Chapter Nine #4
Charles still stood just inside the door, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously.
When she sat, he moved to the bed and stiffly perched on the edge.
Now that they were alone, the silence was awkward.
There was much he wanted to say, much he wanted to ask, but was unsure where to start. He cleared his throat loudly.
“I ordered a meal,” he said timidly. “Not knowing what you would like, I ordered everything they had. I hope there is something that tempts you.”
She looked at the man; really looked at him.
He was so tentative around her that it was annoying.
But, in fairness, Avalyn knew her attitude towards him was to blame; she had been clearly uninterested from the beginning.
It was no wonder the man was hesitant around her.
He had never come across as anything but considerate, even when St. John was interrogating her.
In fact, he had seemed rather sympathetic towards her during the course of that awful session.
“So,” she began, perhaps not so guarded. “What is you wish to know about me?”
Charles blinked as if the question startled him. “Well,” he began, clasping and unclasping his hands. “Perhaps… perhaps you will tell me what your favorite food is.”
She couldn’t help the smile that creased her face. “My favorite food?”
“Aye.”
Avalyn thought a moment. “I am particularly fond of bread with honey and butter. And I also like milk pudding with berries.” She watched him smile. “What is your favorite food?”
He laughed, patting his round belly. “Most anything, as you can tell.”
Reluctant giggles escaped her lips as he slapped his gut. “Not to worry, my lord,” she said. “Your size is indicative of your prosperity.”
His smile eased. “It is not my prosperity but my father’s. He was a man driven by greed. All I ever wanted to do was raise Belgian warmbloods and sell them for love of the breed. But my father… well, he had other ideas. And he made the Aubrey fortune any way he could.”
Her smile faded as she sensed that perhaps he was not particularly proud of his father, for whatever reason. His manner seemed to change when he mentioned the man. “Tell me of Guerdley Cross,” she asked.
He sat forward, elbows on his knees and his hands hanging.
“I was born there. It has been in my family for four generations, licensed by Edward the Third to my great grandsire. It is a lovely place; the baronetcy is one of the largest in the north and quite prosperous. I hope that you will be proud to call it your home.”
Listening to the man, his meek words and benign manner, was only causing her to feel sorry for him.
He seemed so out of place, almost lost in a world that had him powerfully within its grasp.
How on earth he came to be such a powerful player in Warwick’s schemes was unknown; he did not have the personality of a political wolf.
But as he spoke of the wealth of Guerdley Cross, she came to suspect he was a powerful man purely due to his wealth.
He could financially support Warwick’s cause and was therefore of value.
Clearly, he seemed to have nothing else of intrinsic value.
And then a thought occurred to her; it was little wonder that her uncle selected him for her husband.
Avalyn could very easily manipulate the man and take over all operations of Guerdley Cross and its wealth, thereby forever ensuring Aubrey’s support.
Her mind began to work; thoughts of vengeance began to fill her head.
What if she was in control of Guerdley Cross?
And what if she convinced Charles to support Edward and not his brother Clarence for the throne?
It would put a huge hole in Warwick’s arsenal.
And she would be fighting on Brogan’s side.
If she wanted to hurt the man who was intent on ruining her life, then fighting for the king would certainly do it. She could beat him at his own game.
“You are lost to me, my lady,” Charles’ soft voice floated upon the musty air. “Did I say something to offend you?”
Breaking from her treacherous train of thought, Avalyn realized she had not replied to his earlier statement. She forced a weak smile. “Of course not,” she said. “I suppose I am simply fatigued.”
“Of course,” he suddenly bolted to his feet. “How unfeeling of me. You would surely like to sleep.”
She nodded, an eyebrow raised as she gazed up at him. The subject lingering in the back of their minds had finally come to bear and she was customarily forthright. “And just where do you intend to sleep?”
His face turned a deep shade of red. “Well… that is to say, I thought to sleep here.”
“Where?”
“In a chair. But I see that there is no chair.”
She gave him a look that suggested she was not prepared to sleep in the same room with him yet.
Not receiving a positive response, his red face turned even redder.
“I will go and see if the innkeeper has another room,” he said quickly, moving to the door.
Hand on the iron latch, he suddenly paused.
“I hope you do not think… well, that I was going to behave less than chivalrous towards you. It was truly my only desire to speak with you without interruption.”
“I believe you.”
His thin lips twisted with a somewhat humble smile. “Thank you. I shall go and see what is keeping your meal. And… find another place to sleep.”
He was out of the door so quickly that the entire cottage shook as the door slammed in his wake.
Avalyn sat there a moment, digesting the swift turn of events, before emitting a heavy sigh.
It had certainly been an eventful day and her thoughts turned from Charles to Brogan.
There was heaviness and sorrow with that thought, but she fought it.
Now was not the time to cloud her mind with grief, for she must think clearly if she was to find a way out of the situation.
The room was warmer now and she stood up, removing her heavy traveling cloak and hanging it on the wall peg; since Charles had fled she could remove her symbolic shield.
As she moved for the fire to warm her hands there was a knock on the door.
“Come,” she called.
The door opened and several de Neville soldiers entered with her trunks.
She had brought nine altogether and they piled the trunks in the small cottage, barely leaving room to walk about it.
The men bowed out respectfully, and on their heels came a woman bearing a tray of food.
Avalyn paid little attention to the woman as she entered the cottage, closed the door, and set the tray down on the small, wobbly table.
“My lady?” the serving wench hissed at her.
Hands held out over the fire, Avalyn turned to the woman, wondering why she was whispering.
The wench was covered with a thin dirty cloak that had obscured most of her body, including her hair, but now gazing into the woman’s brown eyes, a flicker of recognition filled Avalyn.
She had seen that face somewhere before.
The wench stepped towards her. “My lady, do you remember me? My name is Thel. I live in the barracks at The Tower. You borrowed my gown when your clothes were wet after Brogan found you in the river.”
Avalyn’s eyes opened wide with shock. Deeply puzzled, she moved towards the woman. “Of course I remember you,” she said, looking the woman up and down to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “What on earth are you doing here? How did you…?”
Thel cut her off gently. “There is no time, my lady. Brogan is here and has sent me to contact you.”
“Brogan?” Avalyn gasped, hand to her throat. “But… he cannot be here. I told him to wait for me to send word!”
Thel was sure the fat, red-haired man was going to return any moment and hastened to deliver her message.
“I do not know of such things, my lady,” she said quickly, quietly.
“But St. Alban and Brogan are following you to Merseyside. They brought Aggie and Noe and I along to help. They think we can get closer to you than they can. St. Alban suggests you tell your betrothed that you have acquired us as your maids. That way, we can carry messages between you and Brogan.”
It was uncomplicated and brilliant. Avalyn stared at Thel a long moment and tears sprang to her eyes.
She put her hand over her mouth as if to hold back the smile, press down the sobs.
She blinked rapidly, chasing the tears away that threatened and feeling foolish that she hadn’t thought of something so wonderfully simple.
“Whose plan is this?” she asked in a strangled whisper.
Thel could see the emotion in the lady’s eyes; a fine lady as she wanted to be someday. “St. Alban’s, my lady,” she said softly. “He wants to help.”
“Of course he does,” Avalyn whispered. She was so elated that her head was buzzing. But she was also concerned. “How did you come to bring my meal? Surely you did not simply walk into the inn and go to work?”
Thel shook her head. “It took both Aggie and I to ambush the serving wench as she left the inn to bring your food.” When Avalyn cocked her head in confusion, Thel hastily explained.
“We followed your party from The Tower when you left this morning. Aggie and me followed your lord into the inn and heard him order a room and a meal for you. So we hid outside and waited for the serving wench, knocking her on the head and stealing both the tray and cloak. I was to deliver my message.”
Avalyn listened with growing concern. “Inglesbatch knows St. Alban and Brogan on sight,” she said. “They must be very careful to stay out of sight until I can tell William that they are tracking us.”
“St. Alban is a good knight, my lady,” Thel said. “He will not let anything happen to any of us.”
Avalyn didn’t know what to say. People she hardly knew were risking their lives so that she and Brogan could stay in communication. It was touching beyond words. But the responsibility of it was also terrifying.
“Where is Brogan?” she asked softly.