Knight Takes Queen, page 53
Avalyn could see that he was very, very drunk. He was rambling. He was also very pale and sweaty. In spite of her revulsion of the man, she nonetheless attempted to take the attitude of a concerned wife.
“Charles, you’re drunk,” she said. “Sit down before you fall down. We’ll sit and talk a while.”
He staggered his way to the chair she was indicating and sat heavily. The chair creaked and popped dangerously. Avalyn sat in another chair opposite him and they looked at each other. Charles couldn’t seem to sit upright; he kept listing to starboard.
“I never thought we would see this day,” he said after a moment. “So much has happened. It seems like a dream.”
He didn’t mean it as a reprimand, but Avalyn felt as if it was. Not wanting to linger on the painful past, she spoke of the future. “Do you have any great plans for our keep, my lord? Any great expansions or hopes?”
He blinked, struggling to focus his drunken thoughts as he wiped again at his sweaty lip. It was then that Avalyn noticed his lips were an odd shade of pinkish-blue. “I would like to increase my breeding stock,” he said. “There is a lot of money in selling good horses.”
“An admirable goal.”
He nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat and nearly falling off the chair. “Right now, I have stables enough to house twenty five horses. I should like to increase that to one hundred.”
“Indeed?” Avalyn pretended to be interested. “You must decide where to put all of those stables. Perhaps they will have to be built outside the wall, like a big arena.”
“You must like horses, my lady. You ride that big bay colt.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Then perhaps you will help me with this endeavor?”
“I should be delighted.”
Charles smiled at her, his purplish lips quivering. He was shifting around quite a bit, nervously and drunkenly, rubbing his left hand a good deal. But Avalyn didn’t notice too much; she was more concerned with what the evening would bring. She wondered if it would be better to get it over with rather than try to delay the inevitable.
“I… I am glad we are finally married,” she said. “You have been a kind and generous soul.”
He was looking at her with his big brown eyes, like two spots of mud within his fat pasty face. “I have told you since the beginning that I would endeavor to make a fine husband. Though there were a few times when I thought you would slip away, I had always hoped I would break through to you. Perhaps I finally have.”
She lowered her gaze, looking at her hands. “I understand that I am fortunate.”
He sat forward in his chair, obvious to the groaning of the wood and leather. “’Tis I who am the fortunate one, my lady. Did you like the gifts I gave you?”
She smiled weakly at him, fingering the jewelry around her neck. “They were magnificent, all of them; the cloak, the rings, the necklaces. Just lovely.”
“Good,” he sat back, pleased with himself. “I like giving you gifts. I shall give you a gift every day for the rest of our marriage.”
She laughed softly. “If we are married fifty years that could get to be an expensive habit.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, pleased he could make her laugh. The conversation died for the moment and he went back to rubbing his left hand furiously. It was then that Avalyn noticed what he was doing.
She gestured towards his hand. “Is something wrong, my lord?”
He didn’t know what she meant until he looked down and saw that he was indeed massaging his hand. He extended the digits, turning his hand over as if to gain a better look at it.
“Nay,” he finally said, rising from the chair and weaving about. “I must have hurt it somehow. It is sore.”
She nodded in understanding, noticing that he was looking at the bed. He caught her expression and the pleasant mood that had he tried hard to establish was fading. Charles resumed unconsciously rubbing his hand as he faced her.
“If you do not want to,” his voice was quiet. “I will not force you. I would be happy just to talk to you.”
It would have been so easy to accept his offer. Lord knows, she wanted to. She was incredibly close to agreeing. But in the last moment she restrained herself, knowing what must be done. There was no use in delaying it, especially if Charles was to think the child was his. Tears threatened, those of fright and revulsion and sorrow, but she fought them.
“We are married, my lord,” her voice was small, tight. “It is your right. It is expected.”
“But we do not…”
“I appreciate your kindness. But we must.”
Suddenly, he seemed more reluctant than she did. He yanked the mantle off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a sloppy action. Sitting heavily on the bed, he almost fell off but caught his balance. He just sat there a moment, staring at the floor. Avalyn watched him, growing increasingly curious about his behavior; when the man should clearly be eager to assume his husbandly duties, Charles seemed very reluctant.
“Is… is something wrong, my lord?” she asked hesitantly.
He shook his head. Then he nodded. The hand-rubbing grew more furious as he refused to meet her gaze. “I… I should have told you this before, but I could not…”
He trailed off and her brow furrowed with concern. “Told me what? Is something amiss?”
He still refused to look at her. He took a deep breath. “I was afraid that you would call off the marriage. You would have every right to, you know.”
“Know what?”
“Your uncle did not know. He would have never allowed the betrothal had he possessed an inkling of…”
Avalyn suddenly stood up. “Inkling of what? Charles, you’re not making any sense.”
He looked at her as she raised her voice. His big brown eyes glimmered with emotion, perhaps those of sorrow and shame. “Please do not be angry with me.”
He looked like a scolded child. Calming herself, she went to him, kneeling down beside him and laying her hand on his arm. “I promise I shall not become angry. What is it? You must tell me.”
He gazed down at her for several long moments before taking another deep breath. Then he looked at his hands. “I cannot… that is to say, it has been years since I have been able to… perform as a man should.”
She didn’t understand for a moment. Then, a slip of a thought occurred to her, what he might mean, and her eyes widened. “You cannot…?”
He nodded, now completely ashamed. “I cannot bed you this night, Avalyn. I cannot… I mean, my… well, it cannot be aroused and the physics have told me that it is because I have gone too much to fat and my heart is weakened.” He suddenly looked at her, his expression one of near panic. “I do not know if we can ever have children, my lady, but I swear to you that I will still make a fine husband and….”
Avalyn’s hand flew to her mouth and she suddenly bolted to her feet, turning away from him. Dear God, it couldn’t be true? If he could not perform as her husband then there would be no coupling this night or any other, and he would know that the child she carried inside of her was not of his loins. Panic surged in her veins and she stumbled away from him, towards the lancet window where the cool salty breeze wafted through the opening. She needed a breath of fresh air and she inhaled deeply, struggling to calm herself. Behind her, Charles rose from the bed.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to deceive you. I know this must be horrifying for you, but I promise I will do everything I can to right this problem. The physics have even given me an eating schedule to follow. I promise I will adhere to it if you will only… not tell anyone, especially your uncle. He could have the marriage annulled immediately.”
Hand still over her mouth, shock written all over her face, Avalyn turned to look at him. He looked so pathetic.
“You lied,” she whispered.
“I did. I am sorry.”
She just stood there, unable to react for a moment. She could tell that he thought she was repulsed by him when the truth was that she was terrified for herself. She had to think fast.
“Have you… tried?” It was hard to spit out the words.
He shrugged, embarrassed and upset. “I have. Many times. But nothing works.”
“You have not tried it with me.”
His eyes widened at her. “That is true,” he said, almost hopefully. “But I could not ask you to do this with the very real possibility of no end result. It would be demeaning for you, not to mention a horrendous experience for your wedding night. Nay, my lady, I would not allow this.”
Now it was she who was wringing her hands as she moved towards him, struggling not to let her anxiety show. “I will insist. How are we to know if it will not work unless we try?”
He just looked at her, his embarrassment fading as sorrow took hold. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Avalyn reached out and took his left hand. Smiling wanly, she put it against her left cheek, hoping to spark some embers into him. Charles gazed back at her, an odd expression coming over his face as he lifted his other hand and gently cupped her face. He stood there a moment, gazing at her with wonderment.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he breathed. “Surely you cannot be too angry with me for wanting to keep you at all cost.”
“Let us see if it was worth the lies and deceit on both our parts.”
He nodded, licking his lips as he moved towards her. Avalyn could feel his hot breath on her face, smelling of alcohol, and it was a struggle not to vomit. She could hardly believe the revelations of the night and now the event of something she was loathe to perform. But it had be done. She had to do her very best to make it happen. She prayed that Brogan would forgive her, wherever he was. She screwed her eyes shut tightly. Maybe if she couldn’t see what was happening, it wouldn’t be so bad.
As his lips hovered above her, Charles suddenly let out a loud groan. Avalyn’s eyes flew open just in time to see him clutch his chest and collapse in a heap.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“The physics knew he had a bad heart. He did not want anyone to tell you.”
Exhausted, cold and sickened, Avalyn sat in the solar in the pale gray of the coming dawn, listening to Barton’s soft explanations. The weddings guests were still about, having not been told of the groom’s death. For the moment, those that knew were still in shock. Especially Avalyn.
“Then you knew, too?” she looked at Barton, her voice soft and weary. “So this was nothing surprising, then?”
Barton drew in a long, slow breath. “It is not surprising. Shocking, aye. The man is only thirty three years old. But he knew his heart was bad. Why do you think he was so eager to marry? He wanted to at least have a wife to leave his estates and titles to, and hopefully any children.” Barton’s gaze fixed on her, guardedly. “Is there… a possibility of children, my lady?”
Avalyn didn’t dare look at William, standing in the shadows just inside the doorway. She could feel his gaze upon her, questioning, sympathetic. So Barton must not know of Charles impotency, she thought. Had he known, he would not have asked such a question. She lowered her head, staring at the smoking embers in the massive hearth. She was so very tired of lies and deception, but one more was necessary for all their sakes.
“Aye,” she murmured. “There is a possibility.”
Barton took a deep, cleansing breath as he nodded his head. It was clear that the man was struggling with his grief. The events of the past few hours had been disheartening and startling. He was still having difficulty believing it, no matter how he pretended otherwise.
“God be praised,” he said softly. His gaze lingered on Avalyn’s pale face, now illuminated by the early dawn’s light. “You are the lady of Guerdley Cross, sole commander of her armies. I am sworn to obey you to the death. What is the first order you would have me carry out, Lady Aubrey?”
Avalyn tore her eyes away from the dying embers of the hearth, focusing on the handsome blond knight with whom she had shared a strange relationship. He’d set her straight on a good many things when her moral compass seemed to be spinning out of control; Brogan would do as she wished, William would bow to her commands, but Barton had been given the advantage of being moderately objective. No matter what had happened between them, she had grown to trust the man. She respected him a great deal.
She rose stiffly from her chair, moving to the fading fire and throwing a lump of peat on it. William moved forward to take the duty from her, gently but firmly shoving her away.
“Lady Aubrey does not stoke her own fire,” he said, a twinkle in his tired eyes. “Answer Sir Barton. What would be your first command to us?”
She could only grin at him, wearily, before looking back to Barton. She pulled her heavy brocade cloak, the one Charles had given her, more tightly around her chilled shoulders.
“It would seem our first order of business would be to bury my husband,” she said, softly but with a commanding tone that William was familiar with. “Where is the Aubrey family crypt?”
“In the cathedral in St. Helens,” Barton told her. “I shall send someone immediately to summon the priest.”
Avalyn nodded, trying to sort out her muddled thoughts. “The guests must be told, including my uncle,” she looked at William as she made the statement, something unsettling in that idea. “This marriage was of his making, after all. He will want to know.”
William was crouched beside the fire, meeting her gaze, reading her thoughts. He knew de Neville better than anyone and knew exactly what a wealthy widowed niece would mean to him.
“You have Guerdley Cross and a great deal of wealth now, my lady,” William stood up with the poker in his hand. “I mean no slander against your uncle, as you well know, but he will insist on marrying you off immediately. You are more valuable to him now than ever.”
More burdens added to Avalyn’s weary mind. Something ominous and sickening was settling over her. She sought out her chair again, sinking heavily. There was hesitance writing all over her face. “I do not wish to marry again anytime soon,” she murmured. “But you are correct, William. The moment he is told of Charles’ death, he will be planning my next husband.”
Barton’s expression was one of concern mixed with duty. “He would do this, my lady? Would he give no respect to your mourning?”
She nodded strongly. “Without hesitation. And you, Sir Barton, would have a new lord, perhaps one you would not be so fond of. It would be completely out of my hands.”
Barton didn’t particularly like that thought; his gaze moved between Avalyn and William. “Then what are you suggesting?” he asked.
William’s gaze never left Avalyn’s face. “Wait until he leaves for Warwick,” William spoke to her as if she was the only person in the room. “Do not tell him now. Go up to your chamber and stay there until he has left. We will bury Lord Aubrey after he is gone and perhaps send him a missive in a few months when everything has settled down.”
“Or perhaps not send him one at all,” Avalyn fired back softly. She clutched at the cloak as if it could protect her from her uncle’s evil reaches and cunning manipulation. “Let him think what he will. Let him think that Charles is alive and well. And when he should eventually find out, perhaps… perhaps by that time I will have already married someone of my own choosing, a man that I am familiar with who possesses moral character and a noble background.”
Barton’s expression was now stamped with uncertainty. “What about the other guests? What about the soldiers?” he looked at them as if they were bordering on insanity. “If we tell them that Lord Aubrey has passed, the word will get back to de Neville. If we do not tell them, eventually, they will deduce that something is wrong. We cannot keep Lord Aubrey’s death hidden forever.”
“Nay, not forever,” Avalyn looked at him. “But for the time being. Are you so eager to have a new liege, Barton?”
St. John lifted an eyebrow. “It does not matter what I want, but what is right.”
“And is it wrong for us to keep this news from my uncle? Considering all the man is and all you know him to be, what do you think he will do?” When Barton didn’t answer fast enough, she continued. “I shall tell you what he will do; he will find a new husband for me within a few weeks at most. Guerdley Cross will cease to be an Aubrey holding and will be passed over to a rich baron or earl, or even a French mercenary. You know that my uncle has dealings with those men, too. Slimy creatures with foul habits and even fouler ethics. If that is the case and I am forced to marry someone else, then any child Charles and I might have will not inherit Guerdley Cross and the Aubrey name will cease to exist. In fact, any child born as a result of my marriage to Charles will more than likely be sent away to foster, probably never to be heard from again. Have no doubt that this could very well be the case given the greater implications of my uncle’s dealings and the wealth of this holding. Is this something you would wish to see?”
It was a passionate speech. By the time she was finished, Barton was gazing at her intently. His big arms were crossed, his blue eyes serious. After a moment, he slowly shook his head.
“Nay, my lady,” he said slowly. “It is not.”
It was Avalyn’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “Then you must trust me that it is best if no one knows of Charles’ passing but those of us in this room.”
Barton drew in a long, contemplative death. He looked at William, reading his expression, before turning back to Avalyn. “If that is your command, Lady Aubrey,” he said quietly. “I will obey it.”
Avalyn stared at the man a moment before rising to her feet. She made her way over to him, laying a soft hand on his big arm. Her golden eyes were sincere. “I know you do not like this, Barton,” she said softly. “I know you are a man of truth and honor. But your world has always been one of following orders and upholding the knightly code. I come from a world where men would manipulate God himself in order to have their ways known. My uncle is such a man. Surely you know that.”
He met her gaze. “I do,” he said quietly. “And I do not disagree with your command. I said that I would obey it.”
