The Lion of the North (29 page)

He drained the wine in his cup. “The knight I brought inside is a hostage against any hostile action Norfolk might try to take against Wolfe’s Lair,” he told her. “I would not worry. I do not believe we will have any further trouble from the man, at least not here at Wolfe’s Lair.”

Isobeau looked at him. “But we could have trouble with him elsewhere?”

Atticus nodded, toying with his empty cup. “It is possible,” he said. “But you should not worry overly.”

She shook her head, packing in the last of what she intended to take with her, a lumpy bar of white soap and a comb. “I am not worried,” she said. “But it seems as if Norfolk is going to great lengths to try and gain your loyalty.”

Atticus grunted. “The man is an idiot.”

Isobeau sealed up the satchel. “Mayhap,” she said, leaving the satchel and moving to the table where there was bread and cheese and strips of jerky. She eyed the food, not particularly hungry. “But it seems to me that he is trying to get to the House of de Wolfe somehow. Mayhap Titus was only the beginning. Mayhap he means to destroy the entire house and everyone within it. Must we be looking over our shoulder for the rest of our lives, fearful that he is lurking in the shadows?”

Atticus could hear tension in her voice, not surprising considering the history with de Wolfe versus de Mowbray over the past few weeks. Much like his world, hers had been rocked lately, too. The poor woman had lost everything. She was standing near him and instinctively, if only to give reassurance, he reached out to grasp her hand but the moment he did so, it was as if a bolt of fire shot through him.

She was warm, that was true, but it was more than that; it was fire that surged through him like nothing he had ever known. Fire and ice and lust and passion, and everything in between suddenly flashed before his eyes. Instinct told him to drop her hand because the mere contact between them was shattering, but his emotions, those things he kept deeply buried, overcame his instincts and he squeezed her hand more tightly, feeling her flesh against his.

“He will not be lurking,” he said in a strange, husky voice he’d never heard from himself before. “This is war, my lady, and men have many enemies. Norfolk will soon tire of me and find others. We will not live our lives in fear of a man who is not worthy of such regard.”

Isobeau’s focus was riveted to his face as he held her hand, tightly, as if the touch meant something to him. Her heart was racing again, brought on by Atticus’ touch, and her breathing was coming in strange little gasps. It occurred to her that Titus had never brought on such a reaction. He had been kind and gentle, and his kisses sweet, but he had never set her heart to racing the way Atticus did. Part of her wanted to yank her hand away from him but a greater part wanted to grip him as he was gripping her, flesh against flesh, heat against heat. His touch was exhilarating.

“If… if you say so,” she managed to stammer, realizing that she was fixated on the shape of his lush lips. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. “If you say there is nothing to fear, I will believe you.”

Atticus could hear her voice but he almost couldn’t understand her words. She was standing up against him, her hand in his, and he’d never known anything so intoxicating in his life. His fingers caressed her hand, acquainting himself with the silken texture of her flesh, before he even realized he was doing it. There was something incredibly inviting and alluring about the woman, something that overwhelmed his senses. Before he could stop himself, he brought her hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing her hand again simply because he couldn’t stop himself. “It would make me unhappy if you worried. I would have to ride to Arundel myself and kill de Mowbray simply to ease your mind.”

He said it with a twinkle in his eye and Isobeau broke into a grin. “That seems rather drastic,” she said, breathless.

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said huskily. “You are my wife. It is my duty and my pleasure to make your life as worry-free as possible.”

Isobeau’s cheeks flushed a dull red at his sweet flattery.
You are my wife
. Sweet Jesus, she loved hearing those words from his mouth but then in the same breath she felt guilty because she had never felt such joy hearing the same words from Titus’ mouth. Overwhelmed, and thrilled, she averted her gaze because looking into his handsome face had her so giddy that she could scarcely breathe.

“You are too kind,” she managed to say.

Atticus didn’t reply. He was too swept up in her flushed cheeks and coy expression. God, but she was an alluring creature. She seemed to grow more beautiful by the moment. He kissed her hand once more, a final time, before releasing it, mostly because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t. He wanted to pull her against him and kiss her in the worst way and he knew, if that happened, that he wouldn’t be able to stop at a mere kiss. She was his wife and he had every right to her luscious body but after what she had been through the day before, it simply wouldn’t do. It was wrong and tasteless on too many levels. He would be an inappropriate man indeed, filling her womb with his seed so soon after his brother’s child had been lost. Confused, and feeling guilty for his overwhelmingly lustful reaction to her, he stood up from the chair.

“Then I will leave you to your meal and to finish packing,” he said, heading for the door and realizing that his male member was semi-aroused against his breeches. He made sure his tunic was covering the bulge. “I have duties to attend to but I will return for you shortly. Dress warmly; it is cold outside.”

Isobeau, still keeping her head down and her gaze averted because of her red cheeks, nodded. “I will be ready.”

Atticus quit the room with a nod although Isobeau didn’t see it; she wasn’t looking at him. But the moment he shut the door behind him, she let out such a sigh that her entire body nearly deflated. It was relief but it was also a release, and the grin on her lips was unmistakable, a grin only for her, the secret longing for her new husband now fully revealed.

Isobeau was certain it was wrong, feeling as she did so soon after losing Titus, but the truth was that she and Titus had only known each other for two weeks before he departed for Towton. She’d spent much more time away from him than with him, and theirs was a relationship that had never truly developed past the initial stage. Had she loved him? It was possible that what she had felt for him would have developed into love, but as she thought hard on her feelings for Titus, she couldn’t honestly remember feeling anything more than great fondness for him. Titus had been a warm and sensitive man and she admired that a great deal. But Atticus… God help her, Atticus was quickly forging his way into her emotions. He was searing and passionate and exciting. She couldn’t stop him.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to try.

You are only a duty to him
, she reminded herself.
Only a duty!

Would it be that way forever? She wondered.

With her satchel fully packed, she sat down in the seat that Atticus had vacated, feeling his warmth still on the wood. The realization made silly, giddy thoughts roll through her head. She stared at the cheese and bread in front of her, thinking that she really wasn’t very hungry. She was tired more than anything, exhausted from the eventful past. Her head hurt and the odd weakness had not gone away. Rising from the chair, she made her way over to the bed and lay upon the faded silk coverlet that had once belonged to Atticus’ mother. It was soft and warm and comfortable, and very quickly she fell into a deep sleep.

When she dreamt, it was with vivid images of Atticus.

Alnwick Castle

Adam Wellesbourne, in
charge of the wall on this fine but cold evening as the sun set against the western hills of Northumbria, was the first one to see the lone rider approach from the south.

Alnwick had been bottled up tight since the return of the army from Towton nearly two weeks ago. No one went in or out, and there was the constant fear of Edward’s army arriving and demanding the surrender of the fortress. They all knew that was coming; they simply didn’t know when. With Edward’s rule established after the victory at Towton and Henry on the run, the surrender of Alnwick was inevitable. Like a sinking ship, it was only a matter of time before it was scuttled. That being the case, the young earl spent most of his time with his mother these days, planning the move to Warkworth Castle as Atticus had demanded, while his knights, seasoned men that had served his father, had charge of the fortress, watching and waiting for the coming changing of the guard.

In such a case, it would stand to reason that things like lone riders grated on their fears. Tertius, having been in charge since Atticus left, was currently in conference with the young earl and the dowager countess as Wellesbourne signaled the approach of the lone rider. Since there was only one man, the man-gate that was built within the great gates of Alnwick opened, emitting two armed men on horseback who quickly intercepted the approaching rider.

Together, the trio then approached the gatehouse and by that time, Adam was there to meet them. Surprise registered across his face when he realized that he recognized the rider.

“De Royans?” he asked, incredulous. “Why are you… oh, God… my wife. Is Audrey well? Or is it my father?”

Juston held up a heavily gloved hand. “It is neither,” he said. “They are both in good health.”

Adam was so relieved that he nearly collapsed with it. “Thank God,” he muttered. But it only seemed to increase his puzzlement over de Royans’ presence. “Then why are you here?”

Beneath his open visor and heavy, woolen scarf, Juston’s blue eyes were riveted to Adam. “Because we received information that you are now sworn to Edward,” he said. “Yet I find you here at Alnwick, manning the gatehouse with Percy soldiers. This is most confusing.”

Adam was clearly perplexed. “Me?” he asked. “Sworn to Edward?”

“That is what your father was told,” Juston replied. “He has sent me to Alnwick to discover the truth of it.”

Adam’s expression went from one of puzzlement to one of rage quite quickly. “Who told you such lies?” he demanded. “I have never declared for Edward nor shall I.”

De Royans could see simply by Adam’s reaction that the rumor was false. He had suspected as much and on his long ride north, he’d come to the conclusion that de la Londe and de Troiu were complete and utter liars. De Royans had known Adam for many years and the man was many things – rash, impulsive, fierce, and humorous – but he was not a traitor to the crown. Hearing Adam’s denial simply confirmed it. He didn’t doubt the man for a second.

“Take me inside,” de Royans said, pointing at the gatehouse. “Unfreeze my bones and we will have a discussion, you and I. Your father wants to know what is going on, Adam. There are mysterious and unhealthy dealings afoot that you must be made aware of.”

Adam already figured that much out; de Royans’ very presence told him as much. Ordering the gate opened so they could all pass through comfortably without being restricted by the man-gate, Alnwick was once again bottled up tight as Adam took de Royans into the great hall.

By this time, word had spread of de Royans’ arrival and they were joined in the great hall by Alec le Bec and Maxim de Russe. De Royans had been traveling for days upon days and, in particular, he’d set out on this day well before dawn, traversing frozen moors in icy weather. Therefore, when it came to removing his clothing, the man could barely move and Alec and Maxim took to pulling stuff off of him. Even Adam got into the action, removing de Royans’ ice-bound helm from his head and unwinding the crackling, icy, woolen scarf that had become sweaty, and frozen, and sweaty again over the days of travel. By the time the knight was unwound, unbound, and removed from most of his outer clothing, he simply sat there in the heat of the great hall and quivered.

“God’s Bloody Neck,” de Royans hissed a curse through blue lips. “Why has it remained so frozen this spring? The warmth should at least be making an attempt to return by this time of year.”

Adam gave him a half-grin as he ordered the servants to lay out de Royans’ things before the snapping hearth. “It is simple,” he said. “God hates England. He is trying to freeze us to death.”

De Royans’ lips cracked into a smile. “That is possible,” he said. “I believe he likes France and Spain more. It is warmer there.”

The knights around the big, scrubbed table snorted with humor, lightening the mood. But soon enough, the mood darkened again as Adam faced his father’s half-frozen knight.

“Tell me what has you traveling over miles of frozen land, Juston,” he said. “Who said I had sworn fealty to Edward?”

A servant brought hot wine and de Royans wrapped his cold fingers around the cup, sighing with contentment at the heat. “A short time ago, Declan de Troiu and Simon de la Londe came to Wellesbourne Castle,” he said. “They came on a mission from Norfolk, which was confusing enough until they mentioned that you had sworn fealty to Edward. Your father, sensing that something was afoot, had both knights thrown into the vault at Wellesbourne Castle until he could discover the truth. That is why he has sent me here, to learn what goes on here in the north. Why would de Troiu and de la Londe say such things?”