Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The first thing he saw was an empty room. Chairs were tipped over, meals half-eaten, and ale was spilled out over the floor. The dogs who usually congregated by the hearth were happy as larks as they wandered around the room, eating off vacated tables. Cautiously moving further into the common room, Warenne could see three serving wenches clustered in the back of the room near the kitchens as the tavern keeper hovered near them, evidently fearful of someone Warenne couldn’t quite see.

  There was a great deal of banging and crashing going on just out of his line of sight, back in the kitchens. As Warenne approached, on guard, Atticus suddenly appeared, sword in hand and a large pitcher of something liquid in the other. He hurled the pitcher across the room, smashing it against the wall on the other side and spraying wine everywhere.

  “Do you understand that the next thing I throw across this room will be you?” Atticus bellowed. “If you do not tell me where she is, you will not have a tavern left when I am finished. Is that in any way unclear?”

  Shocked, Warenne rushed forward. “Atticus!” he gasped. “What has happened? What are you doing?”

  Atticus glanced at Warenne but his gaze quickly returned to the tavern keeper and the three wenches, who were, by now, huddled and weeping.

  “Lady de Wolfe went to the privy a short time ago,” he said, his eyes riveted to the employees of the tavern. “She never made it back inside the tavern. I checked the yard and the privy myself before she went in, and it was clear of danger, but she has somehow disappeared. I would wager to say that these people know who has taken her and if they do not tell me, I will crack a skull against a wall as easily as cracking that pitcher of wine.”

  Warenne sheathed Lespada immediately. “I know where she is,” he said, reaching out to pull Atticus away from the thoroughly terrified people. “I just saw her. Come with me, Atticus, and leave these poor people alone.”

  Atticus looked at Warenne, shocked. “You just saw her?” he demanded. “Where in the hell is she?”

  Warenne tugged on him. “With me,” he ordered quietly. As he yanked Atticus along, he spoke loudly to the tavern keeper. “I will pay for the damages. It is a misunderstanding. Please make sure our rooms are prepared, as we will return shortly.”

  Puzzled, enraged, Atticus allowed Warenne to drag him out of the tavern but the moment they hit the muddy road outside, Atticus pulled Warenne to a halt.

  “Where is she?” he asked, insistent. “The last I saw her was back in the tavern yard.”

  Warenne reached out and grabbed him again, pulling him along. “She is at the stable where the wagon is housed,” he said quietly. “I was there bedding the horses down when she came in. She did not see me as she made her way to the wagon where Titus is. I was going to announce my presence to her but she climbed onto the wagon, sat on the coffin, and began to weep. The poor girl… I simply could not announce myself and embarrass her, so I slipped out through the rear and came to find you.”

  Atticus looked at the man at first with puzzlement but then with great relief. But that relief was quickly replaced by anger.

  “She should not have run away,” he said. “I thought she knew better than to run off. If she wanted to see Titus, why did she not ask me?”

  “How did she know where Titus was?”

  Atticus lifted his eyebrows at the foolish answer he was about to give. “She asked me earlier.”

  Warenne gave Atticus a long look. “You did not take her?”

  “Nay. She did not ask.”

  Warenne sighed. “Atticus, forgive me, but it seems to me as if you have been incredibly selfish with regard to Titus,” he said. “You treat that woman as if she has no rights to your brother at all. You said that Titus loved her. Do you think he would appreciate the fact that you have treated his wife with such disregard?”

  Atticus was trying not to feel guilty as they crossed the last of the muddy road and ended up on mashed, frozen grass. The livery was in the near distance with the de Wolfe escort party milling around the livery yard near a cooking fire.

  “I have not treated her with disregard,” Atticus said, feeling as if he were defending himself. “I have been polite when the situation called for it.”

  Warenne sighed, shaking his head. “She was your brother’s wife,” he said, sounding disgusted. “You told me you may have seen a flicker of what your brother loved in her yet you continue to treat her poorly. I am ashamed of you, Atticus. This poor woman felt she had to slip away to see her husband because you would not take her to him. Is that truly what kind of a man you are? I would never have guessed it but your actions have thus far proven otherwise.”

  They had entered the livery yard by now and Atticus was feeling fairly well disgusted with himself, too. Hearing his behavior through Warenne’s eyes made him think that perhaps he’d not been as benevolent and kind to Isobeau as he thought he’d been. Perhaps he had been selfish with his brother and hadn’t even realized it. But he knew it wasn’t because he had disdain for Isobeau; in fact, just the opposite. When he realized she was missing, he’d experienced fear such as he’d never known. He was still feeling the fear.

  Through the small ventilation window of the livery he could just see the top of Isobeau’s blond head; she was still up in the wagon. He couldn’t hear her and she didn’t seem to be moving around, but the sight of her was enough to make him realize what an idiot he’d been. Maybe he really had treated her poorly because he didn’t feel as if she had a claim on grief for Titus. He was wrong; he knew he was wrong. Heart full of sorrow, he turned to Warenne.

  “I never meant to treat her poorly,” he said quietly. “Mayhap… mayhap in a sense you are correct. I was being selfish with Titus, as if I am the only one who has claim to grieve for him. She does, too. I could see how enamored she and Titus were when he was alive. Mayhap… mayhap there is some jealousy there as well, that it was no longer simply me and Titus anymore. Isobeau was introduced into our lives and for the first time in his life, Titus was focus on something other than our common goals. It was terrible of me, I know. So what do I do?”

  Warenne wasn’t really angry at Atticus; he simply wanted the man to think about Isobeau and stop thinking about himself. He patted Atticus on the side of the head.

  “Go in to that livery and apologize to her,” Warenne said quietly. “Apologize for being selfish and terrible. Marry the woman tonight and make her happy as Titus wanted you to. If you truly want to honor your brother’s memory, that is what you will do.”

  Atticus nodded, resigned. “I will,” he muttered. “She wants to go with me when I seek out de la Londe and de Troiu, too. She accused me of being selfish about that, too. She said I acted as if I were the only one allowed vengeance in Titus’ death.”

  Warenne shrugged. “You do act that way,” he replied. “But fortunately, I did not listen to you. I will say this, however – just as you are allowed your vengeance, so is Isobeau. She has as much right to vengeance as you do. More, even. She was Titus’ wife.”

  “Then you believe I should take her with me?”

  Warenne lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully, perhaps indecisively. “I think you should consider it,” he said. “She may resent you otherwise, for the rest of your life. I do not think you want that, do you?”

  Atticus shook his head. “Nay,” he confirmed. His gaze moved to the livery again; Isobeau’s head had disappeared in the window. “But a quest for vengeance is no place for a woman. She may be hurt, or worse. Moreover, she is with child – Titus’ child. How can I risk her and the child like that?”

  Warenne shook his head. “Believe it or not, there are midwives all over England who can deliver a child when the time comes,” he said sarcastically. Then, he grasped Atticus by the arm, his gaze intense. “She will not be hurt. Kenton and I will be there to aid you. We will also protect her. Stop treating his woman as if she does not matter, Atticus; she mattered to Titus a great deal. She has every right to mourn for him and she has every right to seek vengeance regardl
ess of the fact that she is with child. I admire her strength for wanting to do so and you should, too.”

  Atticus knew he was correct. About everything, he was correct. No more protests, no more excuses. With a sigh, he turned away from Warenne and headed towards the livery.

  “As you say,” he said, sounding weary. “I will see if I can undo what I have done.”

  With Atticus in the lead, Warenne followed. The stable yard was mucky and slippery as they made their way to the wide entry door. Just as they reached it, Atticus came to a sudden halt and when Warenne opened his mouth to ask him why, Atticus shushed him. He gestured to the interior of the livery where there was some whispering and weeping going on. Not wanting to intrude, Atticus peered around the side of the entry door to hear better of what was happening inside that cold, dark structure.

  “… and then she threw me!” Isobeau was saying, giggling. “Do not feel bad for it; I know you gave me the horse but it was my fault for not holding on tightly enough. She had been corralled in the barn since the big snow back in February, right after you left, and she was quite happy to be out. She was very frisky. I am riding her even now as we head to Wolfe’s Lair. I am quite excited to meet your father, you know; I just wish… well, it does not matter. You are going home, Titus. Atticus is making sure of it. He is making sure of everything. He will punish those men who killed you. I only hope he does it with your sword… I do not know where it is but I shall ask Atticus. I am sure he knows. I hope he kills those men with your sword and that he then, in turn, passes your sword to our son. It would be such a great honor for our son to carry your sword. And that’s another thing; what are we to name him? Tertius says I must name him a Roman name or my father will disown me.”

  She set off giggling again, stroking the lid of the casket lovingly as Atticus and Warenne watched. Isobeau was no longer sitting on the casket, she now knelt beside it. Her hands were all over it, touching it, speaking to Titus inside. As they watched, it looked as if she thought to lift the lid so she could look at Titus once more but she stopped herself. Defeated, she laid her forehead against the edge of the coffin lid.

  She lifted her head. “I miss you so much,” she whispered, her tone now very serious in contrast from the giggling that had been going on earlier. “I can still hear your voice and I can still see your smile as you waved farewell to me those months ago. You told me you loved me and I was too foolish to say it in return. I should have; God knows, I should have. Titus, I swear that if I had known you would not return to me, I would have never let you go. I would have found some way to keep you at Alnwick. It is not fair that we did not have a chance at a life together; it is not fair at all. And your brother… he says that you asked him to marry me and to take care of me. I am sure it was a noble thought, my love, but I must tell you that your brother wants nothing to do with me. I am afraid you have doomed us both to a sad and unhappy life with one another. It is therefore my intention to tell him that I release him from your request. Surely you did not mean to make him so miserable, Titus. It was selfish of you to ask. I know you do not want me to marry anyone else and I swear that I shan’t. When we reach Wolfe’s Lair, I will find the nearest church and tell the priest of my situation and beg that he admit me to the nearest convent. I will become a bride of Christ. I would rather do that than marry anyone else.”

  With that, she trailed off and laid her head back on the coffin lid, simply laying there and perhaps dreaming of a life that would never be. Atticus, filled with sorrow and regret, turned to look at Warenne, who was gazing back at him with equal sorrow. They had both heard what Isobeau had said, now knowing what was in the lady’s heart. It was tragic to say the least.

  “That is not what Titus wanted,” Warenne whispered. “You must speak with her, Atticus, now.”

  Atticus didn’t hesitate. He went straight into the livery, leaving Warenne outside, and approached the wagon where Isobeau lay with the top part of her body across the coffin lid. She didn’t hear him enter so he cleared his throat softly as he approached simply to warn her that she was no longer alone.

  Isobeau’s head shot up when she heard him, her eyes big on him. There was guilt and fear across her features as Atticus came to stand next to the wagon bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke; they simply stared at one another. Isobeau kept waiting for the man to explode at her but, so far, he’d given no indication he planned to. His expression was surprisingly calm, considering she had run off and lied to him. Maybe he was so calm because he was beyond fury and had terrible things planned for her punishment. Nervously, she cleared her throat.

  “Sir Atticus,” she stammered. “I… I did not mean to cause you any undue concern by leaving the tavern, but I felt compelled to….”

  Atticus put up a hand, cutting her off. “You need not explain,” he said quietly. “I am not angry. In fact, it seems as if I owe you a wide measure of apology, my lady. It occurred to me when you felt compelled to steal away to come and see my brother that I have not been very kind to you. For you to have to feel as if the only way to see Titus was to escape me, I have been a terrible man indeed.”

  Isobeau blinked, surprised by his reaction. “I… I simply wanted a few minutes alone with him,” she said. “When you gave me the opportunity to see him back at Alnwick, I fainted. I have not spoken to my husband at all and I wanted to tell him of the child. And of other things. I think I told him everything that has happened at Alnwick since he left. I thought he would want to know.”

  She was tearing up by the time she finished, lowering her head and sniffling so he could not see her watery eyes. But Atticus knew she was weeping; he was coming to feel worse and worse about the way he’d treated her, especially after hearing what she had told Titus. There had been such joy in her words at first, and finally such sorrow. Was he really such a monster? Warenne had warned him of his behavior and now the words from Isobeau had suggested the same thing. Maybe he had been as selfish as they’d accused him of being. With a heavy sigh, he scratched his scalp wearily and sat on the edge of the wagon bed.

  “He would want to know,” he agreed with her, having difficulty looking the woman in the eye. “My lady, if I have been selfish and rude and terrible, then I apologize. I begged your forgiveness once but it seems as if I have not amended my ways. That will end, now. You do, indeed, have the right to grieve my brother and you do, indeed, have a right to your own sense of vengeance towards those who caused his death. I promised my brother I would marry you and I shall, and I hope to make as excellent a husband as Titus did. I shall endeavor to do so. I pray that you will accept my proposal of marriage and know that the man you have seen over the past two days is not indicative of the man I am. Grief can do odd things to one’s soul. I am sorry you bore the brunt of it.”

  By this time, Isobeau was listening to him quite seriously, wiping tears from her eyes. “I do not know what to say, in truth,” she said. “I told you that I do not want another husband. Titus should not have expected, nor have asked, us to wed.”

  Atticus grunted, leaning forward on the wagon. “I thought so, too,” he said. “But then I tried to look at it from Titus’ perspective. Actually, someone else made me look at it from Titus’ perspective – if I had a wife I loved very much, it would be my first priority to ensure she was well taken care of. If the roles had been reversed, I am sure I would have begged Titus the same thing.”

  Isobeau regarded him carefully. There was some indecision in her expression now, as if she hadn’t thought on Titus’ standpoint until this moment. After a pause of deliberation, of reflection, her gaze moved to the coffin she was leaning against.

  “He should not have asked you such things,” she said quietly. “Sir Atticus, I release you from your vow to Titus. I know you do not wish to marry me and I do not wish to have another husband, so it is my intention to commit myself to a convent near to the place where Titus is buried. That way, I can visit him sometimes.”

  Atticus already knew of her plan considering he h
ad overheard her earlier, so he had already planned out his reply. He was careful yet truthful.

  “My lady, if you commit yourself to a convent, it would not be in your best interest or in the child’s best interest,” he said. “As soon as the baby is born, it will be taken away from you and turned over to a family to foster. Did you think you would be able to keep your son with you? They will not allow it in the convent.”

  She frowned. “Surely they would not separate a mother from her child.”

  He shrugged. “You would not be a mother,” he said. “You would be a bride of Christ. Brides do not have babies.”

  Evidently, the thought of being separated from her child had not occurred to her and she was visibly distressed. “I will not let them take my child,” she said flatly. “I would kill them if they tried.”

  He looked at her; she had such a delicate face with a little upturned nose, wide eyes, and beautifully arched brows. More than that, she had lips that were ripe and lush, inviting a man’s lust. She was quite a ravishing creature, as he’d always noticed, but perhaps now he was noticing just a little more. She was an invariably strong woman, unafraid to stand up to him and unafraid to speak her mind.

  So many pieces of a puzzle were coming together as he looked at her, disjointed pieces of the Isobeau puzzle that had been orbiting in his mind, things he realized about her but had never pulled together as a whole picture. He remembered the first time he ever saw her, telling his brother what a fortunate man he was to have such a beautiful bride. But after the wedding, he hadn’t spent any amount of time around Isobeau because Titus occupied all of her time, as he should have. But in the past two days, they had been thrown together in unpleasant circumstances that would have destroyed a lesser woman. Isobeau had stood strong through it all. As a result, Atticus was coming to think she was fairly extraordinary.