Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Atticus was still shaking his head; he’d never truly stopped. “My lady, I understand that you feel your own sense of vengeance, but I cannot take you with me,” he said, more firmly. “Even for the sake of Titus’ son, I cannot take you with me. It would be foolish to risk you and the child in such a way and I suspect that Titus would be quite angry with me to allow it. Nay, then, I will not do it.”

  “Please, Sir Atticus. I am begging you.”

  “I cannot. I will not.”

  “But I must go!”

  “I am sorry, but you cannot.”

  Isobeau could see, plainly, that he had no intention of allowing her to accompany him but she could also see that he wasn’t being stubborn about it more than he seemed to truly believe it was in her best interest. But that wasn’t good enough for Isobeau; she was seized with a distinct sense of revenge on behalf of Titus, to punish the men who had killed him. Atticus denying her what she felt was her right was extremely frustrating. Frustrating, but not the end. Not as far as she was concerned. Still, she hung her head, upset and distraught, and struggling not to weep again.

  Atticus could see that the woman was despondent but he wasn’t going to back down from his stance. It was ludicrous for the woman to expect to accompany him on a trip wrought with hazard. Still, her bravery was to be commended. It was apparent to him that the woman had little fear of trying to track down dangerous men; at least, in theory she had little fear. The reality of such a thing would more than likely prove to be quite different. He reached out and grasped her gently by the elbow.

  “Come with me,” he said quietly. “It is cold out here. Let us go inside where it is warm and you can rest.”

  Isobeau balked. “Nay, not now,” she said. “I… I want to see my husband. I have been waiting all day to see him. Did you find out where he has been taken?”

  Atticus hesitated, thinking of the slightly greenish tinge to Titus’ face and his rather sunken appearance. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea for Lady de Wolfe to see her husband in such a way but he was also fairly certain he had no choice. She had every right to view her husband’s body.

  “I did,” he said. “He is down in the vault along with the earl.”

  Isobeau gazed up at him with her green eyes. “Will you please take me to him?”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Reluctantly, Atticus nodded and politely took her elbow again as they made their way across the muddy, half-frozen ward towards the gatehouse. The angry, black clouds that had been moving in at sunset were now gathering overhead in a vast, pewter blanket, preparing to storm. Isobeau glanced up at the clouds as they walked.

  “You should know that I will ask you again tomorrow if I can go with you,” she said to Atticus. “You cannot deny me forever.”

  She said it in a rather imperious way and Atticus fought off a grin; he couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Either way, it was rather humorous. “In fact, I can.”

  “I will ask you daily. Mayhap even hourly.”

  “Then you are in for a good deal of frustration.”

  “We shall see.”

  He frowned, glancing at her. “Do you think to badger me and beat me down until I submit?” he asked. “If that is the case, then you will be sorely disappointed. I do not fold.”

  Isobeau cast him a sidelong look. “To men, you do not,” she said. “But it is different with women. It is bred into knights to grant a lady’s request. You will not be able to deny me forever, I say.”

  “I suppose we shall find out.”

  “Aye, I suppose we shall. Do not feel too badly when you finally grant my wish.”

  “I will not grant your wish at all.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him. “Would you care to wager on that, Sir Atticus?”

  He looked at her, astounded. “Wager?” he said, outraged. “I will make no bet with a lady and I am ashamed that you would even propose such a thing.”

  Isobeau scowled at him just as he was scowling at her. She even stuck her tongue out at him. Atticus held out about two seconds longer before swiftly turning away, breaking into a grin and hoping she hadn’t seen it. The little vixen, he thought. Even so, her gesture had been quite humorous. He couldn’t remember feeling the urge to laugh like that in a very long time. As of late, there had been nothing to laugh about.

  Come to know what Titus liked so well about the woman. Already, he was starting to.

  The gatehouse loomed ahead and Atticus directed her to the left side of the gatehouse where the stairs to the vault were housed. They were slippery, and narrow, and he held her arm tightly as she descended the stairs in her heavy, linen skirt. Slowly, they made their way to the bottom of the steps where it was very dark except for a single torch burning hot and low in an iron sconce. It gave off little light against the darkness.

  Atticus let go of Isobeau’s arm and removed the torch from the sconce, leading her towards the cell where Titus’ body was located. Atticus could pick up a whiff of decay and he wondered if Isobeau could smell it, too, but if she did, she gave no indication. She was tucked in behind him closely because of the darkness and when he finally came upon Titus’ decaying form, he held the torch up and away so she couldn’t get a clear look at the color of his skin. He hoped to spare her somewhat. Stepping aside so she could see, he silently indicated Titus’ stone-cold corpse.

  Atticus wasn’t able to catch Isobeau before she fainted dead away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to The Warmth

  The warmth is you, in my heart and soul:

  The warmth is you, until the day grows old.

  The warmth is you, my dearest love:

  You are a gift from the heavens, from God above.

  —Iseobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.

  Doncaster

  The King’s Head Inn

  “You are going to lose some feeling in your face,” the old surgeon said as he packed up his catgut thread and needles. “Your wound was open for quite some time, m’lord. You should have had it sewn sooner.”

  De la Londe could do nothing more than shrug his shoulders at this point; there really wasn’t much he could say to any of it. The wound that Titus had inflicted upon him nearly a week before hadn’t been properly tended until now for a variety of reasons, ones he didn’t care to discuss. Mostly, it was because the freezing weather had frozen the blood and beard on his face and that alone had stopped the bleeding.

  During the battle at Towton, there hadn’t been time to do it. He’d kept his face wrapped with the piece of embroidered linen he’d stolen from de Wolfe. But six days later, he’d been forced to have it cleaned and tended because it was starting to fester. Hair had grown into it, as had dirt and debris, so the cleaning of the healing wound had been a harrowing experience. The surgeon had done his best but it was still a mess and de la Londe had been running a fever for two days. It would perhaps get worse before it got better.

  But that was, in fact, the least of his concerns at the moment. Sitting in a room at an inn that had been confiscated in whole by the Duke of Norfolk, John de Mowbray, both de la Londe and de Troiu had bigger worries on their mind. De Mowbray, in fact, was in the room with them, as were several of de Mowbray’s knights and a lesser baron from Surrey that had once been aligned with Warenne de Winter. In the past six days since moving south from Towton after the decisive York victory, much had changed in the worlds of de la Londe and de Troiu, and all of it revolved around de Mowbray.

  “We will be leaving tomorrow morning,” de Mowbray told the surgeon as the man moved stiffly for the chamber door. “I will ensure that he sees a surgeon in the next town we come to. We will keep check on the injury.”

  The surgeon was a big man, older, once muscled but now gone to fatty. He had been a knight once, too, years ago before he injured his sword hand and had been forced to turn to another profession to survive. The surgeon’s gaze moved between de Mowbray and de la Londe.

  “It is not the
injury that is the issue, my lord,” he said. “It is the fever. I gave you powdered willow bark for that; make sure he takes it at least four times a day in a cup of wine.”

  De Mowbray nodded. “He will.”

  The surgeon still didn’t leave, a knowing glimmer to his tired, old eyes. He looked around the room, at the powerful and exhausted men. They smelled of war and he knew the smell very well.

  “I heard about the battle to the north,” he said. “Towton, wasn’t it? Men passing through town a few days ago were speaking of it. They said it was a massacre for the Lancastrians.”

  De Mowbray remained impassive. “It was a defeat for them. Aye.”

  The old surgeon nodded at the confirmation. “I didn’t ask you when I came to tend the knight, but I assume he received the wound there?”

  De Mowbray lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Indeed he did,” he said. “Thank you for your service.”

  The surgeon had already been paid so it was only a matter of pushing him out of the door, which de Mowbray did. A stubby profile of a man, John de Mowbray was a powerful duke and a brilliant tactician. It had been his cunning that had turned the tides at Towton. Now, he was heading to London with his army because the new king had asked him to come. Edward, in fact, had already left for London and was a few days ahead of de Mowbray. The colors of the ruling house had decisively changed.

  The king was determined to clean house of any remains of Henry’s loyalists and set up his own court at Westminster. His plans also included taking over the Tower of London as well as Windsor Castle. He was infiltrating deep into the heart of England and wanted de Mowbray with him. But de Mowbray was slowed with a bigger army, and wagons of wounded that had been sent back to Norfolk, and he wasn’t in any particular rush to reach London. At the moment, he was more concerned with gaining backing for Edward from the remnants of those who supported Henry. With Henry running for Scotland, de Mowbray would strike at the defeated supporters.

  Which was where de la Londe and de Troiu came in. As de Mowbray shut the door behind the surgeon and bolted it, he turned to the two knights who had once been very close to Northumberland. They had been bought with relatively little effort and now that he had them, de Mowbray intended to use them.

  “It seems that we have not truly had the opportunity to talk before now,” de Mowbray said. “Days of travel have left us all exhausted and scrambling for closure, but now that we have a roof over our head and some privacy, I should like to discuss what happened with Northumberland’s men. I already know that Titus de Wolfe is dead and you told me that you did not have the opportunity to speak to the others, but that is all I know. You will now give me the details. I would hear what happened in-depth.”

  De la Londe, even though he was having trouble speaking, answered him. “It was too chaotic to give you any details after the battle, my lord,” he said. “It is true that Titus de Wolfe is dead but not before he did this to my face. This happened in a battle to the death. When we gave him your offer, he became enraged and tried to kill us both. We had no choice but to kill him.”

  De Mowbray sat in a nearby chair, accepting a cup of wine from one of his men. “Indeed,” he said seriously. “I am sorry that Titus chose to die rather than serve Edward. But what of Atticus? You were not able to speak with him?”

  De la Londe resisted the urge to look at de Troiu; for the past few days, they had discussed what they would tell de Mowbray about their inability to recruit other Northumberland knights. They couldn’t tell the man the truth – that they had fled after they’d killed de Wolfe, so de la Londe had been given a few days to come up with a plausible lie. More than that, he had a suggestion that might help them all.

  “We were not able to find Atticus,” he said. “My lord, you must understand that we could not risk being seen as the men who killed Titus de Wolfe. If that were to happen, there would have been questions that we could not answer without consequences. At the time Titus was killed, the battle was just commencing. Men were called to arms. We went to arms, too. There was no longer the time or privacy to try and relay your offer to any more of Northumberland’s men because by that time, they were all heading into battle.”

  De Mowbray was listening carefully. “I see,” he sighed heavily. “That is disappointing, I must say. I was hoping you would be able to at least speak with Atticus. The Lion of the North would be a fine weapon in Edward’s arsenal. The king has asked for Atticus personally, you know. It is imperative that we somehow communicate with him. Now with Titus dead, he has no reason to remain with Northumberland any longer.”

  De la Londe shrugged. “With Titus dead and Henry Percy dead, Atticus is now in command of Northumberland’s army,” he said. Then, his expression took on something of a sly glint. “But that does not necessarily mean we cannot have him. It simply means we must be cunning as we go about it.”

  De Mowbray was interested. “You know the man,” he said. “You know his heart and his loyalties. How can we sway him to Edward’s cause?”

  De la Londe glanced at de Troiu, then, seeing the man’s silent nod of encouragement. Tell him what we discussed. De la Londe continued.

  “Both Titus and Atticus are very close to their knight corps,” he said. “Le Bec, de Russe, and Wellesbourne serve under them. If we could possibly convince one or more of those houses to pledge loyalty to Edward, it might help sway Atticus’ position. Wellesbourne Castle is not far from here, to the south near Warwick Castle. Even though Warwick has switched loyalties from Edward to Henry and back again, Wellesbourne has remained staunch in Henry’s cause. Adam Wellesbourne’s father, Andrew Wellesbourne, knows me. He knows that I serve with his son. Andrew is old now and, according to Adam, remains at Wellesbourne most of the time, but he has command of over a thousand men. If we could convince Andrew to side with Edward, we may be able to sway Wellesbourne for our cause. If Andrew swears fealty to Edward, it is my suspicion that Adam will, too. With Adam out of Northumberland’s stable, we move to le Bec next.”

  De Mowbray was coming to see the brilliance of the scheme. “Wellesbourne is married to a granddaughter of le Bec and a daughter of Bastian de Russe,” he said thoughtfully. “Bastian de Russe is still alive.”

  De la Londe shook his head firmly. “He was a guardian to Henry when Henry was very young,” he said. “Because of that, I cannot see Bastian de Russe swearing fealty to Edward. In fact, he may try to kill us if we try to convince him. Nay, my lord, I believe that trying to convince Wellesbourne, and mayhap Stefan and Gannon le Bec, is the only chance we have of gaining fealty of some of the great houses in Edward’s favor. If the House of Wellesbourne and the House of le Bec join Edward’s cause, then de Wolfe might follow. At least he might be willing to listen.”

  De Mowbray was somewhat dubious about le Bec. “Richmond le Bec’s wife is a daughter of Henry of Bolingbroke,” he said. “I doubt you’ll be able to convince the sons to side against their own blood.”

  “We can but try, my lord.”

  That was true. It would be something of a triumph if they were even able to sway Wellesbourne. If Sir Andrew was convinced, then it would seriously weaken that entire le Bec-de Russe-Wellesbourne unity, which was a very powerful front. But there was something even more than that lingering on de Mowbray’s mind.

  “I am not in the habit of putting all of my hopes in one scheme,” he said. “As encouraged as I am by your approach to Wellesbourne, let us return to the subject of Atticus. Now that Titus is gone, I am assuming Atticus will return his brother home for burial. The entire de Wolfe family resides at Castle Questing, does it not? Tell me what you know of Atticus’ immediate family and where they live.”

  De la Londe thought a moment. “Atticus’ father is the second son, brother to Baron Killham of Castle Questing,” he said. “Atticus has spoken many times of his father and of his home, Wolfe’s Lair. It is a garrison for Questing. Atticus’ father has lived there for many years. It is where Atticus and Titus were born, so I would assume Atticus will return
Titus to Wolfe’s Lair.”

  “Do you know where this garrison is?”

  De la Londe nodded. “Near Hawick.”

  “That is Scotland.”

  “It is indeed, my lord.”

  De Mowbray thought on that a moment. “Mayhap whilst you go to Wellesbourne Castle to convince Andrew Wellesbourne to side with Edward, I will send another contingent of men to Wolfe’s Lair,” he said pensively. “If Atticus is there, then mayhap we can open a dialogue with him about his support for Edward now that Henry is in defeat. I will tell him, of course, of Andrew Wellesbourne’s switch in loyalty because I am quite certain your mission to Wellesbourne will be successful. Mayhap if Atticus believes Wellesbourne has sworn allegiance to Edward, it might be enough for him to consider it.”

  De la Londe sighed with doubt. “It will take more than that to convince Atticus, I fear,” he said. “It would be wise to wait and work through his knight corps first. Once we have their loyalty, or at lease loyalty from some of them, that would be more persuasive for Atticus.”

  De Mowbray scratched his neck, thinking on all of the ways he could convince Atticus de Wolfe to support Edward’s cause. “Is Atticus’ father still alive?”

  “He is as far as I know.”

  De Mowbray cocked his head thoughtfully. “Then mayhap we use the father to convince the son.”

  De la Londe wasn’t sure what, exactly, the duke meant but he knew instinctively that it could not be good. “I would be wary, my lord,” he said, his voice low. “With Titus gone, Atticus is bound to be very protective of his father. If I were you, I would be very careful what I did to Solomon de Wolfe. If you unleash The Lion’s rage, there will be no stopping Atticus. He will come after you.”

  De Mowbray pretended not to care, although deep-down he cared a great deal. He did not want The Lion of the North on a vendetta against him. “Your concern is noted,” he said. “You have your orders, de la Londe. Tomorrow, you will depart for Wellesbourne Castle while I send a contingent of men to Hawick. As soon as you are able to speak with Andrew Wellesbourne, I will expect your victorious news.”