Brides of the North

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Where will you be, my lord?”

  “In London.”

  De la Londe simply nodded, collecting a cup of wine and drinking some of the willow powder that the surgeon had left. He wondered if the powder would also take away the uncertain feeling he was having, as if suddenly realizing he was in far deeper than he had imagined he ever would be. Accepting de Mowbray’s bribe had seemed like a simple thing at the time until the conversation with de Wolfe had turned deadly. Truth was, de la Londe felt very badly about Titus. The man had been a friend and fair commander. But he had convinced himself that the rewards from de Mowbray had been worth the price of Titus’ life.

  Less and less, however, it was starting to seem that way. He was seriously coming to wonder if the entire situation and his treachery were about to catch up with him.

  Isobeau was vaguely aware of light in the room. She stirred a bit, realizing she was lying on her belly when her eyes flitted open and she could see the angle of her head. She could also see a pair of big legs near her bed, legs clad in worn leather breeches. It would have looked like any man’s legs except she recognized the boots with an “S” carved into the strap. With a groan, she lifted her head.

  “What are you doing here, Tertius?” she said, grumpy, putting her face in her hands in a miserable gesture.

  Tertius, seated next to his sister with one big boot up on the table and the other on the floor, looked up from the watered ale in his hand.

  “Is this the gracious thanks I receive for spending the entire night by your side to make sure you came to no harm?” he said, incensed. “You ungrateful, little cow. I will leave this very moment if you do not show me more gratitude.”

  Grunting, Isobeau rolled onto her side, struggling to acclimate herself. She began to look around strangely. “What on earth happened?” she asked, trying very hard to recall her last conscious thought. “I was in the hall and then I spoke with Sir Atticus out in the ward. And then… then….”

  Tertius knew what the “and then” was. Atticus had told him after the man had carried the unconscious Isobeau up from the vault and put her to bed. In fact, Atticus had remained with Isobeau until just before dawn when the man, exhausted beyond endurance, had finally gone to bed at Tertius’ insistence. Aye, Tertius knew what the “and then” was. He was rather hoping Isobeau would not remember.

  “It was a very strenuous day for you,” he said, taking his big boot off the table. “You were exhausted. Today will be a better day, I am sure.”

  Isobeau was still trying to recall what had happened when suddenly her eyes flew open wide and she slapped a hand over her mouth in a mortified gesture.

  “Titus!” she gasped. “Tertius, it was Titus! Sweet Jesus, he was green!”

  Tertius, regretful that she finally remembered, stood up and went to her as she burst into quiet tears. He patted her shoulder comfortingly.

  “I know,” he said softly. “I am sorry you had to see that. Atticus should not have allowed it.”

  Isobeau wiped her eyes. “He did not have a choice,” she sniffed. “I asked him to take me to Titus. Actually, I demanded he take me to him.”

  Tertius sighed heavily, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “Why would you do that?”

  She looked up at him, still wiping her eyes. “Because he is my husband and it is my right to see him,” she insisted. “I… I had to see him, Tertius. I had to know that he was truly gone.”

  Tertius understood, somewhat. “We all told you he was truly gone,” he said. “Did you not believe us?”

  Isobeau nodded, sniffling delicately, trying not to think of her green-tinged husband. “I did,” she said. “But I had to see for myself.”

  Tertius lifted his eyebrows and moved away from her, towards the table where there was food and drink. “And so you did,” he said. “But it would have been better to remember the man as he was and not his state the very last time you saw him. Sometimes you should not be so stubborn, Izzy.”

  Isobeau watched him as he brought her a hunk of bread; she waved it off, nauseous. “Did Atticus tell you that he intends to go after the men who killed Titus?” she asked.

  Tertius looked at her with a mixture of disapproval and distress. “How would you know that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did Atticus tell you the circumstances surrounding Titus’ death?”

  Isobeau nodded. “He did,” she said. “But he was not going to tell me. A wounded man in the hall spoke of it and I made Atticus tell me the truth. He is going to find de la Londe and de Troiu but he will not take me with him.”

  Tertius threw up his hands in relief. “Finally,” he hissed, “the man is showing some sense. Of course you should not go with him, Isobeau. He will not even let any of the knights go with him, me included. I asked to go on behalf of you but he would not allow it.”

  Isobeau frowned. “He acts as if he is the only one with a measure of vengeance to be had,” she said. “He acts as if I have no say in this at all.”

  “You don’t,” Tertius said sternly. “Let de Wolfe do what he is bound to do. You cannot stop him and he will not let any of us go with him, so there is nothing we can do about it. But trust me when I say that de la Londe and de Troiu will be found and they will be punished. Atticus de Wolfe will make sure of it.”

  Isobeau’s gaze lingered on her brother a moment longer before looking away, rubbing her belly gingerly. She wasn’t feeling very well at the moment.

  “Mayhap you and I should go alone,” she muttered. “If Atticus will not let us accompany him, then mayhap we should simply go alone. You can find these men and you can kill them.”

  Tertius glanced at her. “I will not take you, either,” he said. “De Wolfe told me that you are with child. Do you really think I would drag my pregnant sister all over England? You are mad, Isobeau. Atticus is leaving today to return Titus to Wolfe’s Lair and you will go with him. Then, you will remain at Wolfe’s Lair whilst he does what needs to be done.”

  Isobeau looked at him with some guilt in her expression. “I am sorry I did not tell you about the baby sooner,” she said, shrugging. “There has not been the opportunity.”

  He waved her off, as if it was of no consequence. “Have you sent word to Papa yet?”

  Isobeau shook her head. “I have not.”

  “He will be eager to know.”

  She pursed her lips irritably. “He will want me to name my son after the de Shera tradition of Roman names for the males,” she said. “I will not do it.”

  “Titus is a Roman name. Name him after his father.”

  She faltered, fighting off a grin. “That is the only reason Papa allowed me to marry Titus,” she snorted. “He bore a Roman name.”

  Tertius grinned. “I fear you will not have a choice in naming your son.”

  She conceded the point. “Then I shall name him something grand like Julius Caesar de Wolfe.”

  Tertius burst out laughing. “Where did you hear of that?”

  She watched her brother laugh. “From Papa, of course,” she said. “You know how he felt it necessary for us to know of our ancient Roman heritage.”

  Tertius continued to snort although he was relieved that his sister seemed to be feeling better. The color was coming back to her cheeks. But now he was feeling rather exhausted, having sat up watching over her all night. Now that the sun was rising over the misty morning, he was seriously thinking on seeking his bed.

  “I am sure when the time comes that you will honor both our heritage and your husband’s,” he said. “For now, I do believe I will try to get some sleep. I’ve been up all night watching over you and am starting to feel my exhaustion. Will you be all right for a time?”

  Isobeau nodded. “I will.”

  Tertius pointed to the big wardrobe in the corner. “Since Atticus is leaving today to return Titus home, you should pack,” he said. “I will have your capcases brought out of storage and I will send some servants to help you. Is there anything else you need?”


  Isobeau shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “Aren’t you going with us?”

  Tertius rubbed his weary eyes. “Nay,” he said. “I must remain here, especially with Northumberland so weakened. Let things settle here a bit and I will come to you at Wolfe’s Lair when I can.”

  Isobeau understood. Her gaze lingered on Tertius for a moment, her big and tall brother with the shaggy head of light brown hair. She loved him dearly and a separation from him was not particularly appealing. She would miss him.

  “Thank you for being a good brother,” she said softly. “I am sorry you had to sit up all night with me.”

  Tertius was already heading for the door. “It was not just me,” he said. “Atticus was here until just before dawn. In fact, he seemed rather concerned about you. That is how I found out about the child, you know. He thought you may have hurt yourself and the child when you fainted. You feel well enough, don’t you?”

  Isobeau stood up, rubbing her belly. “I feel fine,” she said. “Tired mayhap. And a bit hungry, although I cannot decide if I actually feel hungry or nauseous. Sir Atticus really stayed here all night?”

  “He did.”

  Isobeau’s thoughts lingered on Atticus as Tertius bid her a farewell and left the chamber. When the door shut softly behind him, Isobeau continued to think on Atticus de Wolfe. Her conversation with the man from the previous evening had been rather pleasant and she hoped they were past the nastiness that had plagued their exchange when he’d come to tell her of Titus’ death. She truly didn’t want to be at odds with the man, especially when she had an ulterior motive in mind. Perhaps it was time to ply him with honey in an attempt to wheedle her way into his quest to find the men who had killed Titus. Certainly, butting heads with him would not work. He was, perhaps, even more stubborn than she was.

  You should know that I will ask you tomorrow if I can go with you.

  It was tomorrow, after all.

  Nothing had changed. She wasn’t going to let him go without her. For Titus’ sake, she was determined to have satisfaction, too.

  “I heard you were departing today, Atticus,” Warenne said as he entered the hall where Atticus was sitting at the scrubbed feasting table, enjoying cold beef and cheese to break his night’s fast. “I saw the men bring Titus’ body up from the vault and put it on a wagon.”

  Atticus, worse for wear after having only managed to get a couple of hours of very heavy sleep, drank deeply of his boiled fruit juice. He wouldn’t drink watered wine or ale in the morning because it made him sleepy.

  “Aye,” he replied, grumpily. “It is at least a four day ride to Wolfe’s Lair in this weather.”

  Warenne sat down next to him and confiscated the half-loaf of bread from Atticus, tearing it apart and using a knife to slather white butter on it.

  “Fortunately, the weather is clear for the moment,” he said. “But the snow on the ground will prove to be difficult. Hopefully, the skies will hold until you reach the Lair.”

  Atticus nodded, shoving beef in his mouth. “Hopefully.”

  Warenne eyed Atticus as he ate his bread. “And Lady de Wolfe?” he asked. “How does she fare this morning?”

  Atticus shrugged. “She was sleeping last I saw her,” he said. “Unfortunately, I am going to have to wake the woman. I want to leave within the hour. When are you leaving, Ren? Surely you do not plan to stay at Alnwick too much longer.”

  Warenne shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “We are leaving as well. My army will head south, back to Thetford, while I will go with you to Wolfe’s Lair.”

  Atticus looked at him sharply. “Why are you coming with me?”

  Warenne swallowed the bite in his mouth. “Because you have need of me,” he said quietly. “I will be truthful with you, Atticus. I do not intend to let you go after de la Londe and de Troiu alone. The two of them managed to kill Titus and he was no slouch of a knight. My fear is that they will use the same tactic they used against your brother on you, and I could not stomach that. So Kenton and I will be going with you whether or not you like it.”

  Atticus stared at the man. “You insult my abilities as a knight by assuming I cannot handle two armed men on my own.”

  Warenne shook his head firmly. “It is not slander and well you know it,” he said. “Think on it this way, Atticus; if I were bent on revenge by going after two heavily armed men who had already killed a very capable knight, would you let me go alone?”

  Atticus frowned. He didn’t answer right away as he looked back to his meal. “Probably not,” he grumbled. “But you are different. You are a soft and pampered earl and you cannot do something like that on your own. You would call upon a seasoned warrior like me to do it for you.”

  Warenne fought off a grin. “So now you insult me by calling me soft and pampered?”

  Atticus couldn’t hold a straight face. “Well, you are.”

  “Would you care to go outside with me so I can show you just how soft and pampered I am?”

  Atticus snorted. “Nay,” he said flatly, “because you would cheat and order your knights to fight me in your stead. Although I am confident I can best them, I have no desire to go up against Conor de Birmingham, Gerik le Mon, or Ackerley Forbes. You have a trio of powerful de Winter knights at your disposal. I am no fool; Forbes alone would try to cut me off at the knees.”

  “Then you admit you need help against more than one armed knight.”

  “I admit nothing.”

  “That is a true tragedy because you are going to have my help whether or not you want it. If you do not permit Kenton and me to ride with you, we will simply follow you at a distance, so you may as well accept our presence whether or not you want it.”

  Atticus was genuinely annoyed at the man. “Kenton must remain in command of Northumberland,” he said. “He is needed here.”

  “You have Tertius to command Northumberland. He is competent.”

  “Aye, he is, but Kenton technically outranks him. And I command le Bec, not you.”

  “That is true, but in matters of rank, I outrank you and I have ordered Kenton to go to Wolfe’s Lair.”

  Atticus sighed heavily and shoved the remainder of his beef into his mouth. What Warenne said was true and Atticus could see that his argument was at an end. There was nothing more he could say and his frustration was evident. “If you were not an earl, and a de Winter, I might tell you what I really think of you,” he muttered.

  Warenne was thrilled that Atticus wasn’t fighting him on the matter any longer, or worse, actually fighting him off with weapons. He knew Atticus well and knew the man wasn’t beyond brandishing a weapon when provoked. Warenne wasn’t afraid to push the man, mostly because of his entitlement – he knew Atticus would respect that above all else.

  Still, he felt very strongly that he needed to accompany Atticus on his quest for revenge and he’d pulled Kenton le Bec in on his plans. As good as Atticus was, and he was among the best, Kenton was possibly even better in combat by sheer strength and size alone. He was a monster with a sword and that was what Warenne wanted for Atticus should the need arise. The men who had murdered Titus were certainly not to be underestimated.

  “You may tell me someday what you think of me when all of this is through,” Warenne said. “But if you insult me too badly, I may have to punish you.”

  Atticus gave him a half-grin as he drained what was left in his cup. “With the mighty Lespada?”

  “My heirloom sword has killed more men than you have.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt. But it is very old and I do not think you should be using it in battle. I have told you that before. It should be put in a place of honor and retired.”

  “Lespada is the sword of my forefathers. I carry it and no other.”

  Atticus chuckled, thinking on the very old but beautifully crafted sword that was carried by every first born male in the de Winter family. Lespada was a legend all throughout England, in fact, and it had belonged to Warenne since nine years of age when his father
had died. He’d hardly been without it.

  “I appreciate the tradition, of course,” Atticus said. “But when I punish de la Londe and de Troiu, it will be with my brother’s weapon and not yours. From now on, I carry Titus’ sword and no other. That way, my brother is still with me. When I punish those two traitors, it will be with Titus’ blade.”

  Warenne sobered somewhat. “That is fitting,” he said. “You honor Titus in your actions; killing his murderers with Titus’ sword. Marrying Titus’ wife. When is the wedding, by the way?”

  Atticus’ frustration returned and he rolled his eyes, standing up from the table. “After I bury my brother,” he said. “Can I not even put the man in the ground first before I claim his widow?”

  Warenne stood up with him. “Of course you can,” he said. “But remember what I said. Marry her quickly. The more you delay, the more the possibility that you will never wed the woman, and that is not what Titus would want. Atticus, you must understand that I only have your best interests at heart. It is as I have said before – if you do not marry his widow as you promised, you will forever lament the fact that you did not fulfill your brother’s dying request. You would not be able to live with yourself. So you must marry her very soon. I am going to make sure that you do.”

  Atticus knew that. He knew that Warenne was only trying to be a good friend. He scratched his neck. “You should know that Lady de Wolfe and I have had a pleasant conversation last night before she took ill. You told me that I should see something in her that my brother loved.”

  Warenne was encouraged. “And?”

  Atticus shrugged. “And… and I might have seen a glimpse of it. It is possible.”

  Warenne simply grinned. “That is good to know, Atticus. Mayhap there is hope, after all.”

  Atticus didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t know what to say to that. He was embarrassed to have admitted as much as he had. But he knew his secret was safe with Warenne.