Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) (38 page)

He stood for a moment, fuming. His fingers drummed on his sword belt. Finally, he mounted Siegfried and didn't say a word all the way back to Greensprings.

#

“You want me to do
what
?” Sir Jeremiah exclaimed.

Patrick gestured wildly with his arms to hush the exclamation. “I want you to keep your back to the Hall for Lady Guests for about a half an hour. Trust me, nothing is going to happen.” Patrick wished it was Waylan guarding the wall instead. It would make things so much easier. At least he had the good fortune of it being another Reservist.

Jeremiah wrapped his cloak about him tighter in the chilly night air. “Pat, do you have any idea what kind of trouble I could get into if someone finds out you were fooling around the Hall for Lady Guests?”

“Well, if your back is turned then you personally won't be seeing me in there, and won't be in any trouble yourself.”

Jeremiah shook his head sardonically. “All right, it's your funeral.”

Patrick smiled. “Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Damn right you do.”

#

Patrick waited for the Avangarde patrol to pass the Hall gate, then he left his cover in the bushes and slipped into the courtyard. He stepped into the shadows and calculated his next move. The main doorway was across from him, but he knew that a nun sat inside all hours of the day. He moved to the side of the building and searched for the window he needed, using information gleaned from Sir Jon the Informant (what they were calling him now).

Patrick found the correct window, and to his delight, plenty of ivy grew thick and high on the wall.

“Call me unromantic...no romantic bone in my body...” he mumbled as he climbed. He reached the window and grabbed onto the sill and pulled himself up. A momentary doubt surfaced
―
he hoped this was the correct room, or else he was going to have a hard time explaining himself. He landed gently on the floor and concealed himself behind the curtain, and waited.

#

He didn't have to wait long. The Lady Katherina entered the room, went to her bureau and stood before her mirror. She removed a pin from her almost-white hair and started to unravel the plaits.

Patrick moved out from the curtain and stood silently, grinning. A few moments passed before she noticed the knight in the mirror, leaning against her windowsill. Her hands froze for a beat, then continued undoing their plait.

“You are just in time,” she said with an almost undistinguishable smile.

“Oh? For what?”

“Come here,” she said.

Patrick came up behind her. “Yes?”

“Help me unravel hair. I must brush before I go to bed.”

Patrick did as ordered, slipping his fingers through her cold, smooth braids.

“You've done this before?” She sounded surprised.

“I have mother and sister,” he replied, mimicking her accent.

“You have poem?”

“Not a very long one, a little one,” he replied.

Katherina gestured impatiently for him to commence. He cleared his throat and said:

There was a king of incredible self

who had gold and gems.

Beyond imagination was his wealth.

His kingdom rich,

his land expansive,

and he had powers with which

he could cause the winds to sing him praise,

float the moon across the sky,

or cause the stars to shine in the days.

And with a mere thought

he could cause the sun to rise at his command,

but it was all for naught,

for he had no subjects in his land.

And his brother's daughter he wishes to marry,

in this sometimes land of snow,

but her mother is wary

and the snow princess must go.

She lands in Greensprings,

where she is safe,

and there she sings.

Katherina was silent for a moment, then grabbed a hairbrush and moved to the other side of the bed.

“No, no, no,” she said. “Typical, typical.” She pulled the brush hurriedly through her hair.

Patrick crossed his arms and frowned. “Just what do you expect? What do you want?”

She shrugged. “Spontaneous. Something not fabricated.”

Patrick nodded. He came forward and leaned on the bed post before her. “I see, you want of the moment. Like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes. How they are like the color of a magical lake where the fairy princesses dwell. Where they wait for the handsome mortals to come and drink so that they may seduce them to the bottom of the cold waters. But only to find that it is they who are seduced by the handsome men, and must choose between their fairy world or the mortality they must have in order to love their would-be victims.”

Katherina’s lips parted and she was speechless. Patrick stepped up next to her and stroked her cheek.

“Or your skin,” he continued.

“My skin?”

“Yes. How it is like moonbeam. How it enchants all who gaze upon it and ever afterward cannot step outdoors and lay eyes on that celestial body in the sky, and not be reminded of you and not be rid of the memory until it wanes away like love dying.”

Katherina stood with her head to one side, gazing upon Patrick as if seeing him for the first time—truly seeing him.

“Your smile is poetry as well,” he continued. “It lights up a room like sunshine after a cold night.”

Some of the glamour left her eyes. “You lie,” she said. “It is a big hideous thing anchored on either side by holes.”

Patrick shook his head, admiring the corners of her mouth as if they were the most fascinating of gems. “Dimples are nothing to be ashamed of. It merely means you were kissed by angels as a baby.”

She abruptly turned to hide the color rising in her face, and resumed combing her hair.

Patrick came closer and whispered near her ear, gently touching the curve of her hips. “They say the universe is shaped like this, like a woman’s hips, from whence life comes.”

Katherina swallowed hard. She was swaying where she stood. Patrick moved to her hair and caressed it. Undone it was much, much longer and thicker than he had imagined. He started to say something, but then there were footsteps in the corridor.

#

Mother Superior entered the room. She looked from side to side as if expecting to catch a prowler in the act. She saw only the Lady Katherina lying in the bed, which was piled high with blankets and pillows. She leaned against the pillows as she read from a small Bible by candlelight.

“Mother Superior! Can I help you?” Katherina asked.

Mother Superior came forward, a forced smile on her face. She may have been comely to look upon once, but now she was the epitome of sternness. “No child, I just thought that I heard voices coming from your room. Possibly a masculine voice involved, and as you know, that is explicitly against policy.”

Katherina feigned shock. “Mother, you offend me. Do I seem the rule breaking sort?”

Mother Superior opened her hands. “You are the headstrong sort, and I am entrusted to enforce the policies in this Hall.” She prowled the chamber, closing the window shutters, looking behind the curtains. “Nothing personal, child, I must suspect everyone and everything.” She opened the closet to find only clothes and slippers.

“Well, I assure you there is no man, unless you count God.”

Mother Superior smiled and stood by the bed. I suppose you are right. I shall be going now. She turned to leave, then suddenly bent over and looked underneath the bed
―
and found nothing. Katherina giggled.

“Good night, child.”

“Good night, Mother Superior.”

The old woman left. Moments later Patrick’s head rose from the covers next to Katherina's body.

“That woman definitely takes her duties much too seriously,” he said.

Katherina slapped Patrick's head gently. “You were breathing much too heavily on my thigh...and you need to shave.”

“Sorry,” he said. He rolled over next to her and put his hands behind his head. Had someone told him six months ago that he would be in a young Lady Guest's bed like this he wouldn't have believed it. Her bed smelled like her perfume.

Katherina asked, “Why are you here?”

Patrick shrugged. “Why didn't you give me away?”

It was her turn to shrug. An awkward moment of silence passed. She sighed. “What are we doing?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, we better know, before something goes wrong.”

Patrick frowned. “Like what?”

“Like hurt feeling, because we did not talk.” Patrick drew in a deep breath. What indeed was he doing? Katherina had drawn a line in the sand before him
―
daring him to do this
―
and he crossed it. He didn't stop to think why, just wanted to prove himself and massage his pride. She had angered him. He fully intended on not letting what had happened so many times in the past with so many people happen again.

“I don't even know how long I will be here. As soon as I know it is safe to go home, I will. As soon as uncle is disposed,” Katherina said.

“When will that be?” Patrick inquired.

“Soon,” she replied, though not very convincingly.

Patrick mulled it over more. If he could prepare himself for what he felt was the inevitable, then he knew it wouldn't hurt as much as it did with David of York, Christianne Morneau, Jason...so many. He had the advantage in this situation because this time he could see it all coming. Patrick smiled confidently.

“There will be no hurt feelings,” he said, moving to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, and why not?”

“Because there is nothing particularly special going to happen between us. We are only going to be friends. If we can do this, than nothing bad will happen, right?”

She moved to his side on the edge of the bed. Her face was now close to his. Patrick could feel her breath on his lips, and feel the warmth of her leg pressed against his.

“Right,” she replied. She seemed surprised to have a man this close to her. “Only friend, what could go bad? It is better this way.”

Patrick toyed with the leather-bound Bible on the bed. The fact that she had such a fine treasure showed that she indeed was royalty from somewhere. “We still can be special friends, though,” he pointed out. “There is no reason why we can't share secrets and whatnot.”

“You mean like telling me about servant girl?” she asked coyly.

Patrick frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, the French servant girl... Ay-me,” Katherina taunted.

“That is nothing. Nothing has, or will ever happen with her.”

Katherina didn't seem to believe him, but he decided not to pursue the matter. He jumped from the bed and moved toward the window. He felt that he was pushing his luck by spending so much time here. “I should be going, and we really shouldn't make a habit out of meeting like this,” he said.

Katherina nodded. “Shall we have breakfast together in dining hall?”

Patrick stuck his legs out the window. “Yes, I'd like that.” He started to lower himself.

“Tomorrow then,” she said, walking toward the window to see him out.

Before dropping out of sight, he asked, “Friends?”

Katherina leaned forward, quickly kissing him on the forehead. “Special friend.”

When he landed on the ground and sneaked off the grounds, he couldn't help but to feel happy. Happy that he had been in command of the situation, averted another possible tragedy, and still managed to make a friend in the process.

#

For days afterwards he avoided Katherina. He didn't know exactly why. Perhaps he didn't want to ruin the memory of the other evening by finding that she had thought nothing of it. Maybe he was afraid he would start enjoying her company too much. Whatever the case, she didn’t fail to notice it. She tried several times to recruit him to chaperone appointments, but he politely declined, citing that he had other duties.

One evening in the dining hall, the Irishman hurried to take a seat among the Avangarde before Katherina could enter the room and ask him to dine with her.

“Patrick!” Sir Waylan greeted him. “You dance with Jon, you wrestle with Willy in his bed, now you are avoiding beautiful woman. We're starting to worry about you.”

Patrick shrugged it off. “She is hardly a woman. Really no more than a girl. I'm only doing the right thing.”

Waylan gave him a sarcastic salute.

Katherina entered the hall alone. She had no lady-in-waiting, and rarely did she dine with other Lady Guests. Patrick never noticed who she had dined with before. He was only now realizing what a loner she was. It wasn't surprising; she was more headstrong and mature than the rest of the girls. In her own right, she didn't quite fit in either.

Sir Geoffrey materialized at her side. Patrick could not hear the conversation from across the room, but imagined the crimson-caped Geoffrey inviting her to dine with him. Her physical language at first said no, but then she laid eyes on the Irishman. Suddenly, she smiled to Geoffrey and followed him to his seat. She stuck her tongue out at Patrick. He smiled and crossed his eyes at her.

If she enjoys the company of the likes of Geoffrey, then I certainly am doing the right thing
, he thought.

The servants brought the food, and the hall was abuzz with the sound of conversation and dining, and Patrick had to fight hard to keep his gaze from wandering towards Katherina's table. She seemed to be having a similar difficulty
―
yet she went out of her way to lean closer to Geoffrey and laughed so loudly at his jokes that the entire hall could hear her.

Patrick drummed his fingers on the table. He noticed that Aimeé was near serving. He gestured for her to come near.

“Yes?” she asked, green eyes glowing.

“What is...that?” He pointed to a round, steaming, crusty shape on a platter.

“That is like a strudel, but it is full of warmed meat and vegetables. I think it comes from Flanders,” she said.