Brogan simply nodded his head; he was having more difficulty than he ever imagined maintaining a neutral expression. Here she was, in the flesh, looking lovlier than he had remembered; he broke out in a cold sweat as he continued to stare at her. For the past twenty-two days, he had done nothing but think of this moment, every action, every effort he made moving him closer and closer to the time when he would be faceto face with her again. Now that the moment was upon him, he could hardly breathe.
But any more conversation or exchange of looks would have caused suspicion. Avalyn wisely turned away from Brogan and re-focused on Charles’ fat, smiling face.
“Charles,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I’ve come to see to my colt. I was told he spooked again the other night and almost trampled a stable boy.”
Charles looked deeply concerned. “I heard that also. Would you like me to accompany you?”
The first word on her lips was a negative. But not wanting to appear cruel, or suspicious, or just plain mean, she agreed.
“Of course.”
Charles took her elbow and led her off in the direction of the stalls. William and Barton watched them go, but Brogan was focused on anything other than the lady. He was struggling so hard not to look at her that sweat peppered his brow. Barton’s gaze eventually returned from his liege and lady back to Brogan; a big man himself, Barton only came up to Brogan’s shoulder. He ran a hand through his chin-length blond hair, feeling the sweat on his scalp from the pulse of the weak sun.
“Well,” he said, his blue-eyed gaze raking the yard. “I have a few things to attend to before our bout this afternoon. Inglesbatch, can you take Gervaise in hand? I don’t want him wandering around alone, getting into trouble.”
There was mirth in St. John’s eyes but Brogan, at first, thought he was serious. He looked at the blond knight with a measure of venom as Inglesbatch quickly intervened; he saw Brogan’s menacing expression and sought to divert the pending snap.
“I’ll take him in hand,” he told Barton. “You’d better prepare for your bout with him this afternoon. From the looks of the man, you’ll be lucky if you can walk away.”
Barton grinned, sizing Brogan up. “We’ll see.”
The cocky knight strolled away, back across the bailey. Brogan realized the man had been jesting with him and his anger rapidly cooled. They waited until St. John was out of earshot before turning to each other. William jerked his head in the direction of the knight’s quarters to the south.
“Come along,” he said quietly.
They had barely taken three steps when Brogan spoke. “I’d forgotten just how beautiful she is. Is she well?”
“Well enough,” William said. “But I will tell you the same thing I told her. You must never acknowledge her in any manner of familiarity. You must never speak her name. To do so would only jeopardize all of us. Is that clear?”
Brogan nodded, though he did not say anything. William looked at him, noting the sheer size of the man in armor. The foot soldier was now a full-fledged war machine. He’d never seen anything so intimidating.
“Would you mind telling me what is going on now?” he said with quiet casualness, his eyes roving their surroundings to make sure no one in particular was listening. “I would hear the entire story so I know what I have gotten myself into.”
Brogan, too, surveyed his surroundings. “My name is Tygor Gervaise. My father’s name was Tygor. The patins you saw was his. This armor belonged to him. My father was a great knight in Germany.”
William nodded in understanding. “Avalyn told me that was your plan. So you have become your father to get close to her?”
“Aye.”
“And then what?”
“And then I take her and our daughter back to Germany. Did the Sirens not tell you this?”
“The Sirens?”
“The women with Avalyn.”
William lifted his eyebrows in recognition. “Ah, the ladies. No, they did not. Did they know of this?”
“They knew that I was to come to Guerdley Cross posing as my father. I assumed they told you what else they had heard.”
William shook his head faintly as they rounded the keep. The knight’s quarters were directly ahead. “They did not,” he said. “Tell me; just how do you plan to take her out of here? It will not be easy.”
The mail made noise as Brogan walked; it grated and clanged, sounding like death approaching. “St. Alban is with me. He is working on a plan.”
William’s brow furrowed as he looked at him. “Where is he?”
“In the knight’s quarters. My mother is here, also.”
