The Lion of the North (16 page)

Atticus knew he was correct. About everything, he was correct. No more protests, no more excuses. With a sigh, he turned away from Warenne and headed towards the livery.

“As you say,” he said, sounding weary. “I will see if I can undo what I have done.”

With Atticus in the lead, Warenne followed. The stable yard was mucky and slippery as they made their way to the wide entry door. Just as they reached it, Atticus came to a sudden halt and when Warenne opened his mouth to ask him why, Atticus shushed him. He gestured to the interior of the livery where there was some whispering and weeping going on. Not wanting to intrude, Atticus peered around the side of the entry door to hear better of what was happening inside that cold, dark structure.

“… and then she threw me!” Isobeau was saying, giggling. “Do not feel bad for it; I know you gave me the horse but it was my fault for not holding on tightly enough. She had been corralled in the barn since the big snow back in February, right after you left, and she was quite happy to be out. She was very frisky. I am riding her even now as we head to Wolfe’s Lair. I am quite excited to meet your father, you know; I just wish… well, it does not matter. You are going home, Titus. Atticus is making sure of it. He is making sure of everything. He will punish those men who killed you. I only hope he does it with your sword… I do not know where it is but I shall ask Atticus. I am sure he knows. I hope he kills those men with your sword and that he then, in turn, passes your sword to our son. It would be such a great honor for our son to carry your sword. And that’s another thing; what are we to name him? Tertius says I must name him a Roman name or my father will disown me.”

She set off giggling again, stroking the lid of the casket lovingly as Atticus and Warenne watched. Isobeau was no longer sitting on the casket, she now knelt beside it. Her hands were all over it, touching it, speaking to Titus inside. As they watched, it looked as if she thought to lift the lid so she could look at Titus once more but she stopped herself. Defeated, she laid her forehead against the edge of the coffin lid.

She lifted her head. “I miss you so much,” she whispered, her tone now very serious in contrast from the giggling that had been going on earlier. “I can still hear your voice and I can still see your smile as you waved farewell to me those months ago. You told me you loved me and I was too foolish to say it in return. I should have; God knows, I should have. Titus, I swear that if I had known you would not return to me, I would have never let you go. I would have found some way to keep you at Alnwick. It is not fair that we did not have a chance at a life together; it is not fair at all. And your brother… he says that you asked him to marry me and to take care of me. I am sure it was a noble thought, my love, but I must tell you that your brother wants nothing to do with me. I am afraid you have doomed us both to a sad and unhappy life with one another. It is therefore my intention to tell him that I release him from your request. Surely you did not mean to make him so miserable, Titus. It was selfish of you to ask. I know you do not want me to marry anyone else and I swear that I shan’t. When we reach Wolfe’s Lair, I will find the nearest church and tell the priest of my situation and beg that he admit me to the nearest convent. I will become a bride of Christ. I would rather do that than marry anyone else.”

With that, she trailed off and laid her head back on the coffin lid, simply laying there and perhaps dreaming of a life that would never be. Atticus, filled with sorrow and regret, turned to look at Warenne, who was gazing back at him with equal sorrow. They had both heard what Isobeau had said, now knowing what was in the lady’s heart. It was tragic to say the least.

“That is not what Titus wanted,” Warenne whispered. “You must speak with her, Atticus,
now
.”

Atticus didn’t hesitate. He went straight into the livery, leaving Warenne outside, and approached the wagon where Isobeau lay with the top part of her body across the coffin lid. She didn’t hear him enter so he cleared his throat softly as he approached simply to warn her that she was no longer alone.

Isobeau’s head shot up when she heard him, her eyes big on him. There was guilt and fear across her features as Atticus came to stand next to the wagon bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke; they simply stared at one another. Isobeau kept waiting for the man to explode at her but, so far, he’d given no indication he planned to. His expression was surprisingly calm, considering she had run off and lied to him. Maybe he was so calm because he was beyond fury and had terrible things planned for her punishment. Nervously, she cleared her throat.

“Sir Atticus,” she stammered. “I… I did not mean to cause you any undue concern by leaving the tavern, but I felt compelled to….”

Atticus put up a hand, cutting her off. “You need not explain,” he said quietly. “I am not angry. In fact, it seems as if I owe you a wide measure of apology, my lady. It occurred to me when you felt compelled to steal away to come and see my brother that I have not been very kind to you. For you to have to feel as if the only way to see Titus was to escape me, I have been a terrible man indeed.”

Isobeau blinked, surprised by his reaction. “I… I simply wanted a few minutes alone with him,” she said. “When you gave me the opportunity to see him back at Alnwick, I fainted. I have not spoken to my husband at all and I wanted to tell him of the child. And of other things. I think I told him everything that has happened at Alnwick since he left. I thought he would want to know.”

She was tearing up by the time she finished, lowering her head and sniffling so he could not see her watery eyes. But Atticus knew she was weeping; he was coming to feel worse and worse about the way he’d treated her, especially after hearing what she had told Titus. There had been such joy in her words at first, and finally such sorrow. Was he really such a monster? Warenne had warned him of his behavior and now the words from Isobeau had suggested the same thing. Maybe he had been as selfish as they’d accused him of being. With a heavy sigh, he scratched his scalp wearily and sat on the edge of the wagon bed.

“He would want to know,” he agreed with her, having difficulty looking the woman in the eye. “My lady, if I have been selfish and rude and terrible, then I apologize. I begged your forgiveness once but it seems as if I have not amended my ways. That will end, now. You do, indeed, have the right to grieve my brother and you do, indeed, have a right to your own sense of vengeance towards those who caused his death. I promised my brother I would marry you and I shall, and I hope to make as excellent a husband as Titus did. I shall endeavor to do so. I pray that you will accept my proposal of marriage and know that the man you have seen over the past two days is not indicative of the man I am. Grief can do odd things to one’s soul. I am sorry you bore the brunt of it.”

By this time, Isobeau was listening to him quite seriously, wiping tears from her eyes. “I do not know what to say, in truth,” she said. “I told you that I do not want another husband. Titus should not have expected, nor have asked, us to wed.”

Atticus grunted, leaning forward on the wagon. “I thought so, too,” he said. “But then I tried to look at it from Titus’ perspective. Actually, someone else made me look at it from Titus’ perspective – if I had a wife I loved very much, it would be my first priority to ensure she was well taken care of. If the roles had been reversed, I am sure I would have begged Titus the same thing.”

Isobeau regarded him carefully. There was some indecision in her expression now, as if she hadn’t thought on Titus’ standpoint until this moment. After a pause of deliberation, of reflection, her gaze moved to the coffin she was leaning against.

“He should not have asked you such things,” she said quietly. “Sir Atticus, I release you from your vow to Titus. I know you do not wish to marry me and I do not wish to have another husband, so it is my intention to commit myself to a convent near to the place where Titus is buried. That way, I can visit him sometimes.”

Atticus already knew of her plan considering he had overheard her earlier, so he had already planned out his reply. He was careful yet truthful.

“My lady, if you commit yourself to a convent, it would not be in your best interest or in the child’s best interest,” he said. “As soon as the baby is born, it will be taken away from you and turned over to a family to foster. Did you think you would be able to keep your son with you? They will not allow it in the convent.”

She frowned. “Surely they would not separate a mother from her child.”

He shrugged. “You would not be a mother,” he said. “You would be a bride of Christ. Brides do not have babies.”

Evidently, the thought of being separated from her child had not occurred to her and she was visibly distressed. “I will
not
let them take my child,” she said flatly. “I would kill them if they tried.”

He looked at her; she had such a delicate face with a little upturned nose, wide eyes, and beautifully arched brows. More than that, she had lips that were ripe and lush, inviting a man’s lust. She was quite a ravishing creature, as he’d always noticed, but perhaps now he was noticing just a little more. She was an invariably strong woman, unafraid to stand up to him and unafraid to speak her mind.

So many pieces of a puzzle were coming together as he looked at her, disjointed pieces of the Isobeau puzzle that had been orbiting in his mind, things he realized about her but had never pulled together as a whole picture. He remembered the first time he ever saw her, telling his brother what a fortunate man he was to have such a beautiful bride. But after the wedding, he hadn’t spent any amount of time around Isobeau because Titus occupied all of her time, as he should have. But in the past two days, they had been thrown together in unpleasant circumstances that would have destroyed a lesser woman. Isobeau had stood strong through it all. As a result, Atticus was coming to think she was fairly extraordinary.

Come to know what Titus liked so well about the woman,
Warenne had said. More and more, Atticus could see it. He was finally coming to understand her, one piece at a time.

“As would I, my lady,” he said quietly. “No one would take your child from you, my brother’s child, and live to tell the tale, so it is my suggestion that you forget about the convent and marry me instead. If you do not, I fear I am in for something quite terrible. You would actually be doing me quite a favor.”

Isobeau was still frowning as thoughts of baby-stealing nuns filled her mind. “Why?” she asked. “Whatever is the matter?”

Atticus averted his gaze, leaning against his brother’s coffin and picking at the imperfections of the wood.

“I have… well, it is quite embarrassing to admit it, but I have women that follow me about,” he said seriously, although he wasn’t serious in the least. “Do you have any idea what a prize I would be to any woman? Not only am I a de Wolfe, but I have earned a reputation for myself as a warrior above men. I have some wealth, of course, but every father with an eligible daughter from Newcastle to Hastings is clamoring after me, demanding I wed their daughters. And
what
daughters! Fat, short, skinny, tall, in all varieties and shapes. The Earl of Dorcester, for instance, has
two
daughters and has demanded I pick one. The man has promised me half of Dorset if I do but in order to obtain such wealth, I have to choose between a woman with a mustache and her sister with no neck and a bald spot on her head. What am I to do?”

Isobeau forgot about baby-stealing nuns and was grinning at Atticus’ distress. He was, in fact, pretending to be quite upset, but Isobeau sensed that he was mostly acting for her benefit. It was quite humorous, actually, because she had no idea that the man had such a personality. She had only seen him serious or angry, or both, so this comical side was unexpected. It was also attractive. She clucked sadly.

“That is truly a shame, Sir Atticus,” she said with feigned concern. “I would think in such a case, you may want to take the woman with the mustache. She can always shave it off. Mayhap she would not be so bad if she did.”

Atticus rolled his eyes, leaning his head against Titus’ coffin in mock misery. He hoped his brother was hearing him because they had shared many a laugh over the same subjects, mostly Titus teasing him about the women that really did follow him around. With his striking dark looks and chiseled features, Atticus had more than his share of female admirers.

“Mayhap,” he said, his voice muffled because he was leaning against his arm. “She is not unattractive in a way. If only her eyes focused in the same direction, she would be nearly pleasant to look at.”

Isobeau put a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. “She is cross-eyed?”

“That is putting it kindly.”

Isobeau couldn’t help the laughter now. She put a hand on the coffin lid and leaned into it. “Titus?” she asked. “Do you hear your brother? He is attempting to coerce me into marriage with tales of cross-eyed maids!”

Atticus’ grin broke through and he put his mouth against the coffin lid. “You will confirm whatever I tell her, do you hear?” he told his brother. “Tell her it is true! Tell her of the daughter of the Lord Mayor of Manchester and how the woman sent me gifts for three solid months. Tell her how I had to hide when the woman and her father showed up at Alnwick seeking to negotiate a marriage contract. Tell her how Percy had to entertain them for the night and then he tried to beat me afterwards because they were both terrible creatures with terrible manners. He blamed me for them setting foot in his beloved Alnwick.”

Isobeau was giggling uncontrollably. “Lord Henry did
not
beat you.”

Atticus nodded firmly. “He most certainly tried,” he said. “He even threw a chicken bone at me. He was furious that I had brought those obnoxious people down upon him.”

Isobeau was laughing so much that she was struggling to catch her breath. “It was not your fault,” she said. “It was not as if you invited them.”

Atticus pointed a finger at her. “I did not,” he agreed, “but if you do not agree to marry me, I can only look forward to more of the same humiliation. Until and unless I have a wife, these ravenous females will never stop in their quest to acquire me as a prized husband. Therefore, my lady, I beg you… please consider my marriage proposal. It would make Titus happy and it would save me from a lifetime of shame.”