Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) (42 page)

“It’s not that,” Geoffrey said, and shrugged. “He is a good enough fellow and a fine soldier. I just don’t think he deserves a catch like the Lady Katherina.”

Loki smiled. “And you think you do?”

“Well, yes. She needs a real man, someone to show her a good time.”

The Viscount’s smile broadened. “What’s stopping you from showing her that good time?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “She is with Patrick.”

Loki clicked his tongue. This seemed to annoy the Avangarde.

“Are you mocking me?” he demanded.

Loki feigned innocence. “Me? No, not at all. It just seems to me that you easily gave up on the notion of stealing the girl away from Patrick. You, who I hear is legendary for making the Ladies swoon with a single word, are letting an undeserving man walk around with your prize. And a
Reservist
at that.”

Sir Geoffrey’s brow furrowed at Loki’s comments, but his gaze turned towards the Reservist and the Lady Katherina, who sat side by side in the grass before the choir. They were accompanied by two boy Guests, and were giving Sir Jon a good-natured ribbing, who was stoically allowing the Lady Katherina to crown him with a chain of daisies.

“You want her, don’t you?” Loki whispered in the knight’s ear. “People are laughing at you because you have been bested on the battlefield of romance by an unremarkable, fashion-senseless Reservist from an obscure island. Are you going to let that happen?”

Geoffrey shook himself and blinked. “I’ve already stolen a girl away from him once. He would make things difficult this time.”

Loki scoffed. “You need to be subtle. You need her to come to you.”

“And how,” Geoffrey asked, “do you propose I do that?”

“You’re a smart man,” Loki said. “You can figure it out. For instance, you might choose a route that would be so subtle that no one would suspect you were the one behind Katherina’s leaving Patrick for you.”

“How’s that?”

“I’d wager you would first go to the servant Aimeé.”

“The servant girl?” Geoffrey looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because, you know that Patrick is also seeing her on the side, as the rumors say...”

Geoffrey’s face lit up in acknowledgement.

“...and you would show
her
a good time...”

The Avangarde looked puzzled again. “Why?”

“...because, you, being the man you are, would ruin her for Patrick. She would want nothing to do with him after you got through with her. I’m correct in assuming that would be the case...right, Sir Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey hesitated in answering, and then nodded with a pained look. “Of course.” He sniffed and straightened out his surcoat.

“Well then, once Patrick learns that his dessert is rejecting him, he will also learn that his main course is as well.”

“Why is that?” Geoffrey leaned closer to Loki to hear better over the choir.

“Because girls talk amongst themselves about that sort of thing. Aimeé will tell Katherina that Patrick is hardly a man, nothing like you. Once Katherina hears of that, and learns that Patrick is seeing another woman, she will naturally come sniffing around your door. You see, you took this path at winning the Lady because it was devious, and the only possible harm done, if any, would be to a mere servant.” Loki winked at the Avangarde, who had a thoughtful gaze in his eyes.

“You really think so, Loki?”

“Of course. Such a plan wouldn’t work for a lesser man, but for you, with your prowess, it’s almost guaranteed.”

Geoffrey leered first at the Irishman and Katherina, then at the buxom servant girl who sat among the keep staff.

He was a genius.

#

Aimeé placed the last of the carrots into her skirt, the ones Rosa Maria had rejected because they were too tough and knobby for human consumption, and left the kitchen. It was a short trip to the stables, and on the way she passed Sir Geoffrey.

“Forgive me, m’lord, but I can’t manage to bow with this load in my skirt,” she said.

Geoffrey smiled charmingly. He liberated a carrot from her skirt and took a bite. “That’s quite all right, I’ll take this as compensation.”

The Avangardesman leaned against the entrance, chewing on the carrot. Aimeé smiled at him, at his choice of food, and entered the gabled building for Siegfried’s stall. “Hello big boy, how are you?” she cooed. The big horse came forward and nuzzled her. She commenced to feed him the carrots and smooth his forelock. “My, you’re looking handsome today.”

A shadow fell across her. It was Geoffrey again. “May I help you?” he asked.

Aimeé blinked, then shrugged. “Suit yourself, m’lord.”

Geoffrey stood beside her and reached for the carrots in her skirt; he rooted around in the pile too long and too deeply. She gasped and moved away.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said. He fed the carrot to Siegfried. Aimeé withdrew another and handed it to Geoffrey. “Hungry fellow isn’t he? I don’t doubt he would eat you if he had the chance.” Geoffrey chuckled.

Aimeé smirked. “He would have a hard time chewing on me, I’m so tough.”

Geoffrey stroked her cheek. “You certainly are tough, but I imagine you would taste sweet.”

Aimeé’s eyes lost some of their meekness, and she stepped back. “Sir Geoffrey, why, not long ago you were yelling at me for spilling drinks.”

Geoffrey shrugged. He continued to touch her face and rub her shoulders. “It’s my job, you know, to be a pompous noble. But you might say that I’m not on duty right now.” Aimeé wasn’t smiling now as the knight’s hands moved all over her. “I’ve been watching you, and I can tell what you like. I like the same thing. So why go through the silly rituals that men and women play to achieve it?”

Aimeé wrung her skirt into knots where she held it to support the carrots. She was looking down and breathing hard.

“Here, let’s be rid of this.” Geoffrey dumped the remainder of the carrots into Siegfried’s stall. “The horse will undoubtedly like us all the more for it.”

Aimeé backed up. “M’lord, I think you m-mistake me.”

The Avangarde swaggered after her. “No, I don’t. It’s obvious what kind of girl you are. It’s obvious to everyone. Don’t be ashamed, it’s not as if you were a Lady or anything. It’s all right for you.” Geoffrey undid his sword belt and he let the weapon rest against a post.

“Please, m’lord. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Come now, is this how you like it?” the knight said between gritted teeth as he stepped forward and gripped her wrists hard. He struggled with her flailing arms and somehow managed to loosen her corset strings. She slapped a hand across Geoffrey’s face, then looked at the hand that did the deed with shock. She hadn’t meant to do it. It was a reflex.

Geoffrey’s face turned to a mask of rage. He back handed her so fiercely she fell into the straw of an open stall. She lay there, stunned, a trickle of blood seeping from her open mouth. Geoffrey knelt down over her.

“Now give me what you’ve been giving Patrick!” he hissed and pushed up her skirts. Aimeé gave a scream that was cut short by Geoffrey’s hand covering her mouth.

#

Patrick approached Siegfried’s stall and called to the dark horse. Siegfried did not come right away, but finally lumbered over.

“What’s wrong, old boy?” the Irishman asked, concerned. The animal was bloated and sick with gas. On the ground, dozens of half-eaten carrots and carrot stems lay in the straw. Siegfried usually ate the entire vegetable, and if these were how many were left, Patrick hated to think how many had been there to begin with.

“Dammit, Aimeé, how many times do I have to...”

A sound caught his attention. A whimpering in another stall, and he followed it to its source.

He found the battered servant girl.

“Oh my God, Aimeé, what happened?” He rushed forward, but when he attempted to be near her, she cried out as if in pain and scurried to the other side of the stall, into the shadows. Patrick hung back.

“Don’t look at me,” she pleaded.

It became evident to him what had befallen the servant. He had seen the same disarray and fear in a woman many times during his journeys in the Crusade. He came forward and sat near her.

“I mean it, don’t touch me... I’m dirty,” she said. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I want to help, tell me who did this. I will make sure he pays.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then she coughed out what might have been a sarcastic laugh of sorts. “You can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she almost shouted, “he was like you. A noble. A man. Who can do as he pleases.” Her body became wracked with a fresh wave of weeping. “A man who can do...do...this! Or do the exact opposite: treat me like I’m not there at all, not even worth looking at, let alone touching! Often I wonder which is worse.”

Patrick hung his head. He knew what she was saying. He suddenly felt like he didn’t even have the right to comfort her. Aimeé struggled to her feet. When Patrick offered assistance, she waved him off. She managed by herself.

Now that she stood in the light, Patrick had a better look at her. Her linens were ripped in various places, and it was a struggle for her to hold herself up against the railings, and to hold herself in where her clothing supports had been. The left side of her face was swollen and her lip was split on one side. She was going to have a hell of a black eye.

She limped severely as she made for the door.

“Please, let me help you. Tell me who did this,” he pleaded.

Aimeé scoffed. “Why? What would you do? From what I understand there is no glory in defending the honor of a maidservant. If you fought the man who did this, you would only be laughed at. Or, at best, they would think you were defending your territory or property. I do not care to be thought of in that way. I may be only a servant, but I have some dignity.”

Patrick cupped his hands underneath his nose almost as if he were praying. Again tears brimmed in his reddening eyes, but none fell.

“You want to hear something funny?” she asked, turning to the knight. “He thought I was doing this with you. He felt he was also entitled.”

Patrick bit the end of his thumbs and shut his eyes. “No, Aimeé, I…”

“Maybe it is my fault. The other maidservants warned me of this sort of thing. They said I was too bold, they said I threw myself at the sirs, they said it would all come back on me. I guess they were right.” She paused at the doorway. “The funny thing is, I threw myself only at you, and you were the only one who didn’t bother to even look.”

Patrick held out his hands in frustration. “Aimeé, if there is...”

Aimeé again waved him off. “No. It’s not so bad. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not even the first time.” She left him there and disappeared into the keep.

#

Loki held the strange-looking bronze instrument skyward. He then positioned himself better in the window and squinted at the stars through the metal apparatus. He brought it down, looked at it, made some adjustments to its movable parts, then peered at the stars once again with the thing.

“Ah, that’s better,” he murmured. He held this pose for a moment, and then tucked the device inside his cape. He sighed with a smile. “Only a short while now.”

He turned and walked briskly down the keep corridor. It was dark, but brilliant moonlight cast eerie shadows on the walls. Something caught his attention. He moved silently to a tapestry that was gently moving in an air current, and delicately pushed it aside. Inside was a room that he hadn’t realized was there. It was open to the gardens and a cool breeze was blowing through. Slumped in a chair in the moonlight was King Mark, asleep. Loki slipped in, smiling.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Loki said as he swooped around Mark like a great bat. His shadow fell across Mark like a cloud blotting out the sun, and the prone knight twitched in his sleep. “Are we tired? Heavy is the head that wears the crown, is that it?” Loki clicked his tongue.

He circled the golden-haired man, studying him and stroking his goatee. “You know, Sir Mark, my dear Steward,” he said. “You’re not quite as healthy looking as you used to be. You’re tired and haggard looking. You look as if you have been through mortal combat, but you haven’t been, have you? You’ve only been reading paperwork and signing this or approving that and deciding who is to be chaperoned by who and who has been skipping church services and should you tell Father Hugh about it and...well... I think you get the picture, don’t you?”

Mark jerked more violently in his sleep. His eyes squeezed shut harder and he moaned audibly.

“In fact, leadership isn’t quite what you expected, is it? Why, I’d even say that you’re not fit for it! And you, of all, know this. But you are proud, and waited a long time for this opportunity to lead Greensprings, haven’t you? It’s a pity now that you are the leader, you realize you’re not cut out for it. That must certainly sting the pride: knowing you’re no good at your appointment, but too proud to admit it, let alone relinquish it into another’s hands.” Loki lunged forward and positioned his face next to Mark’s temple. “My, the guilt and sense of failure must be unbearable!”

Mark cried out and he sat upright. He was breathing hard and a cold sweat had broken out on his brow. He looked wildly around him at the room. It was empty. He could have sworn someone had been there.

He leaned forward and placed his face in his hands.

#

When Patrick entered the dining hall, Katherina gasped; the man looked sick to death. “What’s wrong?” she asked. He joined her at the table and flicked his hand in the air.

“Nothing.” He fumbled with the dinnerware and reached for the food without saying more.

Katherina’s eyebrows were still knitted. “Something is terribly wrong. What is it?”

“I said ‘nothing,’” he snapped. “It’s not important.”

Katherina’s eyes turned icy and angry. She hadn’t looked at him like that for some time. “How can you say that? You are completely...d...distressé? Distressed.”

“I just have a lot on my mind. The tournament I said I’d put together for Mark.”

Katherina didn’t believe him; her eyes got colder.

Patrick glared back. “Look, it’s personal.”