He caught her against him with his one free arm, hugging her fiercely to him. To feel her sweet body against him, her warmth and life, was more than he could bear. The first time he’d felt her, she’d been cold and gray. But the woman in his arms now was vibrant and passionate and had given him more joy in a few short hours than he’d had in his entire lifetime.
His lips were against her neck, her ear. “One hour,” he murmured hotly. “I will be waiting.”
She nodded, the sting of tears transforming into small rivers on her cheeks. She wiped at them before he could see them,before he could see the fear in her heart. She had to pull away or risk never leaving his arms altogether.
“Take care of Lake,” she whispered, her gaze drifting over the sleeping face. “Tell your mother not to spoil her too much. I do not want her to be hard to handle.”
Brogan just shook his head, an ironic smirk on his lips. “My mother will spoil this child rotten,” he said. “Let us hope the damage can be undone.”
Avalyn smiled, too, but her smile faded as she gazed into his eyes. The time was upon them to separate, as much as her heart was aching.
“One hour,” she whispered.
“One hour.”
He kissed her again, with sadness and misery and hope. Her eyes almost welled with tears again. This time, Avalyn pulled away and walked quickly in the direction of the Traitor’s Gate. It was a lesser used entry along the river. A fitting entry point, considering the view her uncle now held on her. Brogan watched her walk away, stealing into the shadows as she approached the gate. After a few words exchanged with the sentries on watch, the gate slowly cranked open and Avalyn’s cloaked figure disappeared inside. Brogan waited until the gate closed again before moving out of the shadows.
The trek to his mother’s shop was uneventful. The moon was low in the sky and Lake slept soundly against him. She was a warm little bundle and he kept gazing down at her, hardly believing the events of the night. There was so much uncontrolled emotion within him that it was difficult to know what to feel. All he knew was that, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt something other than bone-numbing grief. He felt anticipation for his life to come with more excitement than he ever thought possible. But they had to make it through the next few hours.
Mama Starke’s shop was dark, as he knew it would be. He went around to the back entry, situated in a small alleyway that linked with other shops. The door was bolted and he rapped softly, several times, hoping his mother could hear him from her chamber above the shop. It was cold and dark as he continued to rap, wondering if he shouldn’t just break the door down. It was a heavy door, but then again, he was a heavy man. There wasn’t much he couldn’t break down.
Just when he was seriously considering smashing in the door, he heard the bolt slide and slowly, the door inched open. His mother’s big eyes were gazing back at him.
“Brogan?” she whispered.
He shoved the door in with his foot, basically barging into the room. Before he could open his mouth, he saw a figure sitting at one of the bread tables near the front of the shop. Curiosity, mingled with fear, crept into his veins. Since his step father was away on business, he couldn’t imagine who the figure could be. Until it stood up and stepped towards him.
St. Alban did not look pleased.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She had walkedright into it.
They had been waiting for her when she arrived in her apartment; her uncle, Charles Aubrey, Inglesbatch, and a nasty looking knight that she did not recognize. One look at their expressions and she knew it would do no good to deny her activities. They already knew. Momentary shock transformed into fear. Fear transformed into hatred. When Inglesbatch grabbed her arm and firmly directed her into the nearest chair, the hatred within her grew. So did the fear.
They kept her up the rest of the night, trying to force her to tell them where Brogan was. He was not in the barracks and no one had seen him. They wanted him so that they could punish him but Avalyn would not tell them anything. Her uncle did most of the interrogation while Charles sat silently by, his expression infused with sadness and, strangely, reluctance. When Richard was finished with his questions, Aubrey had his Captain of the Guard, Sir Barton St. John, try to scare the truth from her because St. John was the only man in the room without any vested emotional interest in the situation. But Avalyn wouldn’t budge and the true test of wills had begun.
St. John gave a good attempt to harass the truth from her, but Avalyn would have no part of it. She was cold, tired and hungry, but they could not break her. She sat in an uncomfortable chair, her head turned and her eyes closed, all but ignoring St. John’s threatening tone. If she opened her eyes, she could see William off to her right, but she could not see hisface. She didn’t want to. If he was a part of this, she would grow to hate him, too.
Several hours of intense questions produced nothing. It must have been close to dawn when her uncle gave St. John an imperceptible nod and suddenly, St. John grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes flew open with shock and pain and she saw Inglesbatch flinch menacingly as her uncle held out a quelling hand to him. Furious, Avalyn threw a fist up into St. John’s jaw and sent the big blond knight rocking backwards. Before he could regain his balance, Inglesbatch was in his face and full-fledged brawl erupted. Charles leapt from his chair and separated them in a surprising show of strength and courage and, like good combatants, they went to opposing corners to settle down. But not before William went to Avalyn to see if she was all right. Rubbing the back of her head, she nodded affirmatively, but the tension in the room was thick enough to cut.
“Good men,” Richard held up his hands as he, too, walked towards his niece. “This is getting us nowhere. Obviously, if the lady knows d’Aurilliac’s whereabouts, she will not tell us. I must say that I am proud of her fortitude. I expected nothing less.”
Avalyn wouldn’t look at him, but he was most certainly looking at her. He drew closer.
“Avie,” he said quietly, evenly. “I will ask you one last time, dearest. Where is d’Aurilliac?”
Avalyn kept her face averted and her eyes shut. She heard Richard sigh heavily.
“Very well,” he moved away from her. “Charles, take her this day and marry her. Take her back to Guerdley Cross and claim her as your own. Perhaps then will she forget about d’Aurilliac.”
Avalyn came alive, then. “Nay,” she roared, the golden eyes shooting fire. “I shall never forget about him, no matter how hard you try to force me.”
Richard was back in her face faster than the blink of an eye. His thin face loomed above her, angry de Neville to angry de Neville. The intensity, the rage filling the air between them, was frightening.
“Tell me where d’Aurilliac is or you marry Aubrey this very hour,” he snarled.
Avalyn’s first reaction was to flare, match fury for fury, but she admirably steeled herself. “You are going to marry me to him anyway. What advantage is there for me in that statement?”
