She felt like muttering a curse, but she spoke plainly and tried not to appear rattled. “What is it, William?”
Inglesbatch was in full battle armor, armed to the gills with broadsword and weapons. He flipped up his three-point face plate, of the latest style. There was menace on his handsome face.
“Your uncle is looking for you, my lady,” he said in a deep, unsympathetic voice. “I am to escort you back.”
Avalyn could have done one of two things at that moment; she could refuse, or she could go with him. How she behaved could very well dictate how Brogan behaved as well, for already she could feel him tensing against her. Rather than to create a scene and invite possible bloodshed, she slipped her hand from Brogan’s elbow and moved towards Inglesbatch. She put herself between the men in a calculated move; William would not move for Brogan if she was in the way. There was nothing else, in her opinion, that she could have done at the moment.
“Very well,” she said compliantly, turning to Brogan as if he was an afterthought. “Thank you for the escort, my lord. A very good day to you.”
Inglesbatch bailed of his charger, his blue eyes shooting daggers at Brogan. He took possessive hold of the lady’s arm and, in that instant, it took all of Brogan’s self control not to charge the man. The sudden appearance had been shocking enough, but now that he’d had a moment to let it sink in, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to let the lady go. When William turned his back on him in order to help Avalyn mount, Brogan clenched and unclenched his fists and prepared to charge. But Avalyn caught his gaze over the top of William’s shoulder and she shook her head, a hard snap that begged him not to do anything foolish. Their gazes locked, and he could see that she was as reluctant to go as he was to let her. But another flick of her gaze, which he followed, showed that there were several De Neville knights and soldiers surrounding them.
He knew she was going because she had to. It did not occur to him until later that she left because she was trying to save his life. There was no doubt the de Neville men would have cut him down and called it justice. So Brogan stood there, unmoving, like a massive statue in the middle of the avenue as Inglesbatch mounted behind Avalyn and took off in the direction of the Tower. The surrounding de Neville men, with the green crest emblazoned upon their saddle blankets and tunics, brought up the rear in a thunderous retreat.
As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving Brogan standing in their dust. It was a disappointing end to a spectacular morning.
CHAPTER FOUR
Seated on asagging chair that had seen far too much weight put upon it during its lifespan, St. Alban watched his young friend pace around their unspectacular chamber. It was not like Brogan to pace; the man was consummately controlled and usually unflappable. But something had him stirred today, and he was displaying as much passion as St. Alban had seen from him in a very long time. A few brief words from Brogan when he had returned to their apartment gave St Alban an inkling as to what it was.
“You promised me that you were going to stay away from her,” he said casually. “It’s a miracle that Warwick’s men did not cut you down on the spot.”
Brogan’s eyes narrowed. When he was angry, his accent became heavier, making him more difficult to understand. “They were armed. I was not. She got on a knight’s charger and rode away.”
“She had no choice, I am sure,” St. Alban said. “She probably saved your life by doing so.”
Brogan wandered over by the hearth, picking up the poker and toying with it angrily. “Wenn ich eine Waffe gehabt hatte, hätte ich sie alle getötet.”
“In a language I can understand, please.”
“I said, if I’d had a weapon, I would have killed them all.”
“How many were there?”
“A dozen or so.”
St. Alban cocked a bushy eyebrow. “You’re good, Brogan, but you’re not that good. Whatever you could have accomplishedby sheer brute strength, those men would have overwhelmed you by sheer number.” He stood up from the chair, his joints creaking with age. “I have told you this since the beginning. She is Warwick. You must stay away from her.”
“I do not want to stay away from her.”
St. Alban knew that. He softened his approach, knowing that he could not bully Brogan into submission. “Then tell me; should you fight so hard just to be with her, what do you intend to do with her? Marry her? Surely you cannot be considering anything so outlandish.”
Brogan’s anger seemed to shift into something of frustration and confusion. He tried to look at his mentor but found he could not meet the man’s gaze. They both knew how foolish he was acting.
“I do not know,” he said. “All I know is that I want to be with her. I want to hear her laughter and listen to her speak. Is that so wrong?”
It wasn’t. St. Alban shuffled towards him, putting a fat hand on his shoulder. “It is not wrong, but she is out of your league, lad. I am most sorry to acknowledge that. You may as well wish for the stars.”
Brogan just stood there, staring into the flame. “I have had everything that I love taken from me.”
It was the first thing Brogan had ever said to that regard. St. Alban knew how hard it was for the man to voice his feelings. It had been a horrible three months for them both. His sympathy for the man, for the situation, deepened.
“I know,” he said quietly. “And I am glad this lady has brought a spark back to your life. But just like an angel, she’s not meant to stay. She belongs elsewhere. Now that your spark has been rekindled, seek someone suitable to share it with.”
“You mean someone who is not Warwick.”
“I mean that they will kill you if you continue to pursue her, Brogan. I have no desire to bury you. And I’m fairly certain that your death would destroy your mother.”
Brogan’s anger faded with that simple statement. He knew it would destroy his mother, also. He set the poker aside and wandered over to a big wooden chair, the only chair in the room that was able to hold his massive weight. As Brogan lowered himself onto the seat, St. Alban’s fat orange cat rubbed against his leg, purring madly, and he reached down to pet the furry beast. All the while, his mind was tumbling with thought and angst.
