She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I’ve never had much to complain about.”
They emerged once again into the sunshine. The stables were busy around them, and a stray dog wandered close; Avalyn bent down to pet it. Brogan simply watched her, every movement, every gesture. There was something about her that made him gravitate towards her like a moth to flame. She could have walked into the fires of hell and he would have followed.But after the past few months of unadulterated grief, he was subconsciously clinging to the only bright thing that had entered his life. There was attraction most definitely, but there was also need.
Avalyn glanced up at him when she was finished petting the dog. The Tower was off to the southwest about a quarter mile, and the training field where he had just come from was directly south of them, bordering the stables. Now that the task was done, she had nothing further to do except go back to her apartment. But she wasn’t quite ready yet. There was something about Brogan’s presence that made her want to linger with him.
Well,” she came to a pause, gazing up into his angled face. “I suppose I should return home now. Surely you have other duties to attend.”
True, he was needed out on the training field. In the distance, he could see the recruits he had been working with earlier. But he wasn’t about to give this moment up without a fight.
“Have you eaten your morning meal yet, my lady?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
He smiled. “Would you eat with me, then? There is a bakery in town that makes wonderfulSemmeln.”
She cocked her head. “Semmeln? What is that?”
“German bread. Sometimes it has raisins or nuts in it.”
The thought of experiencing something new always appealed to her. The thought of spending more time with him appealed even more. “I would like to try it.”
His smile broadened and he held out her elbow to her. She took it and once again, they were off.
It wasn’t a very long walk to the section of London he was speaking of. In fact, it bordered the training field to the southeast. Avalyn had never been to this part of town. One entire section of the street seemed to have nothing but Germanic shops; two bakeries, an import shop, and a merchant shop thatsold a variety of goods and services. Brogan took her into the larger of the bakeries, a dimly lit place, and she was hit by the strong smell of baking bread when the door opened. Inhaling deeply, she laughed when Brogan did the same.
“God’s Teeth,” she exclaimed softly. “What a wonderful smell.”
There were a few tables set out before them; dark bread, lighter bread, bread in the shape of a basket, braided bread all met with her curious gaze. Brogan pointed to the different shapes and colors.
“Graubrot, Weissbrot, Schwarzbrot, and Brotbelag,” he said. “These are all different types of Germanic breads.”
She inspected the loaves closely without touching them. Sniffing at each one, she glanced up at him. “They smell strongly, but differently,” she observed. “How do you know so much about bread?”
He smiled, his carved dimples deep. “I told you my mother still lived in London. This is her shop.”
Before Avalyn could reply, a very large, very round woman suddenly came shooting out from the back of the store. Her gray hair was in a braid, woven up around the crown of her head, and she wore a very white shift with an embroidered red surcoat covered in flour dust. She threw her fat, dimpled arms around Brogan’s neck.
“Mein Lieblingjunge!” she exclaimed happily. “Sie sind gekommen, Mich zu sehen.”
Brogan put his arms around the woman, those massive things with every muscle, every tendon defined. He kissed her loudly on the cheek.
“Hallo, Mutter,” he replied. “Ich habe jemanden für Sie gebracht, sich zu treffen.”
The woman’s expression turned to one of surprise and she abruptly turned to Avalyn, standing a few feet away by the breadtable. Avalyn smiled timidly and the woman dropped her arms from Brogan, dipping into a practiced curtsy.
“I am so sorry,” she said in a very heavy accent. “I did not see you, my lady.”
Brogan, grinning, put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Lady Avalyn, this is my mother, the Good Wife Starke. Mama, this is the Lady Avalyn du Brant.”
Mama Starke went right to her, taking her hand between her two puffy ones. She studied Avalyn’s face as if inspecting the loveliest creature on the face of the earth. “Oh,” she sighed. “Brogan, she is just beautiful. So very, very beautiful. How did you be so lucky?”
Brogan wasn’t sure how to reply; he wriggled his eyebrows, snorting nervously when he couldn’t think of an answer fast enough. Mama Starke, eager and overjoyed, squeezed Avalyn’s hands happily.
“Do you mean to tell me that you are finally going to wed again?” she asked. “Oh, Brogan, think of the lovely babies you will have!”
The smile faded from Avalyn’s face as she looked at Brogan. He was positively mortified. “Nay, Mama,” he said. “The lady is… she is….”
“A friend, Goody Starke,” Avalyn said quickly, helping Brogan out of this mess. “Your son saved my life and we have become friends. He brought me here to try some of your marvelous bread.”
