“Then his legacy shall become yours.”
Brogan wasn’t completely convinced, though he was increasingly intrigued. “If I call myself Tygor d’Aurilliac, they will recognize the name.”
“Gervaise,” Mama Starke piped up. “That was my name before I married Tygor. Brogan, you can call yourself Tygor Gervaise and no one will ever know the truth.”
Brogan looked back at his mother. There was a good deal of indecision in his eyes. “You believe this to be wise, Mama?”
Mama Starke nodded faintly. “You’ve had little happiness in your life, Brogan. It seems unfair to let this chance slip away without fighting for it.Schritte der herrlichkeit.”
A slow smile spread across Brogan’s lips; wiser words were never spoken. He did not want to lose the glory and felt foolish that he had to be reminded of that. Somewhere in the turmoil of the past day, he had forgotten the true meaning of what he was willing to live and die for. All of his indecision, his hesitation, fled. He looked back at St. Alban.
“Though I am a warrior, there is much to learn about being a knight,” he said. “My father did not live long enough to school me. You must teach me what you know.”
The old man nodded firmly. “All that and more.”
Feeling confident and full of determination, Brogan suddenly moved to the door. St. Alban leapt up as quickly as his fat body was able.
“Where do you go?” he demanded.
Brogan’s hand was on the latch. “To Avalyn. She must know what is happening.”
St. Alban shook his head. “There is no time, Brogan.” When the man opened his mouth to protest, St. Alban shut him down with a raised hand. “If you go to her now, I can predict that you will not be separated from her before morning. You will not want to leave her and by morning we will have lost much precious time. If you return to London now, you can be there by morning,collect the armor, and ride hard to catch up to us. There is no time to waste.”
Brogan’s indecision was back. “But…”
St. Alban shook his head firmly, his hands on Brogan’s arms. “Nay, lad, you cannot go to her. She will never let you go and you know that. If there is any chance of our plan succeeding, then you must return for your father’s armor. Considering how slowly the party is traveling, I would suspect you can catch up to us in two days if you ride hard.”
Brogan gazed at him a long moment. “Very well,” he could hardly spit out the words. He wanted to go to Avalyn so badly that he ached, but he knew that St. Alban was right. “And when I catch up to you, then what?”
“Then I teach you what I know. And you go to Guerdley Cross and swear fealty to Aubrey as Sir Tygor Gervaise.”
“And then what?”
St. Alban’s expression tightened. “You bide your time and wait for the proper moment to spirit the lady and your daughter away. Go back to Saxony where you came from. But until then, the Sirens will be your eyes and ears with Lady Avalyn and I will be your aged father who happens to travel with you.”
“But you are English. We do not speak the same way.”
“I am not your real father. Your mother married me after you were born.”
Brogan drew in a long breath, his gaze moving to his mother and Lake dozing in the corner. “What of Mama?”
“She is my wife and the child is yours. Your wife died in childbirth.”
“You are sure this will work?”
“It will work if you play the part you were born to play. You were born to be a knight, Brogan. Have no doubt.”
It was smart, convenient and plausible. Brogan felt more hope than he had in a long time. Hope filled him with power, andpower with determination. He looked at the Sirens, still huddled on the bed.
“Thel,” he addressed her far more kindly than he ever had. “You will tell the lady what has happened. Tell her I have not forgotten her.”
Thel nodded. “I will, Brogan.”
“Tell her… tell her that I will come to her and to have faith.”
“I will.”
There was nothing more to say beyond the obvious. They all knew the stakes and they all knew the part they played in them. Brogan went to his mother and, putting a hand on her shoulder, bent down and kissed the baby on the cheek. She slept soundly. With a lingering glance at the sleeping child, he gathered his saddle bags, his cloak, and fled the cottage.
