Knight Takes Queen, page 33
The Martin Tower was not far from where they were residing. The grounds of the Tower could be a confusing maze of halls and rooms, so it was fortunate they did not have to travel far. As their party approached, Avalyn saw the warm glow from the windows of the downstairs hall, inviting them in. Already she could hear the laughter and the clink of cups and pitchers as the drink flowed freely. When they finally crossed a small courtyard and entered the hall from the outside, they were met with the warmth and fragrance of a grand banquet already in progress.
Soft music played. Servants took their cloaks and whisked them away. Richard dropped Avalyn’s hand and went to his wife, and the two of them lowered their voices and wandered into the crowd beyond. Anne followed her parents while Isobel hung back with Avalyn, wrapping her hands around her cousin’s arm and leaning in close.
“Look, Avie,” she whispered. “When I marry the Duke, all of this shall be mine. Is that not exciting?”
Avalyn smiled at her very materialistic cousin. “Of course, my angel,” she said. “But… are you truly happy about this? After all, the Duke is… well, he’s old. And I’ve heard he can be unpleasant. Does that not concern you?”
“Of course not. He can be whatever he pleases so long as he gives me money to spend and doesn’t expect too much.”
Avalyn lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Isobel wrinkled her nose. “You know… wifely things. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
Apparently, her cousin had a rather twisted view of marriage. “It does not matter how you feel. He is your husband and may do as he pleases.”
Isobel just snorted. “Perhaps I will get pregnant on our wedding night and he will leave me alone thereafter.”
An idiotic plan, Avalyn thought, but she didn’t say anything. She looked around the room, noting the rich and powerful therein. Slender tapers burned bright in the faces of the gathered nobles, most of them men, but some of them women. A few husbands and wives sat about. Her gaze fell on a particularly amorous couple.
“But what of love?” Avalyn asked softly, her eyes lingering on the distant pair. “Do you not hope to love him some day?”
Isobel looked at her as if she was mad. “I will not love him. Perhaps I will take a lover over time, but he shan’t know about it.”
Avalyn looked sharply at her. “A lover?” she shook her head. “Why on earth are you marrying him, Issi?”
Isobel turned her nose up. “There is more value to money and power than love, Avie. You know that better than any of us.”
Avalyn fell silent. Aye, she’d known that up until last night. She’d never thought of loving a man in her life until she met Brogan. Not that she loved him; at least, she didn’t think so. But he made her feel differently than anyone ever had. He was kind and warm and powerful, and his deep blue eyes made her heart leap crazily. She was coming to understand that, perhaps, things such as love and romance could be possible. She honestly never thought she was capable of such thoughts because she’d never had anyone stir them in her.
The family took their seats at one of the three massively long tables that lined the dining hall. The Duke of Clarence sat several chairs away, surrounded by his favorites, and his small brown eyes focused on De Neville’s girls. She recognized the man on his right, Thomas Howard, the Earl of Norfolk, but she only vaguely recognized the man on his left. It took her a moment to realize it was Sir Charles Aubrey, a land-wealthy baron from Merseyside. She had seen him before at different gatherings, a young man who looked far older than his years due to his poor diet and fat belly. She had caught him staring at her several times, but she made a point not to react. She didn’t like the way he stared at her and she did not want to encourage him.
The servants brought wine, filling everyone’s chalices to overflowing. After a good deal of liquor and conversation, the food was finally brought forth and had all of the earmarks of a lavish party: painted peasant, almond-milk puddings with raisins and raspberries, almond paste subtleties, boiled vegetables, and a variety of white breads. It was a feast of uncommon proportions.
When the breads were brought around, Avalyn thought of Brogan’s mother. Compared to what she made, these loaves were tasteless and dull. But she ate what she could, not having much of an appetite. Isobel, however, was stuffing herself silly and young Anne would eat only the puddings. Avalyn sat between the two of them, eventually just nursing her wine and wondering how she was going to break free from this pack. She wondered if Brogan would even be there to meet her after her rude departure that afternoon. She couldn’t imagine that he would not be, but he may have decided she was too much trouble. De Nevilles usually were.
Even if he was not waiting, she still planned to leave. She really did want to see an entertainment, though it would be considerably less enjoyable without Brogan to share it with. More wine was brought out, and even more food, this time in the form of pastries. Everyone was loud, eating happily and laughing. Avalyn’s gaze scanned the room, as was habit with her; she liked to see who was around, who was friend and perhaps who was foe. Uncle Richard had instilled that particular trait in her. From what she could see around the well-lit, warm room, everyone was a friend. She recognized most.
She began to lose track of time as the evening and the wine flowed freely. In spite of all of the people, she felt isolated and lonely. Everyone was having a good time but her, and she realized she would have much rather been sitting in Mama Starke’s shop than in this extravagant hall. It was an unusual thought, as this was quite normally her element. But not tonight.
Eventually, her uncle stood up and went over to the duke. He whispered something in the man’s ear, to which Clarence nodded. The movement caught Avalyn’s eye simply for the fact that she knew they were conspiring. Something was about to happen; she’d seen those expressions too many times before not to know that. Richard set down his cup and held up his hands to quiet the room.
“My lords,” he said in his loud, distinctive voice. “My ladies. Our host has asked me to welcome you tonight in honor of a very special occasion.”
Beside Avalyn, Isobel perked up. Young Anne just looked bored. The room quieted to a dull rumble and Richard continued.
“There comes a time in life when all children must leave their homes, whether it be to foster or to join the cloister, to seek fame or fortune, or to marry,” he said. “Tonight, I am both saddened and gladdened to be losing one of my children, for my eldest daughter, Isobel, is to become the future Duchess of Clarence.”
A small cheer went up in the room and a hearty round of applause lifted into the warm, stale air. Isobel, puffed and gloating, acknowledged the congratulations and went to her father when the man extended his hand to her. Richard made a big show out of placing Isobel’s hand in Clarence’s hand, and the room cheered loudly. It was a presentation spectacle, and all the while, Avalyn couldn’t help but feel that both her cousin and the duke were in the marriage for completely different reasons and not one of them good. Isobel wanted money; the duke wanted the throne. Perhaps in reflection the two selfish people were indeed made for each other.
The duke was well on his way to getting the throne. Months of planning, of rumor mongering, were beginning to pay off. Avalyn had helped counsel her uncle, sensing things that perhaps he did not. He had congratulated her on her foresight and she should have been proud. But what should have been a rewarding moment for her was something of a distraction. All she seemed to want to think about was a lowly soldier she had met the night before, and of his weeping mother who made such wonderful bread.
Her uncle was speaking again, distracting her from her thoughts. She heard his first few words and snapped from her trance, turning to focus on him yet again. This time, he was gesturing to Aubrey beside him.
“This is indeed a night of joy,” he was saying. “For not only do I have the pleasure of announcing one betrothal, I have the pleasure of announcing two.”
For some reason, fear as sharp as the strike of an arrow blazed through Avalyn. She looked at young Anne, who gazed back at her with equal fright. Both girls realized something was up and suspected that one of them was somehow involved. Avalyn took her cousin’s hand, already clammy in her grasp, and held it tightly. Uncle Richard was a deal maker, a king maker, and a surprise of this magnitude was not an unusual thing. Avalyn held on to Anne mostly so she wouldn’t bolt from the room when her father made the announcement she suspected was to come. Poor Anne! Tension exploded in her chest as her uncle focused on his family of women.
“I am pleased; nay, very pleased, to announce the betrothal of Sir Charles Aubrey,” Richard focused on Avalyn, “to my niece and trusted advisor, the Lady Avalyn Arabella de Beauchamp du Brant.”
At first, Avalyn did not quite grasp what he had said. It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, her eyes widened to the point of bulging from her skull. She could hear young Anne beside her, muttering words of comfort, but she did not heed him. She simply could not believe what she had heard. Over the roar of applause, Uncle Richard was holding out a hand to her, encouraging her to come to him, but she simply sat there until young Anne gave her a timid shove.
Woodenly, she stood up and took a few steps towards her uncle. Her head was swimming and she felt betrayed, belittled, castigated. A hand reached out to grasp her; looking down, she saw that it was her aunt. The brown eyes were surprisingly hard.
“Had you not disobeyed us today, we would not have had to take such drastic measures,” came Anne’s soft, even tone. “You have brought this on yourself, Avalyn. Now you will heed your husband where you have failed to heed us. He will guide you properly.”
Avalyn stared at her aunt. Damn them! No wonder they hadn’t said a word to her all afternoon. They had already passed judgment and sentence. Now she was to be married off, corralled by a husband, watched over by a master. Her knees began to shake and it was an effort not to respond to her aunt, an angry response that would have only shamed the family. She was, after all, a de Neville. She had been raised in the finest house with the finest resources available. She was a loyal family member and a trusted member of the inner core. One act of disobedience, no matter how innocent and small, had earned her a drastic punishment. She simply could not believe it.
Somehow, she made it to her uncle. She did not even remember how she got there. He took her hand, kissed it, and turned it over to the sweaty grip of her puffy betrothed. Aubrey stood up and faced her politely.
“My lady,” he said in a quiet, deep voice. “I realize this is something of a shock, but may I say that I am most pleased at the prospect. I promise I shall endeavor to make a very fine husband.”
She just stared at him. She couldn’t seem to manage anything else. Her gaze moved over him; he had reddish blond hair that flowed past his shoulders and he secured it at the nape of his neck in a ponytail. His face was round and very red, his eyes a clear shade of blue. He was neither handsome nor ugly, but somewhere in between. He was a big man, too, with an enormous belly and muscular arms and legs from what she could see. Truthfully, she’d never looked closely at the man; ever. She’d never even been this close to him. Now, the reality was staring her in the face and it was a struggle not to choke.
“My lord,” she managed to stammer.
He was trying to be very kind. He held out his chair to her. “Will you sit?”
Haltingly, she lowered herself into the chair. Someone had brought him another chair and he pulled it up next to her, yelling for more wine. Avalyn put up her hand; her head was spinning already. She did not need more wine.
“My lord,” she was laboring to find her tongue. “When… did you speak to my uncle about a marriage?”
Charles didn’t seem like a brute or a dullard; he seemed like a truly mild man. “Only today, my lady,” he said. “Your uncle proposed this match to me and, having seen you in the past, I must say that I was very pleased with the prospect of marrying into the House of de Neville. I will try to make a very fine husband.”
“You already said that,” she eyed him. Then she realized that she sounded cruel. It wasn’t his fault if her uncle had brokered her like another would broker a mare. “I am sorry, ’tis simply that this is something of a shock. I never heard a word about it.”
He looked at his hands. “I know,” he said. “Your uncle told me that it was a surprise. It would seem that your birthday is coming soon, and he felt it would be a proper birthday present. He said that you are getting too old to be without a husband.”
She digested that statement. So her uncle had told him nothing of her disobedience? Curious. But her uncle had certainly gotten the last word on the situation by betrothing her to a man she didn’t even know. Not an unusual happening, but she had hoped to at least marry someone of acquaintance. She took a long look at Charles, the man who would be her husband. His gaze was open and eager. It just made her ill.
“If you don’t mind, I will excuse myself for a moment,” she said, her voice tight.
He leapt up from his chair. “May I escort you, my lady?”
She shook her head. “I am just going outside. To…”
He put up his hands and his red cheeks flushed redder. “Of course,” he said. “I shall await your return.”
She rose from her chair and skirted the table, making sure to pass the on the opposite side from where her aunt and uncle were sitting. She had no desire to see them or speak with them. But she knew, even as she quit the room, that their eyes were following her. She could feel their suspicion. She just wanted to be alone and truthfully, at the moment, that was her only thought.
She went out the door she had come in, leading directly to the outside. The privy chamber was off to her left, buried in the structure near the Salt Tower. She really had no desire to go there; she simply wanted a breath of fresh air. The events of the last few moments had been too much for her to take in all at once and she needed to clear her head.
It was cold as she wandered into the night. She had left her cloak inside but made no move to go and retrieve it. To re-enter the hall would be to risk being cornered by her aunt or uncle, or even her betrothed. She needed to get away. As she crossed the courtyard towards the southeast corner of the White Tower, a voice came from the shadows.
“I thought you would never come out.”
Her heart leapt into her throat and she whirled in the direction of the voice. Emerging from the darkness under the turret of the White Tower was Brogan. Their gazes locked and he smiled at her surprise.
“God’s Teeth, you frightened me,” she managed to gasp. “How long have you been waiting?”
He shrugged casually. “Since before sunset.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That long?”
“I wanted to make sure I was here when you came out. I did not want to miss you.”
She smiled, feeling gladdened by his words. They warmed her. But she just as quickly realized that even at this moment they might be watched, so she grabbed his arm and scooted back into the shadows from whence he came. She pressed herself against the arc where the turret met the straight building wall, a small corner in which to hide. Brogan was right next to her, his massive body blocking out everything else.
“We should hurry if you still intend to take in the entertainment,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “The hour grows late.”
She looked up at him; standing up against his enormous frame, she was eye level with his chest. To look him in the face meant she had to practically lay her head back horizontally.
“I still want to go, but I am not sure if it would be wise for you to go with me,” she said softly.
He was very, very close to her, gazing down into her sweet face. “Why not?”
She sighed, trying to glance around his big body to see if they were indeed being watched. “You saw what happened today,” she said. “My uncle’s knights might not be so forgiving if they find you with me again.”
“I am not afraid of them.”
“Aye, but I am afraid for you. They’re warring men; they would more than likely strike first and ask questions later. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of my foolishness.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment; he just looked at her. Then, very slowly, she felt his big fingers clasp her own. His hand was warm and strong. She gripped him in return and he lifted her hand to his lips, depositing a very soft kiss on her knuckles.
Avalyn had the same reaction she had had earlier when he had kissed both of her cheeks; lightning slammed through her and her entire body shuddered. Though she lost her breath and almost her balance, it was the most wonderful sensation she had ever experienced.
“I would take the risk,” he said quietly. “For the chance to be with you, for only a moment, I would risk the entire de Neville army.”
It was a lovely thing to say. Her heart began thumping madly against her ribs and she could not help the flush that came to her cheeks. Though it was cold in the shadows of the White Tower, she was quite warm. As much as she wanted to linger in that very tender moment, she knew that she could not. Reality was an ugly thing and she’d had more of her share of it throughout her life. She hated her reality at the moment.
“I must confess something,” she said. “My aunt and uncle told me to stay away from you and I disobeyed them. Oh, my intentions were good when I returned the dress this morning and I should have let that be the end of it. But I didn’t. I went with you to your mother’s shop and shared a wonderful morning with you. It was the most wonderful morning I can remember.”
“For me as well. I did not want it to end.”
“I’m sorry that it ended so abruptly, but I hope you understand it was not by my choice. I had to go, or the knights would have been quite unkind to you.”
