Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Solomon wondered if Lady Isobeau realized that about the man she was marrying. If she didn’t now, she soon would – Atticus was nothing like Titus. He was hard, immovable, unbreakable. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the priest who had conducted Titus’ funeral and a thought occurred to him. He turned to the tiny man in the smelly, woolen robes.

  “You will perform a wedding mass before you leave,” he told him. “Prepare your sacrament.”

  Atticus looked to Isobeau in surprise and she seemed equally stunned. Atticus reached out and grasped his father by the arm.

  “Papa,” he said quietly. “I fear this is too much for Lady de Wolfe. She has only just lost her husband and….”

  Solomon threw up his hands in an impatient gesture. “Why should this be too much?” he wanted to know. “You promised that I could witness your wedding, Atticus. There is no better time than now. I see no reason to delay.”

  Frankly, Atticus didn’t, either, but he was genuinely concerned about Isobeau’s feelings. She was physically weak, and undoubtedly emotional, so Atticus thought remarriage on this day of days might be a little much for her. But he also remembered what he had told her; I will not marry you until my brother is in the ground. Titus was now officially buried, and truth be told, there was no reason not to marry the woman. The situation, at the moment, was optimal. With a sigh of resignation, he turned to Isobeau.

  “My lady?” he said politely. “Are you agreeable?”

  Isobeau looked between Atticus and Solomon, thinking much the same thing Atticus was – that there was no reason to delay. There was no point. Given the situation, she didn’t view the marriage as an emotional event, merely one of duty, and she had already established that she was agreeable to marrying Atticus. She nodded to the question.

  “Aye,” she replied. “I am agreeable.”

  Atticus still seemed concerned. “Are you feeling well enough to do this?”

  Again, Isobeau nodded. “I am.”

  With a faint smile, perhaps one of both encouragement and pleasure, Atticus extended a hand to her. When she placed her small, soft hand in his big, rough one, Solomon grabbed the priest by the arm and practically yanked the man back over to the altar where Atticus and Isobeau were now standing. As the tiny man began to intone the marriage mass from his dog-eared book of liturgy, one he had copied himself when he had been a seminary student, Atticus found his attention drifting to the crypt beyond the altar where his brother now lay.

  There was great finality in the marriage ceremony, perhaps more finality than there was in the funeral mass. The funeral simply commended Titus’ soul to God, a final motion in a death that had been dragged out for almost two weeks now. Titus’ actual death had only been the beginning of a long journey of his passing that had brought them all to this point. Now, the marriage ceremony binding Titus’ widow to his brother was sealing the deal.

  Titus was dead and gone and now they were all expected to move on with their lives without him. Atticus knew, as he’d realized from the start, how difficult that was going to be. His missed his brother more every day. His gaze lingered on the crypt as he said his vows and then his attention finally turned to the woman that was now his wife.

  Isobeau….

  Now, she was his.

  Farewell, Titus….

  CHAPTER TEN

  ~ The New Beginning ~

  Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to A Day of Dreams

  A day of dreams is upon me still,

  And I see your face in the sky.

  My heart knows only that it misses you still,

  Until the time goes by.

  —Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c

  It was just after dawn.

  Atticus had spent most of the night watching his new wife sleep, pondering the turn his life had taken and feeling the loss of Titus to his bones. Yesterday had been a pivotal day for him, burying his brother and getting married all in the same stroke. But in the same breath, he knew that he had to push his grief and heartache aside. He had a task to accomplish, and a new wife to know, and he couldn’t do it with the constant sorrow of Titus’ death hanging over his head.

  Today, his new life with Isobeau began and his determination to bring de la Londe and de Troiu to justice was stronger than it had ever been. Something was screaming in his soul about it, demanding his brother be avenged louder than he’d ever heard it. His thoughts had moved between his brother’s murderers and his new wife throughout the night and by the time the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, de la Londe and de Troiu had won over. He could think of little else.

  After he and Isobeau had married yesterday morning, he’d escorted her back to the chamber that had been prepared for her, the chamber that had once belonged to his mother, where she had lain down to rest and ended up sleeping all day and all night. Even now, as dawn broke, she was still asleep, her body recovering from the trials and tribulations it had been forced to endure. Through it all, Isobeau had remained strong, at least as strong as she could. She had never complained or lamented her situation, a manner that Atticus found admirable. He’d seen that quiet resolve from the woman since the beginning but the sheer strength of character was coming to impress him. Ever since that night in the stable at Rothsburg, he had seen the woman in a new light.

  In spite of everything, he was glad he had married her.

  But a new day was breaking and, much like him, Isobeau would be forced to face her new future. There was something they had to do, a purpose to their lives. They would need to move south, following Norfolk’s trail, in their search to locate de la Londe and de Troiu. Atticus was, in fact, planning a meeting with Kenton and Warenne this morning to plan that very journey and for the past hour he had been trying to figure out how to discourage his father from joining them. It was true that Solomon didn’t travel, and hadn’t for ten years, but these were extenuating circumstances. It was possible the old man would try, which would only drag them down. That thought concerned him.

  “Did you even sleep last night?”

  It was a soft, female voice that spoke, interrupting his chaotic thoughts. Atticus looked over to see that Isobeau was sleepily gazing at him. When their eyes met, he smiled faintly, watching her lips bloom with a lovely smile. It was a glorious thing so early in the morning, on this day that started their new life together. As Atticus looked at her, any lingering grief he had for his brother slipped away. If there was joy to be found in the darkness of his sorrow, he was looking at it.

  “I may have,” he said quietly, a glimmer of humor in his eye. “I cannot recall.”

  Isobeau stifled a yawn and lifted her head. “Surely you are weary,” she said. “I will rise and you may sleep in this bed for a time if you wish. I will sit outside of the door and make sure everyone is quiet.”

  He laughed softly. “Although I appreciate the offer, it is unnecessary,” he said. “How are you feeling? You slept a long time.”

  Isobeau couldn’t stifle the second yawn that caught her by surprise. “How long?”

  “All day and all night.”

  She sighed, thinking on the very long and restful sleep. The truth was that she felt much better than she had in quite a while. “Then it is little wonder that I am so famished,” she said. “Would it be possible to have some food brought to me?”

  Atticus was on his feet already, moving for the chamber door. “I will have them bring a feast,” he said. “You slept through the meal last evening so I would imagine that you are quite hungry.”

  Isobeau yawned one last time, her eyes lingering on the man she had married as he opened the door and sent the nearest servant running for the kitchen. She reflected upon him the first time they’d spoken at Alnwick, when they had discussed Titus’ death and the man’s subsequent request for the two of them to marry. Atticus, at that time, had been a hard and bitter man but those particular traits seemed to have left him as of late and she was thankful. Ever since their discussion back in that cold, dark, livery
stable, discussing their lives over Titus’ coffin, Atticus had seemed much different towards her. Almost… kind. And sweet. Well, perhaps not exactly sweet, but there were times when she thought he might have a propensity towards that particular trait. Like now; he had been quite kind and friendly as she awoke from a deep sleep. Almost as if he was glad to be there.

  But no; Isobeau knew he was marrying her out of a sense of duty alone. Still, if the man remained kind to her, she could grow used to such a thing and learn to accept it. She could learn to accept him even though she truly had no choice in the matter. She hoped they could at least have a pleasant association. She didn’t expect it to be anything like her relationship with Titus so pleasant was the best she could hope for. Anything more seemed impossible. Confusing, even. But… even the least bit attractive.

  Do you transfer your affections so easily? Solomon had asked her. Isobeau had never considered herself one to share her affections with anyone other than her husband, but Atticus was her husband now. Perhaps in time, there might be affection. She wondered if she would be an awful person for allowing that to happen.

  Lost to her thoughts, she noticed when Atticus entered the chamber again and she sat up in the bed, immediately realizing she was in her clothing from the previous day. She brushed at the now-wrinkled dress.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she muttered. “I am still in the garments I wore yesterday. You must think me a terribly slovenly person for sleeping in my finery.”

  Atticus gave her a half-grin. “As I said, you were clearly exhausted,” he said. “It was a difficult day for you.”

  “And for you.”

  He shook his head, averting his gaze as if an inherent sense of guilt forced him to. Guilt for allowing Titus’ child to come to harm, guilt for his inability to protect Isobeau from forces beyond his control.

  “I would say it was considerably worse for you,” he said quietly. Then, he eyed her. “Are you sure that you feel well?”

  “I do.”

  “I do not need to summon another physic or a midwife to tend to you?”

  Isobeau knew what he meant and her heart hurt, just for a moment, thinking on the child she had lost. She sighed softly. “You do not,” she told him. “I feel well, indeed. Please do not worry so.”

  Atticus wasn’t sure what to say to that; if the woman said she felt well then he would not be rude and press her. So he simply nodded his head and changed the subject away from the unhappy occurrence of yesterday. “I instructed the servant to bring you warmed water as well so that you may wash if you wish,” he said. “Is there anything else you require to begin your day?”

  Isobeau shook her head. “Nay,” she said quietly, her gaze lingering on him. She, too, wanted to move the conversation away from the tragic event of her lost child, something neither one of them could do anything about now. It was best not to dwell on it because there was so much to be hurt over as of late. But she had cried her tears. At some point, they were going to have to move past the pain. “I… I suppose this is a terrible way for a new bridegroom to spend the eve of his wedding, watching his bride as she passes out on the bed like a drunkard.”

  He laughed softly. “It was not so terrible,” he said, his eyes rather warm. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.”

  She snorted, smoothing at her mussed hair. “If that is true, I cannot think of one.”

  “I can.”

  She simply grinned, perhaps a bit embarrassed at his moderate flattery, and rose wearily from the bed. It took her a moment to get her balance before she headed over to her capcases lined up against the wall. She noticed that he was watching her and she paused as she opened the first case, looking to the man with some sincerity.

  “I did not have much opportunity to speak with you yesterday on the event of our marriage,” she said, “but I would like to say that I will do my best to make this a pleasant association. I would say that it is for Titus’ sake, because it is he who wished for our marriage, but it really has nothing to do with Titus at all. I say it because we are married now and will be together for the rest of our lives, and I should like for our association to be pleasant and peaceful.”

  Atticus pondered her statement for a moment. He realized that he wanted to say something more about it, as if he wanted it to be more than simply pleasant or peaceful, but he held his tongue. It was too soon to say such things, so he succumbed to the appropriate answer.

  “As should I,” he said. “I told you once before that I would endeavor to make a good husband. I will hold to that vow.”

  With a little smile, Isobeau turned to her capcases and began rummaging around for something to wear for the day. Atticus lingered over by the door, watching her. He liked to watch her. In fact, she had the most beautiful hands he had ever seen and he found himself fascinated by the way she moved. Every movement was fluid and graceful. He found himself moving from her hands to her torso, eyeing the woman’s incredible figure of full bust and slender waist, thinking that all of that tender flesh now belonged to him.

  He tried not to think on the fact that his brother had once touched that same flesh; there, he’d said it. Was it perverted that he would be lusting over her, tasting what Titus had tasted, joining his body to the woman in the most private sense where his brother had once been? Perhaps that dilemma, more than anything, had been bothering him. He was sharing the same woman his brother had loved and he was expected to perform as a man should perform with her. He was expected to impregnate her with his children as Titus had done. Was it wrong? Was it strange? Perhaps it was only to him, but it didn’t matter now. He was married to her and she was his wife. He was allowed to do as he pleased. Already, the woman was drawing his lust, as misplaced as that might be.

  A knock on the chamber door jolted him from his thoughts. He opened the panel, expecting to see a servant bearing food, but it was Kenton in the corridor instead. One look at Kenton’s face and Atticus knew that something was amiss.

  “You must come,” Kenton said, his voice low. “We have sighted riders heading for Wolfe’s Lair.”

  Atticus could hear the concern in the man’s voice. “Have you identified them?”

  Kenton nodded. “One of them is wearing a Norfolk tunic,” he answered, keeping his voice down so that Isobeau could not hear. “You must come.”

  Startled at the mention of Norfolk, and seized with both curiosity and rage, Atticus fled the chamber, slamming the door in his wake and charging down the corridor with Kenton on his heels. He found that the information had him unstable, furious, and he struggled to contain his emotions.

  “How far out are they?” he asked Kenton.

  They had reached the steps that led down to the second level. “Very close,” Kenton replied. “They should be reaching the gates by now.”

  “And you are only now telling me?”

  “We did not see Norfolk’s colors until a few minutes ago. Until then, we had no idea who they were.”

  “Has my father been notified?”

  “We sent a man to rouse him.”

  Atticus was still agitated that he’d not been notified sooner but he let it go. Kenton would not have deliberately withheld anything from him. Descending the stairs into the freezing cold bailey, icy and shadowed in the early dawn, they made their way to another flight of stairs that led up to the gatehouse and the wall walk where dozens of men were gathered, evidently watching the approaching party.

  Atticus had to push his way through men in order to reach the vantage point on the wall where he could see the entire moor spread out before him, facing off to the south. The sun was just peeking over the horizon at the point, reaching golden fingers onto the frozen landscape, illuminating but not warming.

  Almost immediately, Atticus could see a group of six heavily armed men approaching the gatehouse, including two well-equipped knights of the highest order. It was then that he grew incredibly suspicious; more than that, he could feel the familiar scent of battle in his nostrils. Whenever he saw heavi
ly armed knights, he couldn’t help it. It was in his blood.

  Warenne was standing closer to the gatehouse, right on the edge of the wall walk as the riders drew close to the gatehouse and pulled their agitated mounts to a halt. Steam was rising from the heated horses as Atticus came up behind the young earl.

  “Norfolk,” Atticus growled in Warenne’s ear.

  The earl nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the men below. “I know,” he said. “You will let me handle this, Atticus. Knowing you as I do, you will be flying off this wall and murdering all six of those men before a word is even spoken. Leave this to me for now.”

  Atticus didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. His silence was enough of an agreement for Warenne. Tension as thick as the ice floes in the streams weighed heavily upon the men of Wolfe’s Lair as they gazed down at enemy riders. Theirs was an unwelcome appearance.

  “Tell me your business immediately,” Warenne shouted off the wall. “Who has sent you and why have you come?”

  Six frozen faces looked up at Warenne and both knights flipped up their visors. The only things revealed were their eyes; their faces were wrapped up in layers of wool against the cold. The biggest knight, however, unwrapped the wool from around his mouth and nose so that he could speak clearly.

  “I have come on business on behalf of the Duke of Norfolk,” he said. “I did not expect to see you here, Warenne. What are you doing at a de Wolfe outpost?”

  Warenne, who was cool and collected even in the worst circumstances, visibly tensed. He stared at the knight for several long seconds, processing the voice, the words, before the light of recognition finally appeared. His features twisted with disbelief.

  “Shaun?” he said, obviously surprised. “What are you doing representing Norfolk?”

  Sir Shaun Summerlin grinned ironically at his brother-in-law. “Father and I have been serving Edward for over a year,” he said. “Had you come home at any point in time over the past two years, you would have known this. My sister knows it.”