The old man smiled and took the garment. “You are most welcome,” he, too, held the dress awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “I am afraid we did not have the chance to meet formally last eve, my lady. I am St. Alban de Sotheby, at your service.”
She nodded politely. “’Tis a pleasure, my lord.” Her eyes darted around the room, briefly. “Brogan is not here? I wished to thank him again also.”
St. Alban shook his head. “Not at the moment.” He didn’t want her lingering. Brogan was sure to be back at any time and he did not want the man to run into her. He was positive Brogan hadn’t slept all night and he suspected the reason was standing in front of him. It was not healthy for a variety of reasons. “I will tell him that you returned with the dress and your thanks.”
Somewhat disappointed, Avalyn nodded her thanks. “Where is the woman who loaned me the gown?”
St. Alban nodded. “Her name is Thel. I will tell her that you were most grateful for her generosity.”
“Is she your wife?”
“Nay, lady.”
“Is she Brogan’s wife?”
“Nay.”
Avalyn realized she felt some relief at that knowledge. “Then where is she that I might thank her myself?”
St. Alban lifted an eyebrow and cleared his throat. He seemed to grasp for words. “She is… well, that is to say, she lives here. At the barracks. I doubt a lady such as yourself would find her living situation appropriate and I would be honored to relay your thanks to her.”
For the first time since her arrival, the awkwardness faded and Avalyn seemed to relax. Her gaze lingered on the old man; a sharp, wise gaze that made even a seasoned man like St. Alban uncomfortable. For a moment, he thought she might be reading his thoughts, so piercing was her stare. It was clear that she was studying him like one opponent studies another. As if she was trying to figure everything out.
“She’s a whore for the knights,” she stated after a moment.
St. Alban nodded steadily. “Aye, my lady.”
Avalyn digested that. She looked at the gown in St. Alban’s hand and the old man was waiting for her to explode with the impropriety of loaning her a borrowed dress from a whore. But Avalyn, amazingly, did no such thing; she reached out and took the gown from his gnarled grip.
“Then perhaps if you would be kind enough to tell me where she does reside, I shall return this personally,” she said quietly.
St. Alban was surprised. What lady would not have expressed her distress at learning she had been wearing a whore’s garment? Surprise turned to respect. Perhaps the lady was not as shallow as most finely bred women tended to be. Already, he could tell she was shrewd. The forgiving part was unexpected.
“I would be honored to take you myself,” he moved for the door before she could deny him. “It is only a short way.”
In truth, Avalyn had no intention of denying his escort. She was rather grateful for it. Silently, she followed the old man from the chamber and back down the dark corridor. He was a big man, gone mostly to fat, and filled up most of the hall. But when they reached the stairs, he suddenly stopped and she smacked into the back of him. She could hear his voice lifted in greeting.
“Ah,” he said loudly, perhaps too loudly. “Brogan, what a surprise. See who has come to return the garment you borrowed from Thel.”
St. Alban stepped aside about the same time as Brogan mounted the top of the stairs. Immediately, his deep blue eyes zeroed in on her golden ones and, for a moment, Avalyn’s breath caught in her throat. He would have been less shocking had he reached out to grab her, for the heat from those eyes was jolting enough.
“My lady,” Brogan’s mouth twitched with the beginnings of an unexpected smile. “I trust you are well this morning after your difficult night?”
She nodded, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs at the sudden sight of him. “I am excellent, my lord. I’ve come to return the dress and again extend my thanks to you for saving my life.”
“We were going to take the dress to Thel,” St. Alban’s interjected, his manner rushed as if he was anxious to leave Brogan’s presence. “We shall be but a moment. I know you must be tired and wish to rest.”
For the first time, Avalyn looked away from his eyes to notice the state of the rest of him; Brogan was in heavy leather breeches, a rough tunic, and heavy boots that were covered with grime. His hair, dark blond curls that were dark with sweat, was also dirty. It was, in fact, rather intriguing. Most of themen she knew, knights included, were somewhat fine living and not prone to dirty themselves with mundane things like raw training. A few of them would– genuine knights and not those men more inclined to politics than warring– but for the most part, a genuinely dirty and exhausted man was, in her world, an anomaly. Upon further consideration, she thought it was oddly attractive.
“Of course you do not need to trouble yourself with me, my lord,” she said to Brogan. “I am sure you have many other pressing duties to attend.”
With the shadow of a grin still lingering on his lips, Brogan shook his head. “I have no other pressing duties.” He turned around and headed back down the stairs, pausing after a few steps to make sure the lady was following him. “Come along, my lady. I will take you to the Sirens’ lair.”
Avalyn’s brow furrowed as St. Alban, knowing the indelicate subject, closed his eyes and shook his head. “The Sirens’ lair?” she repeated. “What is that?”
“Where the whores live,” Brogan wasn’t a man of tact. He simply told the truth. “The men call that reeking hole the Sirens’ lair. It is downstairs. I will take you.”
With a somewhat appalled glance at St. Alban, she followed the massive soldier down the steps. St. Alban, thinking perhaps he should, also attended simply to keep Brogan from following through on interest from last night and brought up the rear. He simply did not think the lady was healthy for Brogan, in more ways than one.
