Isobeau was quite clearly seized with fear for Atticus. She put her fingers over her lips in a gesture of great concern. “Sweet Jesus,” she muttered. “He must take great care.”
Warenne was trying not to smile at her reaction to Atticus being in danger because it was plainly obvious that she cared a great deal about it. She cared a great deal about him.
“I have tried to tell him but he will not listen to me,” Warenne said, completely manipulating her emotions. “Mayhap… mayhap if you tell him, my lady, he will listen.”
Isobeau seemed to back down somewhat. “He… he does not wish to hear it from me, I am sure,” she said, averting her gaze and moving over to the table that held her sewing kit. “We said quite enough to each other on the day du Reims was murdered. I am sure he does not wish to speak with me, but I thank you for coming to tell me of the situation. I will pray for everyone’s good health.”
Warenne would not be deterred. “We say many things in fear or anger that we do not mean,” he said, eyeing her. “I am sure that when you told him to go away and leave you that you did not mean it.”
She looked at him, then. “Did he tell you I said that?”
Warenne nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “That is why he did not come to see you himself. He is certain you never want to see him again.”
Isobeau’s gaze lingered on the man a moment before turning away, confusion and longing evident on her face. “I… I meant it at the time,” she said, unsure of what to say. “But… my lord, I simply do not understand why Atticus had to kill the knight. I am positive the man was not going to harm me. But Atticus killed another woman’s husband and after what happened with Titus… I am not sure I can forgive him for that. Already I feel that woman’s grief and it eats at me. I know how she feels. I wish Atticus had not killed the man.”
Warenne was careful in his reply but he was also honest. He prayed that Atticus would forgive him for what he was about to say. “Do you know what Atticus told me about it?” he said softly, watching her turn to him with interest. “He said that when he saw du Reims with his arm around your neck, it was as if something inside of him snapped. He could not prevent Titus’ death but he could prevent yours. My lady, you must understand that Titus’ death still affects Atticus, every moment of every day. He already lost someone he cared very deeply for in a situation where he was unable to protect him. He could not lose someone else he cared deeply for and not do anything about it. Does that make sense?”
Isobeau looked at him, stunned. Her eyes were wide and her hand went to her chest as if to ease the pounding of her heart, pounding at Warenne’s words. “He… cares deeply for me?”
Warenne nodded in a gesture that suggested what Atticus felt for her was much more than that. “Aye,” he whispered. “He does. Your anger with him over du Reims’ death is tearing him apart. Will you please see him, my lady? If you care anything about him, will you please see him and tell him that you at least understand why he did what he did? He could not lose you, too.”
Tears sprang to Isobeau’s eyes. Her limbs went warm and fluid and weak with the very idea that Atticus felt something for her. There was joy and jubilation in her heart more than she could control.
“Are you certain of this?” she whispered tightly.
Warenne’s smile returned. “I am,” he said. “Will you please see him?”
Isobeau nodded, so firmly that her hair came out of its careful braid and swung across her face. “I will,” she whispered fervently. “Tell him that I will see him. Tell him… tell him that I would welcome his visit when it is convenient.”
Warenne felt more relief than he could express. Moving to Isobeau, he took her hands and kissed them both before quitting the chamber in his quest to return to Atticus. Everything will be all right now, he told himself. Atticus would be happy, Isobeau would be happy, and soon this entire madness would be over so he could return to his wife and try to make amends with the woman. All would be as it should be.
The colors of sunset were deepening across the sky as Warenne took the steps down into the inner ward, yelling at some men near the stables to take cover, as they were expecting Norfolk’s attack at any second. In fact, Warenne was halfway across the ward when Norfolk let loose the first barrage of flaming projectiles, arrows that came sailing over the wall, raining a horrific and painful death upon the occupants of Wolfe’s Lair. There were so many of them that the sky lit up as if it were daylight, and those caught out in the open had nowhere to go.
This included Warenne. In the middle of the inner ward with no cover, he was an open target when the arrows rained down upon him. He tried to make it to the armory, which was closest, but he wasn’t fast enough to evade a heavy, fat-soaked arrow that hit him in the left eye and penetrated all the way to the back of his skull.
The Earl of Thetford was dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ionian scale in C – Man so Bold
In days of old time passing,
Among men, it was told
There was a man of power
A man uncommonly bold
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
The gates were on fire.
Whatever oil or fat Summerlin was using, it burned very hot and very long, and after the first wave of flaming arrows, Summerlin and his men had managed to get up against the big iron and oak gates of Wolfe’s Lair and light the things on fire. A great pile of kindling and wood had been pushed up against the gates and ignited, and even now, a great, black cloud burned steadily into the brilliant night sky.
Atticus stood in front of the gates, watching them burn, as his men had a bucket brigade going, dousing the flames from their side. Wolfe’s Lair had two big wells that provided more than enough water to battle the blaze but the fat that Summerlin and his men had smeared on the gates would not be extinguished. It was those areas, with fat spread into the old and pitted wood, that were burning hotly. The smell was almost overpowering.
The truth was that Atticus was worried. The gates were reinforced with great strips of iron about an inch thick, like bars on a cage, so even if the wood burned away, the bars would remain. They would still be protected. But if the fire from the burning wood burned hot enough, the iron would soften and that would be a problem. Therefore, it was important to keep water on the fire to lessen the heat generated by the flames.
Atticus, therefore, not only directed the water on the gate, he participated as well. He tossed great buckets of icy water on the burning wood. Kenton was upon the wall walk, directing the soldier to dump burning rocks and earth onto the men below. It was a common enough tactic and they heated earth in great cauldrons in the bailey before taking them up to the wall in buckets or baskets or anything they could find, dumping them out onto the Norfolk men below. The scorching earth and pebbles and layers of sand would get into the cracks of men’s armor, seriously burning them. As Atticus manned the gate, Kenton rained hell from above.
Beneath the courageous façade, however, lay great sorrow and grief. Both men were struggling with the death of Warenne. Having been notified of the earl’s death and then subsequently seeing the man’s body in the inner ward had taken something out of Atticus’ soul. First Titus, and now Warenne… he was struggling not to think on the loss of those closest to him, focused on what he must do in order to protect Wolfe’s Lair. It would have been very easy to become disoriented by death, to let it claim his sound mind. He thanked God for Kenton, for the man was unbreakable and emotionless, a rock when Atticus felt like crumbling. When Atticus heard Kenton’s bellows over the commotion of the siege, it reinforced his courage. All was not lost and he was not alone.
But there was something more on Atticus’ mind as well; the more compromised the gates became, the more his thoughts turned towards his wife. Locked up in her room, he was glad for her safety but he knew that if the gates were breached, she would be in danger. Wolfe’s Lair appeared to only have one way in or out, through the front gates,
but the truth was that there was a tunnel that ran from the storage area beneath the great hall to the creek bed to the south of the fortress.
When Atticus had been a small boy, he and Titus used to play in that tunnel constantly but he had no idea if the tunnel was still open and viable. Somehow, someway, he would have to get Isobeau to the tunnel and the more he watched the front gates burn, the more he knew he would have to go to her whether or not she wanted to see him and take her to safety. He would have to take the woman and flee.
“Atticus,” Solomon was suddenly standing next to him, interrupting his thoughts. “If we cannot douse the flames on the gate, the bars will start to soften. We must prepare the men for the breach.”
Atticus looked at his father, a man he had shoved aside a few hours before when he felt his father was in his way. Solomon was old and slow, but his mind was still very sharp. Atticus suddenly felt very badly for the way he had treated his father. He reached out, putting a big arm around his father’s broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort.
“They are already prepared,” he said. “But you… you cannot withstand hand to hand combat these days, Papa. I have been standing here thinking about the old tunnel that leads to the creek bed off to the south. If the tunnel is still open, then mayhap we should think about leading my wife to it. I am hoping you might do this for me.”
Solomon shook his head. “I will not leave my home,” he said. “I was born here and I shall die here. I will not flee. But you must go, Atticus. It is you they want. You must take Isobeau and leave. Run, boy; run away and do not look back.”
Atticus looked at his father, studying the man. After having lost Titus, and now Warenne, he was fairly certain he couldn’t handle losing his father.
“Papa,” he said softly. “You are all I have left. I could not stand to lose you. Therefore, you must come with Isobeau and me when we flee. But if you remain, then I will remain. I will not go without you.”
Solomon looked at him and Atticus was struck by the defeat he saw in the man’s eyes. The death of a son, now the siege of his home… Solomon was weary. He was an old man and he was weary of what life had dealt him as of late. But there was more to it than that; Atticus had never seen his father so… calm. Resigned, even. Perhaps Solomon was prepared to accept the end, which Atticus was not.
“You have a beautiful wife now,” Solomon said quietly. “You and Isobeau will carry on the de Wolfe name. You will have many strong sons that will outshine the sun. We are descended from greatness, you know. William de Wolfe himself, the Wolfe of the Borders, is our ancestor. I imagine when I look at you that I see a great deal of him. You have his strength and his sense of honor. There is so much of William de Wolfe within you, Atticus. That must be preserved.”
Atticus had heard that before from his father; I see you as the embodiment of William de Wolfe. He smiled faintly.
“William de Wolfe lived two hundred years ago,” he said. “Whatever traits the man possessed, I am sure that generations of breeding have watered it down. What you see in me is a reflection of yourself. You are the greatest knight I have ever known, next to Titus. Whatever you see in me, it is you.”
Solomon smiled, sharing a warm moment with his son as the gate began to burn even hotter now. De Wolfe men were trying frantically to douse it but the flames were shooting up the length of the gates, igniting the wooden frame that held it against the opening of the gatehouse. But even though the enemy appeared to be winning, and soon they would be overrun with Norfolk men who wanted to claim Wolfe’s Lair for Edward, there was peace and joy between Solomon and Atticus. He patted his youngest son on the cheek with a big, meaty hand.
“You are my shining light, boy,” Solomon said softly. “Never forget that. Now, go to your wife and take her to the tunnel. It is still open although we use it for storage these days. Take Isobeau and flee. I must know you are safe.”
Atticus sighed heavily. “Papa, you are putting me in a terrible position,” he said. “I will not leave you.”
“You must.”
“If the situation was reversed, would you leave me?”
Solomon frowned. “I would do what my father told me to do.”
“Then I am a terrible son because I am not leaving.”
“What about your wife?”
Atticus’ staunch refusal took a hit as he was reminded of Isobeau. Soft, sweet, lovely Isobeau… she could not fall into the hands of Norfolk. He was fairly certain that Summerlin would treat her well, but he could not be sure of her fate. What a prize she would be to Norfolk or even to Edward. Could he risk her falling into the hands of the unscrupulous new king and his lascivious family? Nay, he could not. But he was greatly torn about leaving his father behind. He simply couldn’t do it.
“I will take her to the tunnel and tell her to flee into the woods that are to the south,” he said. “But I will not go with her. I will only join her after we have fought off Norfolk’s assault.”
Solomon’s heart ached for Atticus, understanding his son would not leave him to face the aggression alone. He understood the loyalty, the unwillingness to leave the man he loved to battle for him. But time was growing short and there was no time for argument.
“Do you think she will go without you?” Solomon said, now moving out from under his son’s arm and pushing at the man’s chest as if to push him away. “We have discussed this; she has already buried one husband and it would be unfair, nay, tragic to expect her to bury another. You must go with her, boy. I have lived my life. I was married to a woman I loved. I had my beloved sons. My life has been lived. But you… your life has only just begun, now with a beautiful wife at your side. You must go, Atticus. It will kill me to have you linger simply because of me.”
Atticus was starting to feel panicky, torn by his father’s words. He wished to God that Warenne was here to advise him, but Warenne was wrapped up in an old coverlet and stored in the corner of the dark and cool chapel. Warenne wasn’t here to tell him what he should do because Atticus’ instinct was to remain with his father. He couldn’t leave him. The more Solomon pushed, the more Atticus resisted.
“Papa, please,” Atticus said. “You are asking me to choose between you and… and….”
“And your wife!” Solomon snapped. “You must take her and flee, Atticus. Time is shorter than you realize. Look at the flames; the iron frame is already beginning to soften. If you do not go now, it may be too late. You must save yourself!”
Those were the magic words as far as Atticus was concerned. He had no intention of saving himself and fleeing like a coward. But he would lead Isobeau to the tunnel. Then, he would return and fight off Norfolk as best he could. Feeling saddened but determined, he moved away from his father.
“I am going to take Isobeau and the servants to the tunnel,” he said, pointing at his father. “But I will be back. If you are planning on fighting off Norfolk’s assault, then I suggest that you arm yourself. Go the armory and collect your weapon.”
Solomon bellowed at him, something gut-wrenching and painful. He told Atticus not to return; he begged the man. But Atticus wasn’t listening. He was racing across the inner ward towards the steps that led up to the living levels. His heart was racing for more reasons than one. He was apprehensive to see Isobeau again, fearful that the anger and hatred in her heart for him had not yet dissipated. He was fearful of seeing such animosity in the eyes of the woman he was so deeply emotional for.
Thoughts of her, now heavily upon him, weighted him down with worry and anxiety. What if she wouldn’t come with him? What if she wouldn’t even listen to him? He would have to become a brute, forcing her to do his will and try not to care that she would hate him for it. She already hated him. One more offense would not make a difference. It was with an extremely heavy heart that he put his foot on the first step. But a shout from the wall stopped him.
“Atticus!” Kenton roared. “Incoming!”
Atticus turned in the direction of the shout, watching as Kenton waved al
most frantically to him. That wasn’t like Kenton at all, for the man did nothing that conveyed agitation or fear. Deeply concerned, not to mention curious, Atticus shifted direction and ran all the way to the steep, narrow staircase that led up to the wall. He had to push men aside as he went, pushing through soldiers and archers, until he reached Kenton’s side. He opened his mouth to ask Kenton to clarify his statement when Kenton pointed a finger eastward. That’s all the man had to do; he simply pointed. When Atticus turned to see what he was pointing at, everything became instantly clear.
Northumberland banners, leading a mighty Northumberland army, were approaching.
Atticus would believe until the day he died that, at that moment, he had witnessed divine intervention in the form of an allied army.
“Tertius!”
Isobeau had very nearly screamed the name when her brother suddenly appeared in her doorway. Startled, she dropped her dragonfly embroidery and flew to her brother, throwing her arms around the man’s neck and breaking into tears. She had never been so surprised, or so glad, to see anyone in her life.
Tertius had just fought his way through a weary Norfolk army to make it to the gates of Wolfe’s Lair that, by the time he arrived, were twisted and smoldering and very difficult to move. But they managed to get one of them open, allowing Northumberland’s army in as Norfolk’s exhausted men scattered and fled south. It had been an extremely short-lived battle that had seen Northumberland, and Wolfe’s Lair, emerge the victor. The de Wolfe standards still flew high above the battered gatehouse.
“Easy, Iz, easy,” Tertius told his hysterical sister, giving her a squeeze before releasing her. “All is well. Everything is safe now.”
Border Brides Page 29
