Chapter One #3
“That will not be necessary,” she said. “I feel much better, in fact, and shan’t trouble you further. If you would just give me my clothes, I shall be gone.”
She attempted to toss back the mounds of covers, but St. Alban stopped her. “Please, my lady, rest a while longer. Take some broth. You’ve had a nasty evening.”
Truthfully, she was very sore. Her head hurt horribly. “Though I appreciate your concern, it is quite unnecessary. I would like to go look for my horse and return home.”
It was apparent the lady did not want to be their guest. St. Alban looked at Brogan for silent support, though he truthfully expected none.
Brogan was not the type to bother himself with compassion or persuasion, which was the very reason why the lady’s presence here was so remarkable.
Brogan concerned himself with no one unless ordered to. But in this case, he had.
“My lady,” Brogan spoke in his deep, heavy accent. “You took a serious fall. You should rest a while before returning home. I will find your horse if that will bring you comfort.”
St. Alban was both pleased and surprised; perhaps some of the manners he had been attempting to teach Brogan over the years were finally taking hold.
He felt the strange pride that a father would for a son who had just accomplished something good.
But the lady apparently did not share his surprise or pride.
She eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
“You are not from England, Sir Knight,” she stated the obvious.
“Nay, my lady,” he replied with some edge. “And I am not a knight.”
An odd tension developed. Unsettled, and the slightest bit anxious to leave, Avalyn tossed the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“I thank you for your kind attention, but I am afraid I really must go.” Standing up, she bobbed about dangerously but managed to stay on her feet. “I must find my horse.”
Brogan took a step towards her, preparing to catch her if she fell. “It is the middle of the night, my lady. You will not find your horse in the dark.”
“Ah, but I will,” she said, uncomfortable with his closer proximity. She tried to move away from him. “I will return to the stable. I am certain he will go back there.”
Brogan wasn’t used to having his wishes contested, much less having this degree of conversation with someone. Because of his heavy accent, he rarely spoke more than a few words at any given time.
“Then I will accompany you,” he said.
Avalyn eyed him. “My lord, if we are at the Tower as you have said, then that will not be necessary. I know my way.”
Brogan had nothing more to say. He didn’t even look at St. Alban for silent suggestions on how to handle this. He merely crossed his arms and stepped back as the lady regained her equilibrium. Thel brought her a wooden cup filled with warm mutton broth, but the lady shook her head.
“Please,” she said. “I simply want my clothes so that I may leave. I do not want to trouble you good people further.”
“Your clothes are wet, my lady,” Thel said.
Avalyn looked at her, something of frustration and apprehension in her expression. She grasped at the garment she was currently wearing. “Then whose gown is this?” she asked quietly.
“Mine, my lady.”
“Then I shall send it back to you.”
It was all she intended to say. There was no question of her determination to leave. Barefoot, she staggered across the floor towards the door. Brogan watched her go until he heard St. Alban hissing at him.
“Go with her,” the old man whispered loudly.
Brogan’s icy gaze lingered on the old man a moment before slowly, deliberately, doing as he was bade. He followed the lady out of the chamber and down the stairs.
It was cold, dark, and quiet on the first floor. Most occupants had long since gone to sleep. Avalyn could hear the enormous warrior’s footfalls behind her, stalking her, and it only served to fuel the panic she had been so adept in controlling.
Her head was clear by now. Her feet were freezing and she didn’t feel very well, but she picked up the pace until she found a door that led from the maze of chambers.
Once out into the courtyard, she could see clearly where she was; she was indeed at the Tower of London.
The cluster of towers and buildings created one of the busiest and most populated palaces in the world.
The sheer scope and craftsmanship of the complex was overwhelming.
Over head, the moon was barely above the horizon, indicative of the late hour.
Avalyn knew that people would be worried over her disappearance.
Gathering the soft wool garment about her, she walked very quickly towards the Beauchamp Tower at the opposite side of the compound.
Behind her, she could no longer hear footfalls.
She dared to glance over her shoulder, noticing that the massive man had finally left her.
When she returned her focus to the path ahead, an enormous body was blocking her path.
Avalyn shrieked in surprise, seeing through the soft moonlight that it was the frightening warrior. She had never even heard him move around her; his skills of stealth were uncanny. She was terrified.
“If you come any closer to me, I shall scream,” she backed away.
He didn’t move. “May I say something, my lady?”
She regarded him fearfully. “What… what would you say?”
She heard him sigh. It seemed a strange gesture coming from so intimidating a man.
“I found you in the river this night. I pulled you from the water so that you would not drown, and I took you back to my chamber to take care of you. Now you run off into the dark night, with no shoes, no protection, and you would expect me not to see to your safety.” His head wagged back and forth, slowly.
“What kind of man would you think I am to save you from the river and not make sure you returned to your husband safe and whole?”
“I am not married.”
“To your family, then.”
He had a point. If he’d wanted to do her harm, he’d had ample opportunity. Some of her fear began to dissipate and she studied his features in the soft gray light.
“Then I apologize if I have insulted your integrity,” she said quietly. “I do not even know your name.”
“Brogan d’Aurilliac.”
Avalyn had heard that name before. She’d heard her uncle speak of it, a name to be uttered only in the softest tones. She had never paid any attention to the meaning behind the name. Now she wished she had.
She moved towards him in the darkness, her size diminutive against his sheer bulk.
Standing next to him, she barely came to his chest. Avalyn was petite even by normal standards, but next to Brogan, she appeared no larger than a child.
Calming somewhat now that she was fairly certain he was not going to gut her, she studied him intently.
“I’ve heard your name before.”
He didn’t react but to slightly cock his head. “Perhaps you have.”
“Where are you from?”
“Germania.”
“Have you been in England long?”
“Long enough.”
“And you sure that you are not a knight?”
He gazed down at her, an ironic snort coming from his lips. “I am sure.”
“But you are a warrior. You must be in order to live in the barracks.”
“I am a soldier.”
“For the king or do you serve a House?”
“I serve the king.”
She nodded in understanding, though she could not imagine a man of his size and obvious skill not being some manner of noble knight.
Moreover, he was fairly mysterious, and possibly bitter, in his short answers.
Having nothing more to say, she lowered her gaze and continued along her path.
She hadn’t taken two steps when she suddenly yelped with pain.
She would have fallen had Brogan not reached out to grab her. She was holding her right foot.
“I stepped on something,” she hissed. “Ooch, I cannot see it in the dark.”
He did the only thing he could do. He picked her up. Startled, Avalyn’s arms instinctively went around his neck. He held her with absolutely no effort whatsoever. It was like being held by a tree; strong, solid, unbreakable.
“You should have let me carry you to begin with,” he sounded a good deal like he was scolding her.
Avalyn’s eyebrows rose. “You should have given me back my shoes.”
He looked at her, then. Their faces were a few inches from one another and a very odd spark seemed to ignite. It wasn’t tangible, or even describable. But it was something that suddenly made the moment, from this point on, different.
“You did not have any shoes on when I found you,” Brogan’s voice wasn’t quite so gruff.
She didn’t have anything to say to that.
She tried to ignore the feeling of him all around her, his strength enveloping her.
It was a completely new awareness, bringing unexpected thoughts of safety and comfort.
Brogan carried her the rest of the way across the ward until they reached the entry to the Beauchamp Tower. There, he stopped.
“Inside?” he asked.
“Inside.”
He took her into the cold corridor. An iron sconce burned low, spitting out thick black smoke near the stairs. Avalyn directed Brogan up the stairs to the second floor. When they reached the landing, she pushed herself from his arms.
“I can find my way from here,” she told him. “But I thank you very much for your chivalry this night. I am sure I owe you a great deal.”
He was sorry she was no longer in his arms. Furthermore, he was uncomfortable with her thanks and had no idea why. Then he realized it made him feel good, and he was unused to such a thing.
“It was nothing,” he said, almost brusquely. “I just happened to be in a place where I was needed.”
“Fortunate for me that you were,” her lips formed a sweet, curvy smile. It positively lit up the corridor. “If there is every anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I would be honored.”