Chapter Fifteen #2
“I do not think poorly of you,” he whispered. “My respect for you shall always be of the highest regard. And I know that you loved Brogan very much. I know that you believed you would be his wife.”
She wept into her hand. “What will I do? Help me, William, for I cannot think clearly at the moment. My thoughts are numb.”
He couldn’t help it; he pulled her into his arms, holding her close to comfort her. She clung to him.
“Do not worry, my lady,” he whispered into her elaborate hair. “Stay calm. I will think of something.”
“You cannot return to Warwick,” she insisted, pulling away and struggling to compose herself. “I need you here.”
He pursed his lips in agreement. “I would say that you do.” Initial shock fading, his mind was beginning to work. “How… advanced is this pregnancy?”
She sniffled, wiping the remainder of her tears away. “A few weeks at most. Very early.”
William’s jaw ticked in thought. “Early enough that Charles might think you conceived on your wedding night?”
She looked blankly at him. Then her face crumpled again. “I… I have to let him…”
“Shh,” he shushed her quietly, daring to wipe at her new tears. “He’s your husband, Avalyn. You must let him do his duty. And you must do yours.”
“But… I do not want him to…”
“You must. You have no choice.”
She sobbed loud enough that William shushed her again. “Avalyn, calm yourself,” he whispered sternly. “You must not let anyone see how upset you are. It will only give way to questions.”
She nodded, knowing he was correct, laboring to relax.
He patted her arm, looking around them to make sure no one had heard or seen their exchange.
The battlements were quiet but for a few distant soldiers and the party-goers down below certainly were not paying them any attention. He took her gently by the elbow.
“Come along,” he said, leading her towards the stairs. “You will return to your festivities and enjoy the night. And when the time comes to retire, remember that it is necessary. If Aubrey is to think this child is his, you must not delay. Do you understand?”
She nodded, sickened, yet knowing he was correct. “Oh, William,” she breathed. “Will this misery never end?”
He looked at her as they reached the stairwell. The moon was reflecting off of her lovely features and he felt a good deal of misery of his own.
“It will,” he muttered. “But until then, you must be brave. I know you can do this.”
She swallowed hard, wiping what moisture remained on her face. She fixed him in the eye, her gaze moving over his round, strong face. A soft hand came up to gently touch his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything you have done, I thank you. Surely no better friend in this world has ever existed.”
He simply nodded, letting her take the stairwell alone. Even after she was gone, he continued to stand there, feeling empty and weak.
*
Charles was very drunk when they finally retired to the marriage bed that night.
The whistles and calls reverberated to the roof as the baron and his new wife ascended the stairs to the third floor of the keep.
Charles was very jovial, waving to the crowd and shouting back to the well-wishers, while Avalyn smiled wanly and was properly subdued, as a virginal bride should be.
In truth, she was horrified. She was afraid to open her mouth lest she vomit.
Richard de Neville watched the couple from his chair of honor on the dais, lifting his chalice to his niece when their eyes made contact.
He was rather pleased with himself: once again, a master plan was coming to fruition.
There was nothing in this land that did not obey his wishes, especially not his niece.
He knew that she would eventually surrender to his directive.
He was pleased to see it was sooner rather than later.
When the couple disappeared into the upper levels, he turned back to his wine.
Aye, he was very pleased with the final result.
The landing outside of the master’s chamber had been lined with rushes and fragrant sprigs.
Fat tapers on big iron stands lit the landing, which led into the massive chamber.
There were candles everywhere, some scented with Pine.
The entire room was warm and fragrant. As Charles spoke with one of his servants, Avalyn entered the chamber and removed her heavy cloak.
The garment was oppressive in the heat of the room.
She glanced over at the roaring fireplace, a massive blaze spitting smoke and sparks into the air.
Without looking at her new husband, she went to the large oak table near the windows and poured herself a measure of wine.
She drank the entire cup in three big swallows; she found that she needed something to fortify her.
It was going to be difficult enough to get through this night.
When she heard the door shut softly and the bolt thrown, she closed her eyes briefly, tightly, squaring her shoulders and remembering what William had told her: you must do your duty.
As much as she liked Charles, and for as much as she respected his kindness, the fact remained that she was repulsed by him physically.
There was no romantic feeling in her heart, not even the smallest seed.
Even if Brogan had never existed, she would not have found Charles an appealing man.
And now she was expected to lay with him.
She felt bile rise in her throat at the thought.
“Please make yourself comfortable, my lady,” Charles said, removing his heavy tunic with some difficulty. It was a massive thing studded with semi-precious stones and his drunken fingers couldn’t manage it very well. “Would you like to sit by the fire?”
She shook her head, moving away from the table as he moved towards it. He took the other chalice of wine and drank deeply, wiping his pale sweaty lips when he was finished. He eyed Avalyn, his gaze lingering on her shapely back.
“My mother was pregnant when she married,” he said for no apparent reason. “She bore my brother six months later. She wasn’t fooling anyone.”
Avalyn looked at him sharply, her eyes wide.
He put up his hands in a sloppy gesture.
“I am sorry, my lady,” he said quickly. “I did not mean to offend. It was simply something that someone reminded me of downstairs. My grandfather was evidently furious, though I would not know that personally, of course.”
Avalyn could see that he was very, very drunk. He was rambling. He was also very pale and sweaty. In spite of her revulsion of the man, she nonetheless attempted to take the attitude of a concerned wife.
“Charles, you’re drunk,” she said. “Sit down before you fall down. We’ll sit and talk a while.”
He staggered his way to the chair she was indicating and sat heavily. The chair creaked and popped dangerously. Avalyn sat in another chair opposite him and they looked at each other. Charles couldn’t seem to sit upright; he kept listing to starboard.
“I never thought we would see this day,” he said after a moment. “So much has happened. It seems like a dream.”
He didn’t mean it as a reprimand, but Avalyn felt as if it was. Not wanting to linger on the painful past, she spoke of the future. “Do you have any great plans for our keep, my lord? Any great expansions or hopes?”
He blinked, struggling to focus his drunken thoughts as he wiped again at his sweaty lip. It was then that Avalyn noticed his lips were an odd shade of pinkish-blue. “I would like to increase my breeding stock,” he said. “There is a lot of money in selling good horses.”
“An admirable goal.”
He nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat and nearly falling off the chair. “Right now, I have stables enough to house twenty five horses. I should like to increase that to one hundred.”
“Indeed?” Avalyn pretended to be interested. “You must decide where to put all of those stables. Perhaps they will have to be built outside the wall, like a big arena.”
“You must like horses, my lady. You ride that big bay colt.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Then perhaps you will help me with this endeavor?”
“I should be delighted.”
Charles smiled at her, his purplish lips quivering.
He was shifting around quite a bit, nervously and drunkenly, rubbing his left hand a good deal.
But Avalyn didn’t notice too much; she was more concerned with what the evening would bring.
She wondered if it would be better to get it over with rather than try to delay the inevitable.
“I… I am glad we are finally married,” she said. “You have been a kind and generous soul.”
He was looking at her with his big brown eyes, like two spots of mud within his fat pasty face.
“I have told you since the beginning that I would endeavor to make a fine husband. Though there were a few times when I thought you would slip away, I had always hoped I would break through to you. Perhaps I finally have.”
She lowered her gaze, looking at her hands. “I understand that I am fortunate.”
He sat forward in his chair, obvious to the groaning of the wood and leather. “’Tis I who am the fortunate one, my lady. Did you like the gifts I gave you?”
She smiled weakly at him, fingering the jewelry around her neck. “They were magnificent, all of them; the cloak, the rings, the necklaces. Just lovely.”
“Good,” he sat back, pleased with himself. “I like giving you gifts. I shall give you a gift every day for the rest of our marriage.”
She laughed softly. “If we are married fifty years that could get to be an expensive habit.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, pleased he could make her laugh. The conversation died for the moment and he went back to rubbing his left hand furiously. It was then that Avalyn noticed what he was doing.
She gestured towards his hand. “Is something wrong, my lord?”
He didn’t know what she meant until he looked down and saw that he was indeed massaging his hand. He extended the digits, turning his hand over as if to gain a better look at it.