Chapter Three #3
Avalyn felt a good deal of sorrow for the passing of Brogan’s son. “God’s Teeth,” she murmured. “I am so very, very sorry. What was his name?”
“Shaw,” Brogan said slowly, feeling the name pour over his tongue. “Shaw d’Aurilliac.”
“Shaw,” Avalyn repeated. “I shall remember him at mass.”
Brogan nodded his thanks, unable to say more than he already had.
For three months he had lived with such agony as he had never known.
Only in the past few hours, since meeting Avalyn, had that pain dulled somewhat.
She had brought some light back into his life, however temporary.
Still, she had unknowingly given him strength.
That night she had crashed into him had been pivotal. It had been a God-send.
Somewhere in his thoughts, Avalyn squeezed his hand again. He looked up at her, realizing he must have been very far away, mentally, from the way she was looking at him.
“Your mother is very upset,” she said quietly. “Perhaps we should leave.”
Brogan didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to move.
He wanted to stay just where he was, holding Avalyn’s hand, for the rest of his life.
But she was correct about one thing; his mother was quite upset.
She was as broken over Shaw’s death as he was.
Slowly, he stood up to his full massive height and, still holding Avalyn’s hand, put a hand on his mother’s shoulder.
“Mama,” he said gently. “Horen Sie auf, um zu weinen. Kommen Sie und ruhen Sie jetzt.”
Avalyn could not understand German, but it was evidently something Mama Starke was unwilling to do. The old woman shook her head vigorously, her round cheeks red. “Nein, die ich machen, will nicht. Ich will mein Shaw.”
“Mama,” Brogan reluctantly let Avalyn go and put both hands on his mother’s shoulders. He leaned next to her ear. “Shaw is gone. He is not coming back. You must be strong.”
Mama Starke shook her head again, mumbling something German against her hand kerchief.
The material was all but shoved into her mouth.
Avalyn felt such pity for the old woman; she was obviously someone with a great deal of love and feeling for her family.
She placed her fingers in the woman’s free hand and took hold.
“Goody Starke,” she said gently. “I do not know if this will help you, but when I lost my father and mother within a month of each other, the priest told me something very special. He told me that when our loved ones die, they become our guardian angels. He told me that even though I cannot see my parents any longer, they are still all around me, in everyday things. When a butterfly flies close, it is the spirit of my mother hovering around me. When a mockingbird sits in the trees and scolds me, it is my father telling me not to run down the stairs or ride my horse too fast. Perhaps Shaw is still around, Goody. He is your guardian angel now. Just look around and perhaps you will see him still in everyday things.”
By this time, Mama Starke had stopped weeping and was listening with wide-eyes. She sniffled hard, wiping at her nose with the white cloth. After a moment, she looked up at her son.
“Do you think that is true?”
His expression was calm. He looked his mother in the eye. “If the lady says it, then I believe it.”
Mama Starke sniffled again, her big blue eyes wide with thought. “There… there was a little brown mouse in my kitchen today,” she told him as if it meant something. “I have never seen that mouse before. He stared at me a long time before running off. Perhaps it was Shaw come to visit me!”
Brogan patted her shoulder. “Perhaps.”
Mama Starke suddenly stood up, still holding on to Avalyn’s hand.
“I must go and put out something for the mouse to eat,” she said, filled with her mission.
But before she went about her business, she turned swiftly to Avalyn, grabbed her face, and kissed her loudly on each cheek.
“You are right, my lady, so right. Angels are all around us. I must go feed the mouse!”
She was off, disappearing into the back of the shop.
Avalyn stood there, watching the woman rush about in search of something to feed the rodent.
The death of a child was never an easy thing and beyond hurting for Mama Starke, she felt a good deal of sympathy for Brogan.
As she was coming to discover, he had more than his share of things to be bitter about.
More than cruel knights and a relegated existence, the death of his only child would be enough to embitter the man more deeply than most.
Avalyn looked over at Brogan just in time to see him approach her.
Without a word, he reached out and gently cupped her face, nearly swallowing up her entire skull with his massive hands.
They gazed at each other for a long moment, Avalyn’s surprised eyes against his warm ones.
With more sweetness than she had ever imagined possible, he bent down and kissed her as Mama Starke had, on both cheeks.
But there was much more to his kisses than Mama Starke’s had conveyed; something far deeper and fine.
Wide-eyed and breathless, Avalyn stared back at him. Brogan smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, dropping his hands. “For what you said to Mama. Thank you.”
She wasn’t quite over the feel of his hands on her head, his lips against her flesh. It had been an innately kind and tender gesture, but it had been something that set her heart to racing like nothing ever had. She felt as if she had been struck by lightning.
“My pleasure,” she managed to say. “But it is true what I said… the priest told me so.”
He continued to smile faintly at her, his massive dimples carving canyons down either side of his face. “I have no doubt.” They could hear Mama Starke bustling about in the back and Brogan called out to her. “I must leave, Mama. I shall return later.”
She said something to him in German, perhaps a farewell, and Brogan took Avalyn’s elbow and escorted her from the shop.
Out into the clear sunshine again, the day seemed brighter and sweeter somehow.
He didn’t let go of her elbow as they made their way onto the busy avenue that would, with a right had turn at the next intersection of streets, lead them back to the Tower.
“I am very sorry if I upset your mother by bringing about talk of your son,” she looked up at him; he was so tall that she very nearly had to lay her head back to see him. “I hope she will not hold it against me in spite of the comforting ending.”
He shook his head. “Mama has never held a grudge. You were very kind to her.”
“She was kind to me.”
The conversation quieted, but it was not uncomfortable.
Avalyn’s gaze moved off to the Tower in the distance.
Thoughts of her aunt and uncle suddenly filled her mind, of their conversation last night.
She’d gone well beyond disobeying them in spite of her earlier intentions of merely returning a borrowed gown.
More than that, she did exactly what they told her not to do; she had come into contact with d’Aurilliac again and she was enjoying it immensely.
She was torn between defiance and the fear that she would be found out.
The longer she stayed with him, the more chance there was for discovery.
“Brogan,” she said slowly. “Where will you be tonight? On the bridge again?”
He looked down at her, momentarily surprised by her question. “I do not plan to be. Why?”
She looked back at him, her golden eyes wide and lovely.
“Because I am supposed to attend a feast tonight in honor of the Duke of Clarence. My uncle is announcing the duke’s betrothal to my cousin, I think, though nothing has been confirmed that I am aware of.
Though I should attend, of course, I was thinking… .”
She trailed off, suddenly realizing how forward she was about to sound. Brogan took his hand off her elbow, collected her fingers, and tucked them into the crook of his arm. His big hand remained intertwined with hers.
“What were you thinking, my lady?”
She cast him a sidelong glance, thinking that she was committed to finishing her bold sentence.
There was just something about Brogan that made her feel alive and warm, and she did not want to lose that feeling.
The thought of never seeing him again when she left the Tower on the morrow was becoming increasingly distressing.
“I was thinking on taking in an entertainment instead,” she said after a moment. “I thought you might like to accompany me.”
His eyebrows lifted. “An entertainment?”
“Aye. A play.”
Brogan had been to one play in his life; it had been complicated and he did not understand what was going on. But he would have gone with her to sit before the Devil himself if that was what she wanted; anything just to be near her.
“I would like that,” he said. “What play?”
“I do not know. But I have been told that the Rose and Thistle Playhouse has performances every night of the week. Since it is my last night here, I would like to see one.”
The thought of seeing her again that night brought lightness to his heart and a rush to his head. “And you shall,” he said. “When shall I come for you?”
She laughed softly. “Nay, Brogan, this is clandestine. I must sneak out of the feast in order to attend. Just meet me at the Playhouse. Have you ever heard of it? Do you know where it is?”
“You should not walk unescorted to the Playhouse,” he said firmly. “I will not hear of it.”
She frowned. “Well, you cannot call on me.”
“I can stand outside of the Beauchamp Tower and wait for you.”
She shook her head exaggeratedly, an almost teasing gesture. “You cannot, silly boy, because I will not be there.”
“Where will you be?”
“Near the Martin Tower. There is a large banquet hall on the first floor south of the turret.”
He nodded. “I know it. I shall wait for you just outside.”