Brides of the North

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  The world is a cruel and darkly realm,

  but yer hearth will remain yer stead.

  —(possibly by) Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.

  Isobeau had never seen anything like it in her life.

  After hearing the servants fearfully whispering about an envoy from Norfolk at the gates of Wolfe’s Lair, she had wrapped herself up in a heavy, woolen cloak and followed the trail of whispers, nervous servants, and uneasy soldiers to the wall walk of the fortress. She had seen the crowd of men gathered up near the gatehouse and she had seen Atticus and Kenton as they left the compound and went outside the great gates.

  It seemed odd, everyone watching what was going on outside of the walls by the gatehouse. Inherently curious, Isobeau mounted the stairs to the wall and had moved among the soldiers for a view of what was happening. Strangely enough, no one questioned her or tried to stop her; they simply moved aside when she came near. That aversion afforded her a very clear view of Atticus’ battle with the enemy knights.

  At first, she had been terrified but the more she watched, the more fascinated she became. It had truly been a sight to behold. At first, Atticus seemed to only be speaking with the six men who had ridden to the gates of Wolfe’s Lair but that all changed in a fraction of a second. Where there had once been six men, a hail of arrows left only two, and Atticus has completed a skilled and cunning move to disable one of the remaining knights so that there was only a single healthy man to face him. But that man, too, quickly succumbed to The Lion’s talent as a knight. As Isobeau had watched with shock and awe, Atticus had effectively subdued the second knight so that the man was at his feet, begging for mercy. At least, that was what it looked like.

  Isobeau had never seen anything like it.

  It had been a terrible and tense situation but in the end, the remaining knight had been sent away while his companion, injured, had been carried into Wolfe’s Lair. After that, the show was over and the men on the wall seemed to disburse as Isobeau made her way down the slippery stone steps to the inner ward of the fortress. De Wolfe soldiers were carrying the injured knight into the great hall whilst Atticus, now with Solomon clinging to him, entered the enclosure. The great gates closed, creaking and groaning, behind them.

  Isobeau watched the very big, very silent knight, Kenton, move off towards the stables whilst Atticus and Solomon seemed involved in deep and quiet conversation. Solomon kept shaking his head, putting his hands on Atticus’ face, seemingly very distressed over what had occurred.

  In silence, Isobeau watched the two men, feeling like an outsider and wondering what had happened. Thinking perhaps that she should return to her chamber, as she was feeling quite cold and still somewhat weak from the events of the previous day, she turned back for the stairs that led to her chamber when she heard Atticus’ voice call to her.

  “My lady?” he said. “Isobeau?”

  Isobeau came to an abrupt stop, whirling around to see Atticus heading towards her. His expression was warm in spite of his nose being red, pinched by the cold, and he reached out to gently take her elbow as he came up on her.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “The last I saw, you were warm and cozy in your chamber.”

  She gazed up into his handsome face, thinking it rather surprising that a man she had seen easily disable two heavily armed knights not moments before was now here by her side, appearing completely unflustered and calm. As if he hadn’t been in a fight for his life mere minutes before. Cool, collected… it was a testament to The Lion’s faith in his talents. Above all else, he would survive no matter what.

  “You left so abruptly I thought that something might be amiss,” she said after a moment. “When I heard the servants whispering about a Norfolk escort, I had to come and see what was happening.”

  His warm expression faded somewhat. “What did you see?”

  She shrugged. “Enough, I suppose,” she said. “I saw you fight those two knights. Why did you do that? Were they truly from Norfolk?”

  He sobered, glancing over his shoulder at his father, who was being escorted into the great hall by a few servants who had learned to take care of the man. Solomon was fortunate in that he had a small army of servants who would tend his every need and that was why neither Atticus nor Titus every truly worried about the man. His servants of the body were very loyal. With his father taken care of, Atticus was able to focus on Isobeau and he grasped her elbow, leading her back in the direction of her chamber.

  “Come along,” he said quietly. “Let us break our fast and I will tell you all.”

  Isobeau gathered her skirt so it wouldn’t drag over the muddy, frozen ground as she permitted Atticus to escort her. “Should I not have come?” she asked him, sensing his morose mood. “I did not mean to do anything wrong if you did not want me to leave my chamber.”

  He shook his head, carefully leading her up the old, stone stairs. “You did not do anything wrong,” he said. “And those men were, indeed, from de Mowbray. It would seem that the man is attempting yet again to gain the loyalty of the House of de Wolfe, at the very least. At the very most, he wants all of Northumberland’s knights.”

  Isobeau was listening with interest. “Why would you say that?”

  They reached the second level and began taking the steps to the third. “Because I have learned that the men who betrayed and murdered my brother have gone to Wellesbourne Castle in an attempt to coerce Adam Wellesbourne’s father into swearing fealty to Edward,” he said. “These are very complex times, my lady, made worse by Norfolk’s subversion. He does not seem to be willing to take a straight denial in exchange for the question of loyalty to Edward. Now, he is going to work on the families of the knights in order to elicit an oath for Edward.”

  Complexity was an understatement; even Isobeau sensed that. There was far more to Norfolk’s dealings than met the eye but she understood clearly from Atticus’ statement that de la Londe and de Troiu were now said to be at Wellesbourne Castle. The men who had killed and betrayed Titus had evidently been sighted or tracked. At least now they had a location or some clue as to their whereabouts. She felt some excitement and relief at that.

  “Then we are going to Wellesbourne Castle to confront those who betrayed Titus?” she asked.

  Atticus nodded as they reached the top of the steps and headed into the corridor that led to the sleeping chambers. “We are, indeed,” he said. “I have Kenton pulling together our supplies and mounts. We will leave as soon as you are ready.”

  Isobeau thought quickly on packing what she needed, struggling to ignore the massive chill throughout her body. She just couldn’t seem to get warm this morning and the thought of riding out into the icy weather was not particularly appealing to her, but she would not beg off. She was determined to see her task through of seeing the men who killed Titus punished, just as Atticus was.

  “I can be ready very soon,” she assured him. “I will pack a small satchel. Will that be too much to take?”

  They reached her chamber door and Atticus opened it. “If it can fit on your saddle, it is not too much,” he told her. “We will travel swiftly and lightly, so keep that in mind when packing.”

  She unfastened the heavy, woolen cloak, laying it upon the table. “Will I be able to ride my mare or would you prefer for me to ride something more hearty?”

  Atticus shrugged. “The mare seems strong enough.”

  “She is, but I have never taken her on a long journey. I do not know how she will react.”

  Atticus’ gaze lingered on her a moment. “I am more concerned with how you will react,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you feel up to this?”

  Truth be told, Isobeau wasn’t. She was very cold and feeling oddly weak. She knew it was because of what happened yesterday and she also knew that she more than likely should not be up and moving around. She should be in bed because her body needed rest. But she didn’t want Atticus to go without her and she didn’t want to delay him if she couldn’t travel, so
she did what she had to do. She lied.

  “I feel well enough,” she told him. “I will pack right away and we can leave.”

  Atticus didn’t question her even though she seemed somewhat pale to him. She simply didn’t look well. But he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he went to the table where her cloak lay, to the food that the servants had brought. He sat heavily and began pulling at a warm loaf of crusty bread, cooling quickly in the chill temperatures.

  “Did you eat anything?” he asked.

  Isobeau already had a satchel out and was selecting things to pack. She looked at him as he stuffed bread into his mouth.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I will after I have packed for our journey.”

  “I will make sure that you do.”

  She turned back to her packing. “How far is it to Wellesbourne Castle?”

  Mouth full, Atticus poured himself some watered wine. “It will take us a couple of weeks at the very least to reach it,” he told her. “It is much further south.”

  “Near Coventry?”

  He nodded. “It is very near Coventry.”

  Isobeau paused, hope on her face. “Do you think it would be too much to stop at Isenhall Castle and visit my father?”

  Atticus shrugged. “That can more than likely be arranged if you wish it,” he said. “But my business at Wellesbourne will come first.”

  “I understand.”

  They fell into silence after that, although it was not uncomfortable. Isobeau was packing and Atticus was eating. But eventually Isobeau’s movements slowed as she thought of the men she had seen Atticus battle so effortlessly. She couldn’t seem to push the event out of her mind. It had been both a horrifying and thrilling spectacle, something she had never before witnessed.

  “Those men you fought,” she said, grasping for words and wondering if she should say anything at all. “You did not have any armor on. Were you not concerned that they might injure you?”

  He looked up from his bread and cheese. “Were you?”

  She shrugged because she truly didn’t know what to say to that. “I do not know,” she said honestly. “I suppose that I was frightened at first. I realize we have been married less than a day but I do not believe I am strong enough to bury another husband at the moment.”

  Atticus swallowed the bite in his mouth, wondering if he was reading too much into her words. Did she say such a thing because she knew she could care for him? Or perhaps she already did? He was absolutely terrified to say anything emotional to her, fearful that she would reject any sentiment. Their marriage was a business arrangement, after all. He was certain she saw it as nothing more than a duty.

  “You will not have to,” he said, taking a sip of his wine because he wanted to say much more than that. Putting something in his mouth was a way of preventing anything embarrassing from coming out. “In the cold, and in armor, they were not as agile as I was. I knew I could best them both but I had to move first and move quickly. There was really nothing more to it than that.”

  Isobeau turned to look at him; really look at him. Seated at the table in his woolen tunic, with the weak sunlight coming in through the window behind him, he had a rather ethereal look. Her heart began to beat faster as her gaze lingered on him, the odd weakness plaguing her body growing worse and better at the same time. There was a certain giddiness to it, something that seemed to be caused by Atticus. He was an exquisitely handsome man. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him so.

  “It was very brave,” she finally said, taking her eyes off him because she had to. Her heart was beating so strongly against her ribs that she could hardly catch her breath. “But you sent one of them away while the other you brought inside. Why did you do that?”

  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.