What did he mean?
Silently, they entered into the foyer at the end of the hall where the main door was. Sunlight streamed in through the half-cracked door, almost blinding in the weak light of the entry. Avalyn realized where they were and further realized that her time with Brogan had come to an end. She was sorry. The more she discovered about this big, silent, awkward man, the more she wanted to know. And she was especially interested in St. Alban’s last statement.
She turned to Brogan, her hand still in the crook of his elbow. He was gazing down at her with that relaxed expression and a hint of a grin. With a forced smile, she removed her hand.
“Then I suppose my work here is done,” she said, looking between Brogan and St. Alban. “Thanks to you both for your graciousness. I do hope our paths cross again.”
“I believe that our paths crossing in the first place was a stroke of fortune, my lady,” St. Alban spoke before Brogan could. “It is doubtful that a fine lady such as yourself and lowly fighting men like us should meet up again.”
That was more than likely true. Avalyn smiled weakly, bobbed a curtsy, and headed for the door. As she put her hand out to open it, the door suddenly swung away and she looked up to see Brogan standing beside her, opening the door.
“A true gentleman would not let a lady walk unescorted,” his deep blue eyes glittered at her. “I would be honored to walk you home.”
Her smile at him was genuine. “That is kind of you, my lord.”
He returned her smile, held out his elbow, and she took it. Together, they walked out into the bright morning sunlight.
St. Alban stood silently, watching the two fade into the courtyard beyond, knowing that whatever barriers he had been trying to create between Brogan and the lady had been weak attempts. He cursed himself for his ineffectiveness because heknew, for a fact, that Brogan could not take another broken heart. Certainly, the lady was a nice distraction for the moment. But anything more than a moment and Brogan might not recover from the devastation sure to come. St. Alban could sense this heading towards disaster already. But he knew that Brogan would not see it that way. With a sigh, he headed back to his chamber.
Brogan, in fact, couldn’t see anything other than the sky, the birds, the grass, and the lady by his side. Up until last night, such things had lost their beauty for him. But today, the beauty was back. Every time he glanced at the lady on his arm, she would smile coyly and lower her lashes. She had charming dimples in her cheeks, creating more delight to her appearance. Brogan would smile back, deep grooves carving the vertical length of his cheeks, and avert his gaze. It was a very strange, and very pleasant, game of flirting. The amazing thing was that Brogan did not even realize it. He was just caught up in the moment.
“You mentioned your mother earlier,” Avalyn started the conversation. “Does she still live in England?”
Brogan nodded. “In London, still, with my stepfather.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“A half-brother, who will inherit my step father’s merchant business.”
“Is it a successful business?”
“Aye.” The one-word answer hung in the air and he realized he should probably say more. What would St. Alban tell him?Ask her about herself, fool!“What of you? Do your parents still live?”
Avalyn shook her head. “Nay. My mother and father passed away a few years ago, so I came to live with my aunt and uncle and two cousins.”
She’s Warwick, man.St. Alban’s words suddenly rang in his head. Brogan wasn’t a man of tact or politics, only one of truth. He was blunt with his question because he knew of no other way.
“Where do you live?”
She glanced up at him. “In the Beauchamp Tower.”
“I meant when you are not in London.”
She looked back down at the ground, wondering if she should tell him. But she could not lie; if he knew who occupied the Beauchamp Tower, then he knew very well where she lived.
“Warwick Castle.”
“Who are your aunt and uncle?”
She still did not look up. “My aunt is Anne de Neville. My uncle is Richard.”
She did not know what she had expected; that he would perhaps turn and leave her at that moment or curse her for her familial relations. She almost held her breath to see what his reaction would be. But Brogan kept walking, the pace leisurely, acting almost as if he hadn’t heard her answer. After a few moments, he finally let out something that sounded like a low whistle.
“I serve the king, lady.”
“I know.”
“Your uncle is at odds with the king.”
