The Lion of the North (30 page)

Adam grunted with disgust, eyeing Maxim and Alec. Maxim, perhaps the most emotional knight of the group, plopped down on the bench opposite de Royans.

“They have become traitors to all we have known,” he said, raking his hand through his black hair. “They murdered Titus de Wolfe.”

De Royans’ brows furrowed in concern, in horror, as Adam filled in the details. “As near as we can determine, the Duke of Norfolk somehow contacted the pair,” he said. “In exchange for money, or lands, or both, he somehow coerced them into attempting to persuade Northumberland’s entire knight corps into swearing fealty to Edward. The first knight they approached was Titus and when the man refused, they murdered him. Then they fled south, undoubtedly to flee Atticus’ wrath.”

De Royans sipped at his hot wine. “The Lion of the North,” he muttered. “Where
is
Atticus?”

Adam accepted his own hot wine from the nearest servant. “He took Titus back to Wolfe’s Lair for burial,” he replied, sipping at the steaming brew. “The man is bent on vengeance, Juston. He wants de Troiu and de la Londe. You say that my father has them both captive at Wellesbourne?”

“He does indeed.”

“Then Atticus must know. He will want to go to Wellesbourne Castle to dispense justice.”

“And I will go with him,” Maxim declared. “Titus was my mentor. I wanted to go with Atticus from the start but Thetford would not allow it.”

Adam held up a hand to the hot-headed young knight. “Because Atticus was volatile enough without emotional knights tagging along with him,” he said, bordering on scolding. “But Atticus must know that de Troiu and de la Londe are at Wellesbourne and someone must ride to tell him.”

“Let me go,” Alec said, standing over de Royans’ shoulder. “I would consider it an honor.”

Maxim stood up, his unhappy focus on Alec. “I told you that I wanted to go with Atticus,” he said. “Why should you be allowed to go?”

Adam put up his hands between the pair before someone threw a punch, which had been known to happen between the cousins. They loved each other dearly but didn’t hesitate to fight one another if the situation called for it.

“Cease,” he commanded, glaring at Maxim before turning his attention to Alec. “I have a feeling that each one of us will volunteer to go to Wolfe’s Lair to inform Atticus that the very men he seeks are at Wellesbourne Castle, so it is my inclination that only de Royans should go since he has seen de la Londe and de Troiu personally. He can verify with his own eyes to Atticus that those men are prisoners at Wellesbourne. Moreover, you know that we cannot leave Alnwick, not now. There is too much at stake.”

Maxim growled unhappily. “Because Edward will march upon us,” he said. “That will not happen for months, Adam. Do you truly believe Edward will march an army up here so soon after Towton? Men are wounded and battle lords scattered. Edward is in London. He has better things to do than worry about Alnwick!”

As Adam and Maxim started to argue, caused by the stress of being bottled up in Alnwick awaiting Edward’s proverbial axe to fall on their heads, de Royans put up his hands to interrupt them.

“We heard news of Towton,” he said loudly, distracting the two knights, “but we heard it from de la Londe’s point of view. What has happened?”

Adam was still glaring at Maxim but answered de Royans out of politeness. “It was a route for Edward’s forces,” he said, sounding weary and unhappy. “Edward soundly defeated us. We lost Henry Percy among others. However bad de la Londe made it sound, the reality is that it was much worse. Be glad you were not there, de Royans. I have never seen such carnage or death in my life. It was hell.”

De Royans listened seriously. Pondering the destruction, he shook his head in sorrow. “Then I am saddened to hear this,” he said. “But I fail to understand why Henry was so badly defeated. He had superior numbers, did he not?”

Adam shook his head and spent the next hour explaining to de Royans the tactics of Edward against Henry. By the time he was finished, de Royans was counting his blessings that Wellesbourne had not been at the fight. He more than likely would have been one of the dead, too.

When tempers calmed, the evening was spent in a quiet meal with the knights of Alnwick, including Tertius, and also including the new earl, young Henry. The older knights deliberately kept the conversation away from Towton, or Atticus or Titus, or any reference to death in general. They told stories of past adventures, laughing at their foolishness or their cleverness, and passed the evening in a rare, jovial mood. As of late, there had been little to be jovial over and the meal had been a welcome respite in the midst of their stressful existence.

But the evening inevitably ended and there were tasks to be completed. Before dawn, de Royans was once again on the road, heading for Wolfe’s Lair and the news that the very men Atticus wanted were safe and sound, locked up in the vault of Wellesbourne. He left behind several disappointed knights, a fearful young earl, and a castle that was once again sealed up to await her fate as the tides of the throne had shifted against them.

I
t had been
an odd sensation, truly.

Atticus had never had to think of anyone other than himself and after he’d left Isobeau in her chambers to finish packing, he’d headed down to the stables to inspect the mare she had mentioned. He didn’t know why he should do such a thing, or even care, because the horse had brought her from Alnwick to Wolfe’s Lair with no problems, but she had seemed concerned about the endurance of the animal which spurred his sense of concern as well.

Atticus had never had to consider anyone else before – their safety or their comfort. He was a selfish man but that selfishness had kept him alive and safe all of these years. Therefore, inspecting the somewhat skittish mare with the strange look to her eye, he decided that he didn’t want Isobeau riding the beast for the long journey south.

He went on the hunt for a sturdy, less-skittish animal and came across a very big, very shaggy gelding that his father used. The animal was so calm that he had to slap it a couple of times, affectionately, to make sure it was even breathing. He was certain his father would not mind if they borrowed the animal and Atticus would feel much better with Isobeau on such a calm beast. His wife. He didn’t want to have to worry about her safety on an already-perilous journey.

But there was another reason as well, something he didn’t want to admit to himself because it sounded incredibly cruel and self-centered. He knew that Titus had given Isobeau the lovely mare and somehow, he didn’t want that reminder of his brother around. Titus had asked him to marry Isobeau and he had done that. But he was coming to realize that he had to make a life with her; nay, he
wanted
to make a life with her, and a constant reminder of Titus would make that difficult. Perhaps it was selfish or perhaps it was understandable; in any case, he didn’t want her riding the mare. He hoped that Titus, wherever the man was, would understand.

He had Kenton take charge of the great, hairy beast to prepare it for the journey as he checked on his own horse and completed other small duties that centered around their departure. As he was crossing the inner ward on his way back to Isobeau’s chamber, he remembered about Norfolk’s injured knight, a man who was now his hostage. Taking a detour, he headed into the great hall, the last place he had seen the man. He wanted to see the knight and to make his position, and the position of the hostage, abundantly clear. That was simply good manners in the complex and ruthless world of knights.

The great hall of Wolfe’s Lair was a long, slender room that could easily house a hundred men at any given time. It had a sharply pitched roof and a great fire pit in the center of the hall, with small holes in the ceiling for the smoke to escape. The fire was burning low in the big pit and a haze of blue smoke hung up towards the ceiling, ribbons of smoke filtering out through the vents. The hall, usually so cold and dark, was fairly warm and well lit. As Atticus made his way deeper into the hall, he could see Norfolk’s knight positioned against the wall nearest to the pit.

The man was tucked back in the shadows a bit and as Atticus came upon him, he saw his father’s physic from Hawick and an older male servant tending the man. The knight noticed Atticus right away and their gazes met through the haze of smoke. Emotionlessly, Atticus was the first to speak.

“How do your injuries fare?” he asked as casually as one would ask about the weather.

Alrik du Reims was as emotionless as Atticus was. A big knight with black eyes and shoulder-length hair, he glanced at the physic as the man wrapped his left ankle tightly.

“The right leg is not as bad as the left,” he told him. “The right one was only partially severed but the left one has been badly cut. The physic is attempting to straighten out the tendon by stitching it together with catgut. He is not entirely sure I will ever be able to walk properly.”

Atticus felt absolutely no guilt even though he had been the one to inflict life-changing injuries upon the man. His gaze lingered on the physic as he man wrapped up the leg before his attention drifted to the room, the roof, the chamber in general.

“Since you cannot run off, I will have you moved to a more private and comfortable chamber,” he said. Then, his focus returned to du Reims. “You understand that you are my hostage, insurance against anything Norfolk may attempt.”

Du Reims nodded his head, resigned. “I understand,” he said. “But I can tell you that my presence at Wolfe’s Lair will not hold off Norfolk. We have our specific orders to gain your fealty or lay siege if you refuse. Summerlin will see these orders through.”

“Then you will die.”

“That is always a risk in this vocation.”

Atticus had to admit that he was mildly impressed with du Reims’ logical assessment of his situation. There was no fear there, no pleading, only acceptance. That respect opened the door for a measure of guilt at what he’d done to the man, or rather what he’d had to do to the man, but Atticus fought it off. There was no room for guilt in his profession.

Without responding or reacting, he turned away from du Reims and quit the hall, heading for Isobeau’s chamber to see if she was ready to travel as she said she would be. Thoughts of du Reims were pushed aside as he crossed the cold bailey, now illuminated with the soft strains of morning, as his mind began to turn towards thoughts of Isobeau.

It seemed as if his mind was always very quick to think of Isobeau, no matter what situation he was in. As he mounted the steps to the upper floor, he couldn’t help but think of his reaction to her when he touched her earlier. Her hand in his had been exhilarating beyond words, flames of passion and lust licking at him like he’d never experienced. Even to think on it now made his heart race and he was eager to see her again, to perhaps touch her hand again, or even more. Was it wrong that he wanted to kiss her, to taste this woman he had married? He was nearly to the top of the steps on the third level, wrapped up in thoughts of Isobeau, when Warenne suddenly appeared.

“Good Christ,” Atticus hissed, putting his hand over his heart as he fell back against the door jamb. “You startled me.”

Warenne smiled weakly. “That is not a statement you make often.”

Atticus shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. Gazing into Warenne’s drawn expression, he sobered. “I am sorry for what I had to do to Summerlin earlier, Ren. I know that he is your wife’s brother but the man all but threatened Wolfe’s Lair and I had to assert my dominance. I hope you understand that.”

Warenne waved him off. “Of course I understand,” he said. “But Shaun’s appearance meant much more to me than it did to you.”

Atticus nodded, seeing the distress in Warenne’s eyes. “I realize that,” he said. “What did he say to you, Ren? Is there anything I can do?”

Warenne shook his head. “You know that I am related to Norfolk, of course,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “He is a distant cousin on my father’s side. My wife’s family, the House of Summerlin, is sworn to him now. That was not the case only a year ago, but according to Shaun, it is the case now. He told me that my wife has left Thetford and returned to the home of her father to live under his roof.”

Concerned, Atticus put his hand on Warenne’s shoulder. “I am sorry to hear that, my friend,” he said sincerely. “What will you do?”

Warenne lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “I must return home immediately,” he said. “I… I have been thinking, Atticus. Mayhap I have not been a good husband, after all. I have spent my time fighting wars for Henry when mayhap the real war I should have been fighting is the one at home. I should have fought to keep my wife. If what Shaun said is true, and I have no reason to doubt him, then Madeleine is back with her father who is now a supporter of Edward. I am not entirely sure how to get her back.”

Atticus’ brow furrowed. “She is your wife,” he said firmly. “She must come back to you. It is her duty.”

Warenne smiled weakly. “You do not understand women, do you?” he asked. “Do you think it will make her happy to return to a husband who is at odds with her family? She will be miserable returning to me, knowing that I will be going to battle against her brother and father. I do not want my wife miserable, Atticus.”

Atticus could see where the conversation was heading. He had a horrifying suspicion of exactly what Warenne was driving at. “Then what?” he asked, torn between disgust and sorrow. “Do you swear fealty to Edward?”

Warenne sighed heavily. “It may be my only choice.”

Atticus dropped his hand from the man’s shoulder. “So you compromise your beliefs to make your wife happy?”

Warenne gave him a pointed look. “You have a wife now,” he said. “Ask yourself that same question when you become fond of the woman. Judge me not, my friend, for you will find the same answer that I have.”