Quietly, the girls quit the room and ran to the front door, only to run headlong into Barton as he topped the landing outside. Skittish, they apologized swiftly and very nearly randown the wooden steps. Barton paid them no mind, hardly wasting a glance on them. He didn’t even think twice about the fact that they seemed to be heading for the knight’s quarters.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Iam tiredof waiting.”
Charles muttered the words as he watched St. John don his armor for the bout with Gervaise. Barton fumbled with a strap on his chest protection, glancing up into his liege’s fat face.
“Waiting for what, my lord?” he asked.
Charles sat heavily on the three-legged stool in the corner of Guerdley Cross’ armory. Set in one of the fat, squatty towers, it was a round room with ample storage space. Charles spent a good deal of time here, mostly because he was, in truth, a lonely man without many friends. He had known Barton since they had both been young men. He considered Barton a friend.
“Marriage,” Charles finally said. “It is clear that the lady does not want to marry me, and I think I know why.”
Barton knew why, too, and he didn’t particularly want to delve into the subject. But he had no choice. “Why is that, my lord?”
Charles crossed his fat arms, watching Barton settle his shoulder armor where it was attached to the breast plate. “Because of Inglesbatch. I think she is in love with him.”
Barton cleared his throat softly. “I do not believe that to be the case, my lord, although I firmly believe the man is in love with her.”
Charles suddenly bolted from his stool, pacing with agitation. “I know that,” he snapped softly. “De Neville told me as much. If she’s not in love with him, then why does she spend so much time with him? Why are they always together?”
St. John watched his liege a moment; he had to be careful in his words. Though Aubrey was a sedate man, the event of Avalyn du Brant had him on edge. It was obvious he adored her, and her lack of attention not only frustrated him, it also hurt his feelings.
“They are always together, I believe, because she takes comfort with his familiar presence,” he replied evenly. “She is in a strange placed surrounded by strange people. He gives her comfort.”
Charles looked at him. “Do you believe that is all it is?”
No, he didn’t. The lady wasn’t interested in Aubrey in the least. But Barton did not say what he was thinking. “I do, my lord,” he replied after a brief hesitation. “I would not worry over Inglesbatch. He is a moral man and a good knight.”
“But he is interfering with my ability to come to know the lady. She is to be my wife, after all. I cannot even talk to her without Inglesbatch hovering over us.”
“Do you want me to send him away, my lord?”
Charles pursed his lips, kicking distractedly at the floor. “I do,” he said. “But I fear it would only upset the lady.”
Barton lifted his shoulders. “Then I suppose you must learn to deal with his presence, my lord.”
The statement only served to invite a streak of resentment. Charles’ head came up, his blue eyes flashing. “I will demand a wedding date and be done with this foolishness. He cannot interfere if she is my wife.”
“He will continue to be a nuisance unless you send him away or come to some sort of an agreement with him, my lord.”
“Then we will have to come to an agreement. And I intend to wed the lady before the week is out.”
“Then you should send for the priest immediately.”
“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I will do it today.”
Barton didn’t want to pursue the conversation any more; Charles was too weak-willed to actually push forward with hiswants and Barton had a match to attend. Moreover, he was tired of these frequent frustration-induced conversations. He picked up his massive broadsword and scabbard from where it rested against the wall.
“I have a bout pending, my lord,” he said. “Perhaps you would enjoy a bit of sport this afternoon.”
Moping, Charles had the countenance of a spoiled child. But he nodded his head. “Perhaps you could fight Inglesbatch when you’re done with Gervaise. A lance in the wrong spot and William would be disabled for quite some time.”
Barton raised an eyebrow. “You wish for me to injure him?”
Charles gazed at him a moment, attempting to ascertain if St. John would really do such a thing. He was such a straightforward man that Charles suspected that, even if ordered, Barton would balk. He finally shook his head, not wanting to force such a confrontation with his knight. Besides, he didn’t really want to do it, anyway.
“Nay,” he said. “It would only upset the lady.”
