens not tell you this?”
“The Sirens?”
“The women with Avalyn.”
William lifted his eyebrows in recognition. “Ah, the ladies. No, they did not. Did they know of this?”
“They knew that I was to come to Guerdley Cross posing as my father. I assumed they told you what else they had heard.”
William shook his head faintly as they rounded the keep. The knight’s quarters were directly ahead. “They did not,” he said. “Tell me; just how do you plan to take her out of here? It will not be easy.”
The mail made noise as Brogan walked; it grated and clanged, sounding like death approaching. “St. Alban is with me. He is working on a plan.”
William’s brow furrowed as he looked at him. “Where is he?”
“In the knight’s quarters. My mother is here, also.”
“In the knight’s quarters? Are you mad?”
Brogan shook his head. “She is in the town to the south in St. Helen’s. She has my daughter with her. They are staying in a small inn.”
“God’s Bones,” William hissed. “Did you bring the whole family to put in peril?”
Brogan remained calm. “This is St. Alban’s scheme. I had to bring him. For all you know, he is my aged father.”
William lifted his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “He’s English. You’re German. Anyone will be able to pick up the difference in your speech right away.”
“He is my stepfather.”
William sighed heavily, eventually emitting a snort of ridiculous irony. The complexity, and therefore the unbelievability of the situation, was growing by leaps and bounds.