Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) (44 page)

“I skipped dinner,” she admitted, smiling wanly at Loki’s attempt at humor, “and go to kitchen to find something to eat.”

“But still, rules are rules. You should be indoors, no?”

Katherina threw up her hands in exasperation. “This place has more rules than anything! I imagine they have a rule that say they must make more rule!”

Loki laughed. “I agree wholeheartedly, so your transgressions are safe with me. But skip dinner? I thought people around here lived for the social occasion of dining.”

“I wasn’t feeling very hungry.”

Loki leaned in closer to get a better look at her face in the shadows. “Is there something troubling you?” he asked.

“N-no, why do you say that?” Katherina asked.

Loki raised a pointy eyebrow. “Well, usually someone as lovely as you doesn’t have red eyes and streaks running down their cheeks. It is usually the boys who chase them that look so heart broken.”

Katherina blushed, hoping Loki would not be able to see the color in the dark. “I’m not heart broken, I’m just...”

“Confused?” Loki offered.

Katherina shrugged, and then nodded in assent.

“Why, you don’t strike me as the type to be confused,” Loki said. “You strike me as a princess who is used to commanding and having your way. Someone who knows exactly what they want, and then takes it!”

Katherina crossed her arms. “Usually, I am. But I am not used to feeling this way about someone.”

Loki stroked his goatee. “Madame, if you don’t mind me saying so, anyone who causes such pain in beauty such as yours, is not deserving of it.”

Katherina was silent for a moment. “No, I don’t mind you saying so. But I assure you that ultimately what I decide to do about it will be my decision.”

Loki clapped his hands. “That’s the princess I see in there! I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Katherina smiled. The Viscount’s antics lighted her spirits, which had been heavy with thoughts of Patrick.

“Now, if I were that heartbreaking boy, I would be on the look out,” Loki drew up his cape and masked all but his eyes that peered over his arm and darted back and forth. “For your wrath would be upon me,” he stalked about in an exaggerated manner, looking side to side as if being hunted.

Katherina’s smile broke into a laugh. “Are you always so dramatic?”

Loki straightened up and smoothed out his cape. His face was cool and calm again, and he said dryly, “Usually not, but when confronted with otherworldly charm such as yours, I seem to lose complete control.” His serious face cracked into a smile.

Katherina laughed and shook her head.

“If you continue to cry, may I offer you my shoulder to lean on? I’d be incredibly flattered if you let me,” Loki asked.

Katherina tilted her head to one side in thought, and then asked, “Why?”

“Because, like you, I am far from home and find myself surrounded by unfamiliar Franks, Anglos, and other ragamuffins who do not understand me. I need a friend, too. Someone I can tell
my
secrets to. Someone with whom I can, perhaps, shake the rust off of an old Slavic poem or two I used to know.”

Katherina gingerly touched her lips and swayed side to side. “Very well, you may be official leaning shoulder.”

“Yes!” Loki shouted triumphantly and shot his arm into the air as if at a competition.

Katherina giggled. “You are silly man.”

Loki bowed.

Katherina calmed her giggling. She was starting to sound like a girl half her age, and was not at all happy with herself for letting down her guard. “I must be going,” she said, putting on the air of protocol. “But if you like, we can test out these poems, shoulder-leanings, and secret-tellings at another time.”

“That would be most gracious of you.” Loki’s bow deepened.

“Good evening, Lord Loki. It is pleasure to finally meet someone who recognize my language and home.” Katherina curtsied her goodbye and turned to leave. She didn’t get very far, however, when she realized that they had been walking and talking this whole time and she was now in an unfamiliar part of the keep grounds.

“I think you might find the kitchens in that direction,” Loki pointed out, “and if I might make a suggestion, use the servants’ entrance: Better to avoid those rule-loving Greensprings folk.”

Katherina nodded her appreciation and slipped away, a silvery silhouette in the moonlit darkness.

Loki watched her go, admiring her form.

About then, Minion came along and stood beside the Viscount.

“You’re late,” Loki said. “But no matter, you caught me in a good mood.”

“Who was that, Master?” Minion asked.

The Viscount stroked his goatee. “A very lovely Lady. Nice childbearing hips, wouldn’t you say?”

#

Patrick entered the dark kitchen apprehensively, first poking his head through the doorway and looking side to side, then dashing across the main work area to the cupboards. He felt awkward being there after hours, let alone at all. Rosa Maria was notorious for browbeating and wielding a broom at anyone who didn’t belong. And even King Mark was known to have his hand slapped for trying to steal some marzipan.

Patrick’s growling stomach finally overcame his tentativeness and he moved to the larder. After he had begun to rummage around beneath some spice tins, however, he became aware of someone in the room.

“Ah hell,” he muttered.

A portly figure in linen clothing came out of the shadows. “Excuse me, but Rosa Maria does not... Oh! M’lord forgive me.” She curtsied when she recognized him as a knight. “I did not know you were a sir. Still, Rosa Maria would be angry if she knew that I at least did not try to deter you from raiding tomorrow’s food.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick stammered. “I was assigned late guard duty, and I missed dinner. I was just looking for something small to eat.”

Another voice came from the shadows and another portly figure came forward. Patrick recognized them as the duo Anna and Claire, who often worked together. “Leave the poor lad alone. He’s tired and beat-up looking. He could use a meal.”

The first maidservant, Anna, was still nervous. “But...”

Claire elbowed her. “That’s the Irishman, silly.”

“So?” A knowing look from Claire caused her to brighten and she exclaimed. “Oh!
That
Irishman. Well, Sir Sile-er-Patrick, please help yourself.”

The two maidservants rushed out of the kitchen, tittering in their Anglo slang. Patrick watched them leave, then shrugged to himself and opened the pantries. He found some cheese, a not-too-rubbery chunk of bread, cured ham, and even a flagon of wine, and sat down with his meal at the table by the door, where the scullery maids sat to cool off whenever they had a moment.

He was halfway through the bread when a sleepy-eyed Aimeé appeared in the doorway. A hand pushed her from behind and she was forced farther into the dying firelight near the hearth. She turned behind her and then turned to Patrick, then again to the doorway she had just come. Her expression was just as confused as Patrick’s.

The Irishman stood. “Good evening, Mademoiselle de la Chasse.”

Aimeé pulled the blanket she still wore about her. “You remembered my full name.”

Patrick nodded.

There was a moment of silence. Aimeé looked about the room to pass the time. She looked everywhere but at Patrick.

“Please, won’t you have a seat? Join me for some food,” he said finally.

The maidservant shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but I will sit with you, if you like.”

“I’d like that very much.” Patrick offered her a seat next to him at the kitchen prep table. “You look in much better shape than I,” he said when she sat. “Your face, I mean.”

Aimeé smiled. “I’d agree. You look as if a hundred wild horses trampled you.” She looked away. “I heard what happened between you and Geoffrey... I guess you fought over bragging rights, eh?”

Patrick’s brow furrowed in anger. “No, mademoiselle. It wasn’t like that at all. And if you knew me any better, you would know that.”

“But that is it, isn’t it? I don’t know you at all,” she quipped, losing some of her fear. Under the deference, she wasn’t so unlike Katherina.

“I’m sorry for that. I behave the way I do towards you not because you are a servant, but because I feared liking you...and lately in my life, I have feared liking anyone.”

The hard line of Aimeé’s mouth softened a bit. “That doesn’t seem to be the case with the Lady Katherina.”

Patrick picked at his ham. “Well, the only reason she reached me to any extent to begin with is because I was obligated by duty to spend time with her. She was in a position to work her way into my life.”

“You sound as if you almost regret that.”

Patrick was quiet for a moment. Aimeé didn’t rush his answer, but found a whetting stone and produced a small knife, the kind all the servants carried, and worked on the blade. It was short and narrow, and her hands moved as if this was a task she’d done so many times that she no longer needed to pay attention to her work.

“Maybe I do regret that.” Patrick shrugged. “As I said, I’ve been afraid to let any one near me. They have a tendency to leave me in one way or another.”

“That sounds like a classic man perception,” Aimeé laughed. “Does Katherina know this? Or are you doing another classic man-thing and letting it all happen without her knowing your intention.” She turned the blade and whetted the other side.

“We have talked about it much. She knows how I feel, and I know how she feels. We have a common understanding. We are only the best of friends. As for my intentions, I have no idea what will happen.”

“Most men don’t.” She rolled the knife back into the waistband of her skirt.

Patrick was glad to see the maidservant in good humor for once. He finished the last of his meal, stretched, and shivered a little. “It may be spring, but this Avalon evening was cold. I think it will be a while before I recoup my warmth.”

Aimeé opened up her blanket. “We can share, if you like.”

Patrick hesitated.

“You’re cold,” she said, “so here’s a blanket. I’m cold, so I want some too. Be practical.” She extended the blanket and he wrapped the opposite side about him. He now sat next to her body, trying to preserve an inch of propriety between them. They sat silently for a while, watching the dying embers of the fire. The light was a brilliant orange and the heat felt good.

“Sir Patrick?” Aimeé said.

He grunted.

“Can I be your friend?”

“Yes, of course.”

Another silent moment passed and Aimeé ventured another question. “Would...would you put your arm around me? It’s not the same from another woman.”

Patrick hesitated again, then relaxed a little and lifted his arm. “Yes, I can’t see why not.” She slipped under his arm and held on tightly. After a moment, he held her back just as strongly. Now that he actually touched her, he was surprised by how firm her body was. Her skin was smooth and the color of buttermilk. Except for her hands; they were calloused from years of work and perpetually off color. He expected her to smell of wash water and sweat, but she did not at all. She smelled of apples and heather.

The servant girl’s body started to shudder almost imperceptibly, and the shudders grew into little convulsions. Sobbing noises came from her chest.

Patrick stroked her thick wild hair and rocked her gently.

#

In the darkness of the corridor outside the entrance, the Lady Katherina stood watching. Her wintery eyes iced over and her jaw set firm. She turned and briskly walked away.

#

Sir Corbin jogged down the path, holding onto his sword so he would not trip over it. He called to the Irishman. “Patrick, hold up.” He didn’t have a hard time catching Patrick; the poor fellow looked exhausted.

“Corbin, what can I do for you?” Patrick asked, and then smiled. “Actually, what can I
not
do for you?”

Corbin slapped a hand to Patrick’s back, then looked over their shoulders and steered him in another direction. “I have a request for you.”

Patrick nodded. “Easy enough, what is it?”

“I’d like you to be the one to go to Aesclinn and tally up what we owe the pig farmers for this week’s account.”

Patrick stopped in his tracks. “The pig account? Why me? That is such a tedious and menial thing to do. Besides, it’s Waylan’s turn this week, isn’t it?”

Corbin made a face and rubbed his pot belly where it hung over his belt. “The truth of the matter is, you are scheduled for valley patrol today and so is Geoffrey. We thought it would be best if we kept you two boys apart for a while. Otherwise you will kill each other. Then where will I be? A dead Avangarde, a dead Reservist, funeral arrangements, explaining to do...”

“So send Geoffrey on pig patrol. He’d be right at home with the swine.”

Corbin laughed. “Maybe, but there is that pesky seniority thing.”

Patrick nodded. “All right, all right. I’ll do it if it helps.”

Corbin winked at the Irishman. “There’s a good man.”

#

Before he left the keep for the day, Patrick went looking for Katherina to tell her that he would be late for their afternoon walk.

“That is fine, Patrick, I already made plan,” she said.

Patrick blinked. “What? Why?”

Katherina returned her attention to a complicated piece of embroidery. “You have been very busy lately, I thought you would have to skip on walk again. So when someone invite me on carriage ride, I accept. Is there problem?”

“I, uhm, well no. I don’t mind.”

“Mind? I hope not. After all, we agreed...”

“Yes, yes. Serves me right for even starting to be selfish. I hope you have fun.”

“Oh, I will.”

Patrick hesitated in the doorway. The options were to either leave and torture himself, or ask and look like a fool. His hand lightly traveled the grain of the door, and he frowned. “Just out of curiosity, who is it that invited you?”

Katherina crossed her arms. “Viscount Loki.”

Patrick winced. But on the bright side, he thought, once one came to know the Viscount, his abrasive nature was obvious enough. Katherina would not tolerate such a man for long. “Well, I must be going. Have fun.”