Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “So the tides are now turned against us,” Kenton said quietly. “We are now enemies to the new king and you know that Edward is going to demand the surrender of Alnwick. Northumberland led those armies at Towton and the Percys secure the north. Edward is going to make sure we are neutralized.”

  Atticus knew that. His thoughts shifted from those of Titus as he considered the immediate future for Alnwick and her inhabitants. That weight of command he had felt moments earlier was now heavier than before.

  “I know,” he said. “But he will not come tomorrow, or even next month. It is my sense that Edward will wait until he settles in to London and establishes his court before he makes any demands of surrender to any of us. He does not have the manpower to retaliate so soon, so for the time being, we are safe.”

  “Then why bottle up Alnwick?” Adam Wellesbourne wanted to know. Adam was more a follower than a leader, but he was a skilled knight and fearless in a fight. “Our gates are closed and we have double guards upon the walls. Why all of the protection if Edward will wait to move against us?”

  Atticus glanced at him. “Because there is no guarantee that Edward will not move against us in some way,” he said. “He has men in York and in Richmond that he could send to us and there is always the threat of Norfolk since he is nearby. With that in mind, I will send word to Scotland to see if we can solicit reinforcements from the Scots. Henry’s wife, Margaret, is allied with the Scots so there is the possibility. But I will be truthful when I say that we will make no sudden movements, in any case. We will bottle ourselves up and wait. That is the most prudent stance we can take.”

  “Where is Henry?” Adam asked quietly.

  Atticus shrugged, looking at Warenne, who addressed the group when all attention shifted to him. “We believe he will flee to Scotland if he hasn’t already,” he said. “His allies are there. What happened at Towton turned Henry into a fugitive in his own country. Our lives, our very livelihoods, will change from this moment on, my good lords. We are now the enemy.”

  He hadn’t said anything they didn’t already know; they nodded in resignation, sighed wearily, shifted around on their legs, and leaned against walls. The men were restless and weary; Atticus was well aware. They were nervous, too, nervous of what was to come. For the moment, however, the situation was quiet and he intended it should remain that way. He was preparing to dismiss the knights so they could seek much-needed rest when Warenne spoke quietly, interrupting him.

  “What of the new earl, Atticus?” he wanted to know. “Young Henry Percy may have other plans for his army. Mayhap you should consult with him before making any decisions.”

  Atticus sighed heavily. “He is a twelve-year-old boy,” he said, embittered that he now had to answer to a child he didn’t much like. Young Henry Percy, the new Earl of Northumberland, was a spoiled and petty lad as far as Atticus was concerned. “He has no idea what to do in a situation such as this so we will do it for him. He has enough worry now with assuming the mantle of his father. I will counsel him and his mother and make sure they understand the necessity to sit tight and wait. We must not make any rash moves.”

  “And then what will you do, Atticus?” Alec le Bec interjected, his young face lined with fatigue and concern. “We know what de Troiu and de la Londe did to Titus. Surely you do not intend to stay here, bottled up in Alnwick, whilst de Troiu and de le Londe remain free and unpunished for what they have done. What will you do now?”

  It was a swift change in subject but a question Atticus had been expecting, one he suspected they all wanted to ask him. He was surprised it took them this long. The conversation preceding the question had only been polite chatter. The real reason the knights were all here was to find out what Atticus intended to do about his brother’s murderers. He glanced up, looking at the serious faces around him, and he knew that he was going to have a fight on his hands when he declared his intention to seek justice for Titus alone. He could see that they all expected to have a piece of that vengeance.

  “I will take my brother home for burial,” he said quietly, looking to Titus’ oddly-colored face, “and then I shall track down de Troiu and de la Londe and punish them for this unforgiveable act of treason. I will make them pay with every bone in their body for what they did to my brother, I swear it.”

  A few feet away from him, Kenton cleared his throat softly. “Titus was our commander as well as our friend, Atticus,” he said quietly. “I know that we cannot all go with you but if you would choose one or two of us to accompany you, we would all like to eagerly volunteer to go.”

  Atticus shook his head, looking up at his men. “I know that,” he said. “I will be honest and tell you that I knew this question was coming and I am prepared for it. I would have never believed de Troiu and de la Londe capable of turning against us but they have. That betrayal alone is an affront to us all, but such things happen in time of war. Men fall victim to greed or fear, or both, and behave in a manner that is out of character for them. I care not what their reasons were; all I care about is the fact that they tried to turn Titus as well and when he refused, they killed him for it. That, my friends, is an affront to me and the entire de Wolfe lineage. I cannot let it go unanswered and I know you understand that. However, this is something I must do alone. I cannot take all of Northumberland’s knights with me on my quest for vengeance. With the earl gone, you are needed here, now more than ever, but this is something I must do. I will return when I can but until that time, Kenton and Tertius will be in command.”

  Kenton grunted in displeasure, shaking his head and averting his gaze but having the good sense not to dispute Atticus. The truth was that he understood. The younger knights, however, weren’t so restrained. As Adam and Alec grumbled unhappily, silenced by Maxim, Tertius spoke.

  “Although I am honored that you would leave me in command, Atticus, Kenton can do it without me,” he said. “Titus was my sister’s husband. He was my brother, the only brother I have known. I have a stake in this as well and for my sister’s sake, I must accompany you.”

  Atticus looked at Tertius, seeing utter stubbornness in the man’s expression. But he didn’t like the fact that Tertius was trying to claim some of his vengeance. He shook his head.

  “You will stay with your sister whilst I accomplish my task,” he said. “If something happens to you, then Lady de Wolfe will not only have lost her husband but her brother as well. I am certain she would not take it well.”

  Tertius cocked an eyebrow. “And if something happens to you, she will have lost another husband,” he countered. “Did you not promise Titus that you would marry her? I do not think she would take well to losing a second husband, either.”

  Atticus’ features tightened with anger. He could see that Tertius was trying to manipulate him and he didn’t like it one bit. Tertius was his friend but he was also quite envious of Atticus, as if there were some rivalry there. Usually it didn’t bother Atticus but at this moment, it bothered him a great deal.

  “Marriage to your sister is incidental to my quest for justice for my brother,” he said. “It is true that I promised Titus I would marry her, but that has no bearing on anything. No offense to your sister, Tertius, but I am only marrying her because my brother asked it of me and for no other reason than that. I will leave it to you to take care of her whilst I am away.”

  Tertius frowned. “She is your wife,” he said. “I will not nursemaid her. If you are going after de la Londe and de Troiu, then I am going with you.”

  “You are staying here.”

  Warenne, seeing that the two knights were on the verge of a battle, quickly stood up and put himself between Atticus and Tertius. He wanted to break their focus on one another for he was positive that Atticus, in his emotional state, would not hesitate to lash out at Tertius. They’d seen enough blood already over the past few days.

  “Gentle knights,” Warenne said pleasantly, trying to stave off the downward spiral of emotion. “Nothing is going to happen this night, so
I would suggest we all retire to rest and eat. We can resume this conversation in the morning if you wish, but Tertius, I will say this – if Atticus does not want you to accompany him, then you will not. This is his fight, not yours. That goes for all of you; if Atticus does not want your company in his quest for justice for Titus, then you will obey his wishes. Is that understood?”

  The Northumberland knights weren’t particularly happy about that order, especially Tertius. In fact, the man turned and left the vault without another word. It was clear how displeased he was, upset that he wasn’t allowed to share in the vengeance and perhaps in doing so, share in some of the victory. Tertius could be selfish that way. Warenne watched him go before turning his focus to the others around him. He especially looked at Kenton.

  “Take the men out of here, le Bec,” he told him quietly. “Make sure they are fed and rested. You will eat and rest also. I will not require you until morning.”

  Kenton nodded, acknowledging the order, before herding the younger knights from the vault. As they clamored up the slippery stairs, with Wellesbourne slipping yet again, Warenne waited until they had left and all was silent before finally turning to Atticus.

  The man was still sitting by his brother, staring at his brother’s sunken features. Warenne suspected that he needed to take charge with Atticus or the man would spend all of his time down in the vault, staring at Titus until the man’s flesh rotted away and his bones turned to dust. It was very clear that Atticus could not or would not separate himself from his brother, at least not at the moment. It was a sad realization, sadder still to know that Atticus de Wolfe was so grief stricken over his brother. Warenne went to Atticus and put a hand on his broad shoulder.

  “Now,” he said softly, “your men are taken care of. There is nothing you need worry over until morning. For right now, you have tasks you need to accomplish, not the least of which is marrying your brother’s widow. From our earlier conversation, I am assuming your relationship with the woman is marginally adversarial so it is my suggestion – nay, my request – that you make amends with her. You said before that you had no idea why your brother had fallen in love with such a petulant woman. Do you trust your brother’s judgment, Atticus?”

  Atticus nodded, glancing up at Warenne. “I do,” he said. “Of course I do.”

  Warenne smiled weakly at the man. “Then assume he found something in her to love,” he said. “Mayhap you could find the same thing. If at least not to love, then mayhap to like. In any case, you must make the attempt. This marriage will be what you make out of it and if you are to be linked to the woman for the rest of your life, then mayhap you should start by coming to know what Titus liked so well about her. Fair enough?”

  He made a good deal of sense whether or not Atticus wanted to admit it. His gaze returned to Titus’ features and, remembering how the man had been driven to tears when thinking on the wife he would leave behind, all of Atticus’ resistance started to drain away. Perhaps Warenne was correct; if Titus found something to love in the woman, then perhaps there was something there, after all, beyond the stubborn petulance. Atticus was obligated to find out.

  “Fair enough,” he finally grunted, stiffly standing up from his seat next to Titus. “I am still not entirely happy about this.”

  Warenne laughed softly, directing him towards the vault stairs. “I know,” he said. “But you know this would make Titus happy and I know you want to please your brother, so make every effort to establish a rapport with Lady de Wolfe. And stop being so bloody stubborn about it.”

  Atticus made a face at him as they hit the stairs but refrained from commenting. He’d already said all he had to say about the subject. As they ascended the steps up to the ground level of Alnwick, the colors of sunset and a few angry, black clouds greeted them, the promise of nasty weather moving in from the east. The great hall, with its glowing lancet windows, beckoned in the distance, looking somewhat inviting even though Atticus knew that was where the wounded were being cared for. That vast and great hall was surely anything but inviting at the moment. He thought perhaps to check on his men before heading into the keep once more to see to Lady de Wolfe.

  The thought of encountering the woman again didn’t please him but, as de Winter had said, perhaps he needed to try to come to know the side of her that Titus had fallen in love with. There had to be something there. Perhaps then he wouldn’t be so resistant to the marriage. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter.

  With thoughts of the beautiful harpy of a woman on his mind, he headed towards the great hall.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to Leave No More

  A bird sang sweetly to me, on a morning bright with rain:

  Said the bird so sweetly to me, lovers know no pain.

  My heart, my joy, is bound to you, like a hero from ancient lore:

  My heart, my joy, dream of the day when you will return to leave no more.

  —Iseobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.

  The man was dying.

  Isobeau knew this because the surgeon told her so, but it still didn’t prepare her for the actual experience. He was a young soldier and had only been in the service of Northumberland for a few months, following in the footsteps of his father and uncle. He was so very young, barely seventeen years of age, but one of the Yorkist arrows had pierced his torso, tore through his gut, and emerged on the other side. But the young man was strong; he had lived longer than he should have. At the moment, he had a raging fever and his innards were filled with poison. It was only a matter of time.

  There was nothing to do for the young man, a lad barely having reached maturity, so she sat next to him and held his hand as he spoke of the mother he loved and the little sisters he missed. They lived in town but because of the fighting that had gone on lately, his father had sent them into the country with relatives. The young man didn’t know where and his father, whom he had served with at Towton, had been killed. Therefore, all he could do was remember his mother and sisters, and tell Isobeau a story about a pet goat that didn’t much like him and used to chase him around the yard.

  Isobeau had never been exposed to anything like this. She had lived a happy and protected life at Isenhall, so the realities of battle were quite shocking. It was baptism by fire in the worst possible sense, dealing with death on a nasty and brutal level. The great hall was filled with the dying and the wounded, and the smell alone was enough to shake her already weak constitution. It smelled like rotting limbs and old, congealed blood.

  The surgeon, the very same man who had tended Titus in his last hours, was exhausted and harried. He’d been working for almost a week straight with little sleep, ever since the battle, but he was still determined to help all of the men he could. Watching him in action bolstered Isobeau’s courage; she admired the old man for his perseverance and it helped her to persevere as well.

  Something that bolstered her even more was to see Lady Percy in the hall attending the men. The woman had just lost her husband as well, yet she had put her stark grief aside, knowing it was her duty to help the wounded. Their eyes met, once, across the smoky room and Lady Percy forced a tremulous smile at Isobeau, who smiled in return. But Lady Percy quickly returned to an older man who had lost a limb, a man who was crying out in pain. Isobeau admired Lady Percy greatly as she ignored her own anguish to help others. Isobeau vowed, to the best of her ability, to do the same. But surrounded by the wounded and dying as she was, it took a great deal to bolster her courage and not run screaming from the room.

  “M… m’lady?” the young man spoke softly to her.

  Distracted from her thoughts, Isobeau smiled down at him. “Aye, Gilles?” she replied. “Is there something I can get for you? Water, mayhap?”

  The young man shook his head. “Nay, m’lady,” he said, hesitantly, because it was difficult to speak. “I was hoping… my sisters and mother cannot read, m’lady, but I was hoping you could tell them that my last thoughts were of them. Tel
l them that my father died bravely and that I died bravely, too. I think it will make them feel better to know that.”

  Isobeau gazed down into his pale, stubbled face and realized she was fighting off tears. It was so very tragic to see the young man before her cut down before he had ever truly begun to live. She squeezed his hand and nodded. “Of course I will,” she assured him gently. “What are their names? I must find them and give them the news.”

  “Hartha,” the young man said. “My mother his Hartha. My sisters are Joi and Desmelda.”

  “Hartha, Joi, and Desmelda,” Isobeau repeated. “I will not forget.”

  “Swear it?”

  “Of course I do. I never forget a name, so I shall remember their names and find them all. I will even give them some coins to help them. Would that please you?”

  The young man smiled gratefully. “Indeed, m’lady,” he said, haltingly. His smile faded. “It… is difficult to speak, m’lady. I… would rest now. Just for a while.”

  Isobeau could sense that the young man’s life was draining away. He was much weaker than he had been only minutes earlier. Saddened, she squeezed his hand once more. “Please rest,” she told him softly. “Conserve your strength. If you like, I can sing to you. Would that make you feel better?”

  The young man could only smile at this point and he did, faintly, and Isobeau took it for permission to sing. She thought quickly on a song, any song that might distract him from his pain. Settling on one she had written for Titus’ return because it was the only one she could recall quickly, she sang softly, for his ears only.

  “A bird sang sweetly to me, on a morning bright with rain;

  Said the bird, so sweetly to me, lovers know no pain.