Tarraby knew that. He could hear it in his tone. All he could do was play along, at least for now, until Will came to terms with the situation.
“If you wish it, I will,” he said.
Will simply nodded, unable to articulate anything more, as Tarraby turned and headed back into the hall.
But Will didn’t.
He didn’t want to be around anyone at the moment.
Dazed, he headed back into Carlisle’s keep. There was a small chamber off the hall that had formerly been used as a guard room but when he took possession of the castle, it became his private solar. It was a cramped chamber with an enormous hearth, but it was his and it was quiet.
At the moment, he desperately needed quiet.
There were only servants moving about the keep when he entered, sweeping the small feasting hall and making preparations for the night. Will walked right past them and into his small room, shutting the door. For a moment, he simply stood there, hearing Tarraby’s words ringing in his head.
There is nothing to be done.
Lily was going to die.
Things like this happened to other people. Not to him. He’d already lost the most important woman in his life when he was younger, when his mother and his younger two siblings drowned in a terrible accident. It was true that he’d been a youth at the time, fostering at Lioncross Abbey Castle, but that didn’t make the impact of his mother’s death any less painful.
Unfortunately, he’d not been able to show it.
Will’s brother, named Thomas but known as Tor, was three years younger and they’d fostered together. They had been, and continued to be, quite close. When news of their mother’s passing had come, Tor had taken it hard and it had been up to Will to show strength in the situation. He didn’t have the luxury of exhibiting his pain because Tor had been such a mess about it. Will had been forced to mourn his mother privately, using his strength to comfort his brother. But inside, he had been crumbling just like his brother did.
That outward composure had come at a cost.
After that, Will became very good at bottling himself up and letting things fester. Outwardly, he was in control. Always in control. But inwardly, his guts ached and his heart burned, keeping his rather fragile emotions contained. He didn’t speak much of his feelings and he rarely showed them.
Not even to Lily.
God, what a mess this was.
Now, he had a wife in trouble. Not merely in trouble, but facing a shockingly mortal situation. Never in a million years had Will imagined he’d be facing something like this again in his lifetime, but if what Tarraby said was correct, he was facing losing yet another important woman in his life. Even if their marriage had become something that simply existed for existence’s sake and the fire of passion had burned out years ago, that didn’t mean he didn’t care for Lily. She was the mother of his children and he would always care for her. He would always be concerned for her. Truth be told, as he thought on the situation, he realized that he was much more concerned with his children’s reaction to their mother’s diagnosis than he was with his own feelings about it.
And that brought about waves of guilt.
Maybe more guilt than he could handle.
The small chamber contained a table with a half-filled pitcher of old wine and a couple of wooden cups that he and Marcellus had used for the wine two days ago. The servants simply never removed it because he didn’t like them in this room. Picking up the pitcher, he drank straight from the neck. Stale wine still got him just as drunk, but it didn’t take away the anguish.
It only made it worse.
Buckling under the weight of his life collapsing before his very eyes, Will remained in the chamber all night and when morning came, a missive went out to Rule Water Castle, seat of Scott de Wolfe, and to Lioncross Abbey Castle, seat of Chris de Lohr.
He needed help.
CHAPTER FOUR
For this time of year, the day had dawned with a significant amount of dew and fog across the gently rolling hills of northern England.
Everything was wet as Adria emerged from the keep. These days, her chamber was an alcove off of Lily’s main chamber, a tiny room used for servants in days past, but it had become her tiny haven. She really didn’t mind because it was cozy and private, and more importantly, it was hers alone. She didn’t have to share it with anyone. It kept her close to Lily, who slept alone in the big chamber except for Atticus, who had his own bed near the hearth and a corner of the enormous chamber to call his own.
Carlisle’s keep hadn’t been built for comfort or growing families. It had the one massive chamber and smaller servant’s chamber on the top floor and then directly below that was the smaller hall. There were other small chambers off the hall, two in fact, and then there was a vault below the hall where they kept the stores. Visitors and knights either slept in the outbuildings in the outer ward or they slept in the small apartment block in the inner ward that was built along the wall next to the gatehouse.
That was where Adria’s father was.
Truthfully, she was hoping he would become disgruntled with her refusal to participate in the schemes he’d come to her with and would soon be heading home. She’d stayed away from him last night and as the misty day dawned, she intended to stay away from him this morning as well.
The man’s mere presence made her tense.
Still, she wasn’t going to let him distract her. She had a task to complete with Warenton’s gift and she intended to see it through. In her arms, she carried the blue woolen fabric with the intention of having it gently washed to remove the ammonia smell that Lily found so unpleasant. There was a type of herb used for the cleansing of clothing, called soapwort or even latherwort depending on the region or even the variation of the herb, that created a fine frothy liquid when crushed that was quite gentle on clothing and quite effective.
Adria had seen the washerwomen of Carlisle use the soapwort many times and even at this early hour, the women from the village who washed the clothing of the inhabitants of the castle were in the kitchen yard, heating big vats of water for the wash of the day. These women were paid well for washing clothing and Adria greeted them as they gathered around her, sensing a well-paying job with the fabric she was carrying. She was able to negotiate a good price for the washing with one of the women, turning over the fabric but not leaving the yard.
She wanted to make sure that lovely blue color wasn’t damaged.
As the washerwoman began to work on the smelly fabric, Adria watched from a position over near the fire that was heating the big vats of water. It was warm there, heat against the cold morning. She was thinking about seeking something warm to drink, as the cook usually had something warm and simmering like watered wine, spicy and delicious, or even warm milk with cinnamon. That was Lily’s favorite. As she mulled over collecting a drink, she saw a small body dart into the yard.
Atticus entered the yard, carrying his wooden sword. He wasn’t well-dressed against the chill, meaning he’d slipped out while his mother was asleep. With Atticus, that happened quite a bit. When she saw the child, she immediately went to intercept him.
“Atticus?” she said. “What are you doing here? It’s very cold this morning. Where is your heavy tunic?”
Atticus’ teeth were chattering in the cold, his nose pinched red. He was wearing what he had been sleeping in – a tunic and a pair of breeches. He’d pulled his shoes on, but one of them was untied and he was dragging the ties through the mud of the yard.
He looked at Adria as if prepared to fight her off with his wooden weapon.
“I… I was looking for Bradford,” he said. “Have you seen him?”
Adria shook her head. “I have not,” she said. “Does your mother know you are here?”
Atticus frowned. “Where is my father?” he said. “I want my father.”
“You just said you were looking for Bradford,” Adria reminded him. “Do not lie to me, Atticus. Your mother does not know you are here beca
use you are poorly dressed against the morning. That means you’ve not even washed your neck or ears. Your mother asks you to do that every morning before you dress.”
Atticus’ frown grew, looking very much like his mother in that gesture. “You cannot tell me what to do,” he said. “Leave me alone.”
He was defiant for a six year old. And naughty. But Adria didn’t care how defiant or naughty he was; she knew how to take charge. Reaching out, she grabbed him by the ear, pulling him over to the fire with its boiling vats of water.
“Ooch!” Atticus cried as she dragged him across the yard. “Let me go!”
“Quiet,” Adria hissed. “You are a wild and naughty lad, Atticus de Wolfe, and you disobey your mother far more than you should.”
“Let me –!”
“Hush,” she snapped softly, cutting him off. “There is no one to help you, so you may as well cooperate.”
The washerwomen had already washed some of the linens that were used in the keep, either bedding or towels, and she grabbed one off the line that it was hanging on. Still dragging Atticus, she dipped the linen in the boiling water, waited a nominal amount of time for it to cool, before grabbing the child by the hair and using the warm, wet rag to wash his neck by force.
Atticus howled.
“Stop!” he demanded, trying to pull away from her. “Stop washing me!”
Adria ignored him. She scrubbed the boy’s dirty face, having seen Lily do it a thousand times and having watched Atticus scream a thousand times. The boy hated to be washed, but Lily simply didn’t have the strength to do battle with him these days, so Adria was happy to do it in her stead.
But Atticus was not happy to have her do it.
“You’re hurting me!” he cried. “Let me go!”
Adria continued in her task, now washing his ears as he struggled to pull away from her. But she held his hair fast and he finally gave up pulling when he realized she wasn’t going to let him go. He whined and groaned as she went back to scrubbing the back of his neck because it was so dirty. She didn’t stop until she was satisfied.
“There,” she said, finally releasing him. “Now, you will return to your chamber and put on warmer clothing. If you do not, I will drag you back into the chamber and dress you myself. Is that what you want?”
Rubbing at his stinging ears, Atticus hung his head and scowled. “Nay.”
Adria pointed to the keep. “Go,” she told him. “Do not come down until you are properly dressed.”
Atticus dared to look up at her, sticking his tongue out at her before running off as fast as he could go. Adria shook her head at the cheeky child, catching sight of Will entering the kitchen yard just as Atticus ran through the gate like his arse was on fire. Puzzled, Will watched his son bolt as Adria went to him to clear up his confusion.
“He was out here looking for Bradford,” she said. “He is ill-clothed for the chill morning, so I washed his face and neck and sent him back up to dress properly.”
Will grinned, flashing that seductive de Wolfe smile that most of the males in the family seemed to have – dimpled, with prominent canines. It was a smile that thrilled a thousand female hearts and then some.
“Is that all?” he asked. “I heard him howling in the outer ward. I thought surely he was being tortured.”
“He was.”
Will chuckled. “I am sure he thinks so,” he said, sobering as he looked at Adria. “Thank you for tending to him. I assume Lady de Wolfe is still asleep?”
Adria nodded. “I think so,” she said. “She was when I left the chamber. She seems to sleep a good deal these days, understandably.”
Will’s humor left him completely as Adria inadvertently brought up Lily’s condition. It was the entire reason why he hadn’t slept last night and this morning, the situation didn’t look any better. If anything, he felt worse. He glanced at Adria, seeing that lovely woman he’d always seen. Luscious titian-colored hair and green eyes were part of the beauty he was faced with every day, so he’d become accustomed to it and to her. She was a fixture in his family, something unnoticed when she was present but were she to leave, she would be terribly missed because she was incredibly devoted to Lily. She had been a great and loyal friend to his wife.
Lily was going to need that devotion now, more than ever.
“She is under a good deal of strain these days,” he said. It was all he could manage to say on that matter. “Adria… you were with her yesterday when Tarraby examined her, were you not?”
Adria nodded. “I was.”
“Did Tarraby… what I mean to say is did he express any concerns to you or to Lady de Wolfe?”
Adria cocked her head. “Concerns?” she repeated thoughtfully. “Nay, no concerns, but he did ask her many questions. Why do you ask?”
Will shrugged. “I was just curious if he said anything to her, or she to him.”
“You’ve not asked her?”
He shook his head. “I’ve not seen her since last night,” he said. “I will ask her when I see her, but I thought you might be able to tell me anything interesting.”
Adria shook her head. “Nothing particularly interesting,” she said. “Did Tarraby not tell you the results of his examination? He said that he was going to.”
Will couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he had indeed spoken to Tarraby. He was starting to feel anxious again, still shocked from the news, when he suddenly saw his son bolting across the inner ward again, heading for the gatehouse. The boy had a heavy tunic on, but his shoes were still untied, the laces dragging in the mud.
His focus shifted.
“Lady Adria,” he said quietly. “I was hoping that you might be able to help Lady de Wolfe these days by tending to Atticus more closely. I know that my wife likes to tend her children herself, but in her condition, she should not be chasing after him. I realize that you serve my wife as her lady-in-waiting, but would you be willing to help more with Atticus? More than you usually do?”
Adria nodded. “Or course, my lord,” she said. “I would be happy to.”
“Would you be willing to take full charge of him?”
“If you and Lady de Wolfe wish it.”
Will was trying not to convey what he was feeling. He was trying to keep his manner calm and composed like he always was, but given the subject matter, it was difficult. He didn’t want to let on that there was a reason for his request beyond the normal concerns of Lily’s obvious condition.
“I do,” he said. “I will break the bad news to Atticus because he fears you are a tyrant, but I appreciate you tending to him so Lady de Wolfe does not have to worry over him. She should not be exerting herself so.”
Adria smiled at the mention of a tyrant, for it was true. But something in those pale eyes studied him closely.
He could feel her scrutiny.
“Did Tarraby tell you something that we should be concerned with?” she asked.
He hadn’t yet admitted he’d even spoken to Tarraby yet and he didn’t want to fuel her curiosity, so he simply waved her off.
“My wife is pregnant,” he stated the obvious. “That is always something to be concerned with. Now, I will go find my son, who I just saw run through the gatehouse, and bring him back here. I will tell him that you have full authority over him but I will request that if there is any punishment to be dealt out that you consult with me first. Will you do that?”
“Of course, my lord.”
His gaze lingered on her as he wanted to say more but he ended up averting his eyes and turning towards the gatehouse.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said quietly. “Your help is much appreciated.”
Adria simply nodded even though he couldn’t see her. She watched him walk across the small inner ward, studying the man. He had a kind of deliberate, proud gait. He was an enormous man with the future of the entire de Wolfe empire weighing on him. He was quite the handsome man; she’d always thought so. When he flashed that grin as he so often did, Adria could well unders
tand how the gesture would make even the hardiest maiden faint with glee. With his hazel eyes and dark hair with a hint of auburn, he most definitely had that power.
But there was something gruff about Will de Wolfe, something hard and strong and unbreakable. He could bellow out orders that could be heard over half of England and he had a penchant for using hilarious insults when the mood struck him. They’d all heard Will call his men lumpish gecks when they didn’t move fast enough or tell them that they were all a gaggle of musty parasites when something didn’t go his way.
There was no one in all of England who could insult men better and get away with it.
Secretly, Adria had always had a bit of a fondness for him. She wouldn’t even admit that to herself even though she knew it was true because Will was married to her lady and there would never be anything improper in her manner towards him. Adria wasn’t in the habit of trying to seduce married men and she certainly wasn’t going to start with Will de Wolfe, a man who was not only far above her station, but one she respected tremendously.
If there was a more perfect husband out there, she had yet to find him.
But it wasn’t like the marriage was perfect in and of itself. It wasn’t; being as close as she was to Lily, she knew that. Will and Lily rarely slept in the same bed – she in the big chamber and he in his private solar. Lily liked to sleep alone, so she said, and Will didn’t fight her on it. They fact that they had three children and a fourth on the way was something of a miracle.
But there was a dark and dirty truth of it.
The reality was that Will and Lily had married too hastily, and too young, forced together by Lily’s father who had wanted his daughter to have the de Wolfe connection. He wanted that link. Twelve years later, Lily and Will had a polite marriage, but it was more like two friends being thrust together rather than two lovers. Chris de Lohr’s political marriage had consigned them both to a pleasant association and little more.
But no one acknowledged that. No one spoke of it.
WolfeLord: de Wolfe Pack Generations Page 9