Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  By now, Isobeau was looking at her brother with a mixture of remorse and sorrow on her features. “How is that being selfish and short-sighted?” she wanted to know. “I do not wish to have another husband!”

  “Your husband has made provisions for you,” Tertius pointed out hotly. “The man thought only of you with his last breath and you have the bad manners to disobey him? Worse yet, you shut yourself up in this room while pain and devastation go on all around you and rather than lift a finger to help, you write songs to your dead husband. I am ashamed of you, Isobeau Adelaide de Shera.”

  It wasn’t often that Tertius spoke firmly to her, or called her by her full name, but he was certainly doing it now. The more he spoke, the more regretful and confused Isobeau became, mostly because he was making sense. She trusted Tertius and he had always been good to her. She respected his opinion. Therefore, his latest statements had her in utter confusion and despair.

  “What would you have me do, then?” she asked, on the defensive. “I cannot do anything to ease the pain and devastation.”

  Tertius abruptly stood up and grabbed her by the hand. “Aye, you can,” he said. “You will go down to the great hall and you will tell the surgeon that you are there to help. The man has his hands full with the wounded and dying, and the least you can do is offer your services to comfort them. A kind word or a comforting touch will make a world of difference to those men who are suffering, Isobeau. Stop behaving like a selfish child and do something with yourself. Go help those in need.”

  Isobeau frowned as he pulled her towards the door. “But I do not know anything about tending wounded,” she said. “I have never had a strong stomach for blood, Tertius, you know that. It is even worse now that….”

  She stopped herself before she could say anymore. She didn’t want Tertius to be the first one to hear of her pregnancy. But the more she thought about it, there was really no one else to tell. The only man she wanted to truly tell was dead. It was like a stab to her gut to realize that Titus would never know his son. It had been something she had tried not to think about because the mere hint of the recollection magnified her grief tenfold. Muddled in thought, she wasn’t paying much attention to Tertius as he yanked open the chamber door.

  “Now that what?” Tertius demanded, although his tone suggested he didn’t much care. “Stop with your excuses, Izzy. Go down to the hall and help. There will be time for mourning Titus but locked away in your room like this… it is not a fitting way to honor his memory. Titus deserves a wife who will put aside her pain and show her strength by helping the men who fought at Titus’ side. You are strong, little sister. I know, for I have seen it. Go down into the hall and do your duty, as Lady de Wolfe.”

  He was being kinder with her now, not as angry as he had been before. Isobeau paused in the doorway before he could pull her out into the darkened corridor beyond. When Tertius turned to look at her, wondering if she was just being difficult about it, he was somewhat surprised to see the soft, perhaps resigned, expression on her face.

  “I… I did not think on it that way,” she said. “You are quite right, Tertius. I have not been honoring Titus’ memory this afternoon. I thought I was by writing a song to him but… but I suppose I should have been more thoughtful about it. I did not even think to help Titus men. That is not something I have ever really had to do.”

  Tertius sighed faintly, relieved that the strong and reasonable sister he knew was starting to come around. She could be stubborn, a dreamer even, but she wasn’t unreasonable. He knew that Titus’ death had her reeling; he could see it in her eyes. It was his intention to force her to focus on something else to help ease the sting of his death.

  “I know,” he said. “You have never been a wife before and therefore do not know how to behave with your husband’s men. But you are now the widow of a great knight and you are expected to show your strength to honor him. I know you can do it, Iz.”

  Isobeau wasn’t entirely sure but she would not dispute her brother. His confidence in her, in turn, gave her confidence. Besides, she had little choice. She didn’t want to disappoint Tertius and she especially didn’t want to disappoint Titus. Maybe there was more to being a wife than simply marrying a great knight and having his son. The way Tertius phrased it, it made sense. It was time to grow up, just a little.

  “I hope so,” she said. Smiling weakly, she let him pull her out into the corridor. “You know how I am around blood. I grow dizzy simply at the sight of it.”

  Tertius snorted. “You are a de Shera,” he said. “De Sheras descend from the ancient Romans of Britannia who used to bathe in the blood of their enemies.”

  She made a face. “They did not!”

  Tertius loved teasing her; she reacted quite humorously to his taunts most of the time. “Aye, they did,” he insisted. “Therefore, you are a Master of Blood. It should not bother you in the least, so go down to the hall and do what you can to comfort the wounded. Make me proud, Izzy.”

  Isobeau nodded, noticing he came to a halt when they reached the stairs that led to the floor below. “Are you not coming, too?”

  Tertius shook his head. “I have spent weeks in conditions so horrific it is best not to speak of them,” he said, his dark eyes reflecting the horrors of his memories. “I have settled the men and the wagons, and now I plan to take a few moments to settle myself. Mayhap some food and a hot bath. I have not been warm in weeks.”

  It was then that Isobeau could see the exhaustion in her brother’s face. He was a strong man and didn’t often show his weariness, even when it was well-earned, so she was sympathetic to his statement.

  “Go, then,” she told him. “I will help the surgeon for a time and then come back to check on you.”

  Tertius shook his head. “No need, little sister,” he told her. “Go about your duties as Lady de Wolfe. I will see you later.”

  With that, he gestured for her to move down the stairs and she did. Tertius watched her until she disappeared from view, the weary expression fading from his face. True, he was weary, but he also had someone to see. Atticus de Wolfe had evidently had words with Isobeau and Tertius wanted to get to the bottom of it. Atticus was his friend, and his sister’s husband’s brother, but he could also be a rude and arrogant whoreskin when he set his mind to it. He wanted to make sure all was well between Atticus and Isobeau, especially if Titus had asked his brother to marry his widow. That, more than anything, concerned him; if the two of them were to marry, he didn’t want bad blood from the start.

  When he was sure Isobeau was on her way to the great hall, Tertius went in search of Atticus.

  I find your tears at his passing insulting to say the very least.

  He was going to give the man a chance to explain his words to Isobeau before he slugged him in the face.

  “I had heard you were in here.”

  Atticus heard the familiar voice, turning to see Warenne entering the dank confines of the vault. They were on the lower level of Alnwick’s gatehouse, deep in the vaults that usually housed Alnwick’s prisoners. Today, however, they housed the dead. Titus was in one of the cells and the earl was in the other. It was very cool down here and would protect the bodies from the rot that was already overtaking them.

  “Aye,” Atticus replied, watching Warenne as the man came to stand next to him. He then returned his attention to Titus, studying him just as Warenne was. “Kenton put the earl and my brother down here because the cold will preserve the bodies better. I have been spending my last few hours with Titus, trying to convince him to take back his request of me to marry his wife. So far, he has refused.”

  Warenne gave a half-grin to the attempt at humor. “Silent, is he?” he said, inspecting Titus’ greenish cast and the eyes that were already becoming sunken. His sobered. “He looks terrible.”

  “I know.”

  “He must be buried as soon as possible.”

  “I am well aware of that.”

  Warenne knew he was. Unable to stomach looking a
t the rotting corpse that the mighty Titus de Wolfe had become, he moved over to a stone bench in the cell and sat heavily. He was weary, like the rest of them, but unable to sleep. There was too much to do.

  “Kenton, Wellesbourne, de Russe, and Alec le Bec finally have the men settled,” he said, changing the subject away from Titus’ state. “I told them to report to you down in the vault for further orders. Is there anything else you need done, Atticus?”

  Atticus was staring at his brother’s sunken face. “I can only imagine they have completed everything that needed handling,” he said. “The men are settled, the dead have been set aside for burial, the wounded are being tended, and the castle is bottled up. What more could there be?”

  Warenne’s gaze drifted to Titus, thinking of the obvious. “There is the matter of de Troiu and de la Londe,” he said quietly. “They all know what has happened. What they will want to know is how they can help you find these men and punish them.”

  Atticus looked over at Warenne. “Vengeance is mine,” he said, his voice low. “I would not expect them, nor would I want them, to set aside their loyalties to Northumberland and seek justice for my brother. I must do this alone, Ren. This is not a group activity.”

  Warenne shook his head. “You cannot deny them their sense of anger against de Troiu and de la Londe,” he reminded him. “These men as much as betrayed all of Northumberland when they decided to seek converts for Norfolk and Edward’s cause. They simply happened to approach Titus first; it could have been any of them. They are hurt and angry, too, Atticus. You cannot take that away from them.”

  “He is my brother.”

  “Would you prefer they didn’t care, then?”

  The last two sentences were quickly spoken, overlapping. Atticus frowned at Warenne. “I am seeking to kill them, Ren,” he said plainly. “When I say that I must seek justice for Titus, it is to track down those two devils and kill them. I will not bring them before any magistrate or court; I will dispense justice as I see fit. That being said, I cannot pull all of the Northumberland knights into my revenge. That is an unfair expectation to presume all of them will follow me to punish these men and commit murder on behalf of the de Wolfe bloodlines.”

  Warenne could see his point but he still disagreed. “You are not pulling them with you,” he said. “They loved Titus, too, or did you forget that?”

  Atticus hadn’t. All of Northumberland’s knights had loved his brother. But he was convinced that he and he alone was the only one who could seek justice for his brother. His gaze returned to Titus.

  “I do not know what I am going to do without him,” he said, the reflections of grief in his voice. “My father will be devastated when I tell him.”

  Warenne crossed his big arms, leaning back against the freezing cold stone. “What about his wife?” he said. “How is Lady de Wolfe? I understand that she and Titus were quite fond of each other.”

  Atticus struggled not to make a face. “I have no idea why,” he said, distaste in his tone. “She is a disagreeable, stubborn woman. I have no idea how my brother came to love her, but he did.”

  Warenne snorted softly, with humor. “Is she beautiful?”

  Atticus looked at him. “Have you not seen her?”

  “Nay.”

  Atticus shrugged and turned back to Titus. “She is an incredibly beautiful woman,” he admitted. “I thought so the moment I set eyes on her. So did Titus. I have never seen finer. But she has a terrible personality to go along with that beauty.”

  Warenne put a hand over his mouth so Atticus would not see him grinning. “And your brother wants you to marry that terrible beauty? Shocking.”

  Atticus couldn’t help it now; he pursed his lips irritably, thinking on the shrewish Lady de Wolfe. “Surely he did not know what he was saying,” he said. “His wound must have twisted his mind somehow. Surely he did not mean it.”

  Warenne fought off the giggles at Atticus’ lament. “Even so, he asked you to marry her and you agreed,” he said. “My best advice for you is to just do what you promised to do and be done with it. And if Lady de Wolfe gets out of hand, a good spanking will do wonders.”

  “So would fifty lashes.”

  Warenne burst out laughing. “She is a de Shera,” he pointed out. “Unless you want the entire war clan of de Shera down around you, I would not lash the woman. And do not forget that she is also related to Anglesey, so I have heard. You do not want to invite the wrath of the Welsh warlords, do you?”

  Atticus grunted, scratching his head irritably. “I should simply send her back to Isenhall Castle and forget about her.”

  Warenne shrugged. “Aye, you could,” he said. “But you would not forget your promise to your brother. It would eat at you until you fulfilled it. So my advice, once again, is to simply marry the woman and be done with it. You will be unable to live with yourself otherwise.”

  He was right. Atticus wiped a weary hand over his face, pondering the mess he found himself in with regards to his brother’s wife, when the sounds of boot falls could be heard on the stairs leading down into the dank and musty vault. The stone steps were slippery with cold and rot and at one point, someone slipped and fell. They could hear the voices of at least two men trying not to fall the entire way down the steps. When the first man finally appeared, he was holding steady to the man just behind him.

  “Damnable steps,” the knight in heavy armor hissed as he let go of his companion. “I nearly broke my bleeding neck!”

  He was holding on to his heart, not his neck, as if genuinely terrified that he would have met such an end. Sir Adam Wellesbourne was a short, stocky, and muscular knight who more than likely would meet his end on a battlefield and not a flight of stairs, but he was dramatic with the best of them. Following on his heels, the man he had been holding on to, was his cousin, Sir Alec le Bec. A big man, young, with blond hair and bright, blue eyes, he was grinning at the shorter knight.

  “You would not break your neck,” Alec said. “With your girth, you would roll all the way to the bottom and bounce off of the walls, just like an inflated bladder.”

  As Adam snarled at his good-looking cousin by marriage, more men came down the steps. Sir Maxim de Russe, also a cousin to Wellesbourne and le Bec and the son of the great knight once known as Beast, Sir Bastian de Russe, eyed his cousins with some irritation. Maxim was quite young, like Adam and Alec, but he had a wisdom that went well beyond his years. He was also excruciatingly handsome and he knew it, making him palpably arrogant.

  “Still your tongues, both of you,” Maxim said quietly, gesturing to Atticus as the man sat next to Titus’ body. “Have respect.”

  As Adam and Alec shushed each other, Kenton and finally Tertius appeared from the stairs. Now, all five Northumberland knights were in the vault along with Atticus and the earl, gathered for a debriefing and further orders.

  Atticus glanced up at the men, now his men. With Titus gone, he was now in charge of Northumbria’s army. Odd how that hadn’t occurred to him until that moment; it had been six long days since the defeat at Towton but the fact that he was now in command really hadn’t hit him until now. Now, suddenly, realization dawned and he didn’t like the weighty feel of it. He didn’t particularly want it. He had things to do, a future path cut out for him that had nothing to do with commanding Northumberland’s armies. But for the moment, he would pretend the mantle of command had been easily assumed. They were all expecting such confident direction from The Lion of the North and he would not disappoint.

  “I am told that the men are settled and the army disbanded for the moment,” Atticus said, looking at Kenton. “Now that we are settled and returned, what kind of assessment can you give me on the dead and wounded?”

  Kenton folded his enormous arms across his chest, his brow furrowing in thought. He looked exactly like his paternal grandfather, the great Richmond le Bec, in many ways – he had the man’s substantial height and width, and he even had the same habit of cocking an eyebrow when particularly a
nnoyed or thoughtful. He also had Richmond’s legendary fighting ability; in fact, he was better. At least, Richmond had thought so. The man had been gone for several years but his legacy, and his power, remained. There was no one finer with a crossbow in all of England than Kenton le Bec.

  “We carried at least ten thousand men into battle,” he said. “The exact number I had when leaving Alnwick was eight thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven, but we picked up men as we marched southward so the best estimate is that we were well over ten thousand. Out of that ten thousand, a little over three thousand have returned with us to Alnwick and that is not including Thetford’s army.”

  Atticus struggled not to let his shock show but he couldn’t help it; he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the massive headache that threatened.

  “Less than half,” he muttered. “We have returned with less than half our men.”

  Kenton nodded solemnly. “Surely you realized that.”

  Atticus stopped pinching his nose and nodded with great regret. “I suspected,” he said. “What of the battle in general? I know it was a sound defeat for Henry, but do we have an idea of the overall losses?”

  Kenton sighed. “You saw the retreat of our army.”

  Atticus nodded vaguely. “I saw an entire river filled with bodies,” he said. “I was part of the contingent that held off the charging Yorkists to allow our men to fall back. I finally had to give up or surrender my own life. With Norfolk bringing in fresh troops, there was no choice.”

  They all knew that; Towton had been an ugly, nasty defeat, something none of them had spoken of during the entire trip north. There had been no need, as they had mostly been concerned with reaching the safety of Alnwick. But now that they were safe, the terrible defeat at Towton was becoming even more terrible as they discussed the losses for the Lancastrians. Even for the seasoned knights, some of the news was quite shocking and the reality of their status now, as the defeated, was grossly depressing.