Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (25)

Tertius wasn’t surprised to find his sister’s chamber dark but for a fire in the hearth and a small taper upon the table where she sat. As he entered the chamber, for the door was not locked, he could see pieces of parchment scattered all over the table and some pieces on the floor. Scraps of discarded writings were everywhere.

Tertius remembered that before they had left for Towton, Titus had indulged his new wife’s passion for writing music and he had purchased quite a bit of expensive parchment from the parchmenter in the village outside of the castle walls. The man, who was quite skilled at transforming animal skin into a writing surface, had given Titus a deal on imperfect parchment that was difficult for him to sell. Therefore, Isobeau had more parchment than she probably knew what to do with but, knowing his sister, she would find a way to use it. Isobeau was industrious and busy that way.

“Izzy?” Tertius asked hesitantly as he came into the room. “Duckling, what are you doing?”

Isobeau didn’t even look up from what she was doing. She was furiously scribbling something on an uneven piece of parchment by the dim light of the taper and her fingertips were stained black.

“I am glad you have returned safe, Tertius,” she said, sounding oddly detached. “Titus is dead, you know.”

Tertius paused next to her table, gazing down at his sister’s blond head. He sensed something very strange about her and it concerned him. “I know,” he said, his tone dull with grief. “What are you doing, Isobeau?”

She dipped her quill into the inkwell, tapped off the excess ink, and continued writing. Tertius could see that she was scribbling chords as well as words.

“I am writing a song,” she said. “I will sing it for Titus’ funeral. He loved my singing, you know. I think he would like it if I sang at his burial.”

Tertius understood a bit more now. He knew his sister well enough to know that she was a strong woman and, at the moment, she was trying to be very strong. She was also expressing her grief perhaps the best way she knew how and that was to put it into song. Since she had been a little girl, she had put everything into song. Reaching out, he picked up a piece of parchment that was next to her hand, one that had evidently been tossed aside. He held it up to the light to see what words were contained upon the carefully treated hide.

“The colors of darkness shadow my world,” he murmured, reading the dark and smeared letters. “The memory of you now blurred with sorrow. Iz, are you certain this is something you want to sing at your husband’s funeral mass? I am not entirely sure this is appropriate.”

Isobeau came to a halt, looking up at him with confusion and some unhappiness. “It is what I am feeling, Tertius,” she said. “Why is it not appropriate?”

Tertius was a bit more restrained than his passionate and young sister. He had seen much in life as a warring knight whereas she had led a relatively sheltered one as a fine lady in an excellent house. Although the de Sheras were still great battle lords, their home of Isenhall Castle had been spared anything major for the past twenty years. Therefore, all Isobeau had known was peace.

With a sigh, he reached out to take an ink-stained hand and pulled her off her stool, away from the table and towards the hearth. Isobeau went with him, reluctantly, and he set her down in a cushioned chair while he took the other, sitting wearily against the silk pillows. His pale, shadowed face studied her against the firelight from the hearth.

“I am so sorry about Titus,” he said softly. “I know you were very fond of him as he was of you. Any mention of your name would set him to grinning, you know. He was anxious to return home to you. I am so very sorry he was not able to, at least not alive.”

Isobeau’s composure, a fragile thing, began to crack. She shook her head and looked away from her brother. “Please… do not speak of him, not now,” she begged softly. “I have spent the past several hours attempting not to fall to pieces so I took to writing a song to Titus instead to distract myself. Atticus said that I had no right to feel grief for a man I had only known a matter of weeks. He said that he found my tears at Titus’ passing insulting, so I have stayed to my rooms in order to write a song to Titus to express how I feel. But… but I am not strong enough to speak of him so please don’t.”

Tertius’ expression tightened. “Atticus told you that?”

Isobeau nodded. “He did,” she said, marginally agitated in her restless movements, as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands or body. Everything about her was on edge. “He came to tell me that upon his deathbed, Titus asked him to marry me and take care of me. I sent Atticus away; I do not want to marry the man. I cannot think on such things right now.”

Tertius knew his sister could be temperamental and even sharp at times; Atticus could be the same way. He could only imagine how a conversation must have gone between them regarding the volatile subject of Titus’ death. He cocked his head curiously. “You told Atticus that you did not wish to marry him?”

“I did.”

“How did he react?”

She shrugged, averting her gaze. “He was unpleasant and bitter,” she said. “Tertius, after we return to Wolfe’s Lair to bury Titus, will you please take me home? I want to return to Isenhall. I do not want to say here in the north any longer. I do not like it here. Without Titus, there is no reason to remain.”

Tertius scratched his head, thinking on his sister’s request and realizing that he was somewhat irritated with it. In fact, he was quite irritated with it. “Are you truly so selfish, Iz?” he asked her. “Look around you. Northumberland’s army has been badly defeated in a battle that turned decidedly against the king. Henry Percy was killed alongside Titus, and alongside thousands of other men, and all you can think of is returning home to Isenhall because you do not wish to remain here any longer. More than that, you have blatantly refused a marriage proposal from Atticus de Wolfe. Do you understand that his brother made that request of him? With is dying breath, Titus asked his brother to take care of you and you have refused that request? What on earth is the matter with you that you would be so selfish and short-sighted?”

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 at 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 starting 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 annoyed 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.

“So the tides are now turned against us,” Kenton said quietly. “We are now enemies to the new king and you know that Edward is going to demand the surrender of Alnwick. Northumberland led those armies at Towton and the Percys secure the north. Edward is going to make sure we are neutralized.”

Atticus knew that. His thoughts shifted from those of Titus as he considered the immediate future for Alnwick and her inhabitants. That weight of command he had felt moments earlier was now heavier than before.

“I know,” he said. “But he will not come tomorrow, or even next month. It is my sense that Edward will wait until he settles in to London and establishes his court before he makes any demands of surrender to any of us. He does not have the manpower to retaliate so soon, so for the time being, we are safe.”

“Then why bottle up Alnwick?” Adam Wellesbourne wanted to know. Adam was more a follower than a leader, but he was a skilled knight and fearless in a fight. “Our gates are closed and we have double guards upon the walls. Why all of the protection if Edward will wait to move against us?”

Atticus glanced at him. “Because there is no guarantee that Edward will not move against us in some way,” he said. “He has men in York and in Richmond that he could send to us and there is always the threat of Norfolk since he is nearby. With that in mind, I will send word to Scotland to see if we can solicit reinforcements from the Scots. Henry’s wife, Margaret, is allied with the Scots so there is the possibility. But I will be truthful when I say that we will make no sudden movements, in any case. We will bottle ourselves up and wait. That is the most prudent stance we can take.”

“Where is Henry?” Adam asked quietly.

Atticus shrugged, looking at Warenne, who addressed the group when all attention shifted to him. “We believe he will flee to Scotland if he hasn’t already,” he said. “His allies are there. What happened at Towton turned Henry into a fugitive in his own country. Our lives, our very livelihoods, will change from this moment on, my good lords. We are now the enemy.”

He hadn’t said anything they didn’t already know; they nodded in resignation, sighed wearily, shifted around on their legs, and leaned against walls. The men were restless and weary; Atticus was well aware. They were nervous, too, nervous of what was to come. For the moment, however, the situation was quiet and he intended it should remain that way. He was preparing to dismiss the knights so they could seek much-needed rest when Warenne spoke quietly, interrupting him.

“What of the new earl, Atticus?” he wanted to know. “Young Henry Percy may have other plans for his army. Mayhap you should consult with him before making any decisions.”

Atticus sighed heavily. “He is a twelve-year-old boy,” he said, embittered that he now had to answer to a child he didn’t much like. Young Henry Percy, the new Earl of Northumberland, was a spoiled and petty lad as far as Atticus was concerned. “He has no idea what to do in a situation such as this so we will do it for him. He has enough worry now with assuming the mantle of his father. I will counsel him and his mother and make sure they understand the necessity to sit tight and wait. We must not make any rash moves.”

“And then what will you do, Atticus?” Alec le Bec interjected, his young face lined with fatigue and concern. “We know what de Troiu and de la Londe did to Titus. Surely you do not intend to stay here, bottled up in Alnwick, whilst de Troiu and de le Londe remain free and unpunished for what they have done. What will you do now?”

It was a swift change in subject but a question Atticus had been expecting, one he suspected they all wanted to ask him. He was surprised it took them this long. The conversation preceding the question had only been polite chatter. The real reason the knights were all here was to find out what Atticus intended to do about his brother’s murderers. He glanced up, looking at the serious faces around him, and he knew that he was going to have a fight on his hands when he declared his intention to seek justice for Titus alone. He could see that they all expected to have a piece of that vengeance.

“I will take my brother home for burial,” he said quietly, looking to Titus’ oddly-colored face, “and then I shall track down de Troiu and de la Londe and punish them for this unforgiveable act of treason. I will make them pay with every bone in their body for what they did to my brother, I swear it.”

A few feet away from him, Kenton cleared his throat softly. “Titus was our commander as well as our friend, Atticus,” he said quietly. “I know that we cannot all go with you but if you would choose one or two of us to accompany you, we would all like to eagerly volunteer to go.”

Atticus shook his head, looking up at his men. “I know that,” he said. “I will be honest and tell you that I knew this question was coming and I am prepared for it. I would have never believed de Troiu and de la Londe capable of turning against us but they have. That betrayal alone is an affront to us all, but such things happen in time of war. Men fall victim to greed or fear, or both, and behave in a manner that is out of character for them. I care not what their reasons were; all I care about is the fact that they tried to turn Titus as well and when he refused, they killed him for it. That, my friends, is an affront to me and the entire de Wolfe lineage. I cannot let it go unanswered and I know you understand that. However, this is something I must do alone. I cannot take all of Northumberland’s knights with me on my quest for vengeance. With the earl gone, you are needed here, now more than ever, but this is something I must do. I will return when I can but until that time, Kenton and Tertius will be in command.”

Kenton grunted in displeasure, shaking his head and averting his gaze but having the good sense not to dispute Atticus. The truth was that he understood. The younger knights, however, weren’t so restrained. As Adam and Alec grumbled unhappily, silenced by Maxim, Tertius spoke.

“Although I am honored that you would leave me in command, Atticus, Kenton can do it without me,” he said. “Titus was my sister’s husband. He was my brother, the only brother I have known. I have a stake in this as well and for my sister’s sake, I must accompany you.”

Atticus looked at Tertius, seeing utter stubbornness in the man’s expression. But he didn’t like the fact that Tertius was trying to claim some of his vengeance. He shook his head.

“You will stay with your sister whilst I accomplish my task,” he said. “If something happens to you, then Lady de Wolfe will not only have lost her husband but her brother as well. I am certain she would not take it well.”

Tertius cocked an eyebrow. “And if something happens to you, she will have lost another husband,” he countered. “Did you not promise Titus that you would marry her? I do not think she would take well to losing a second husband, either.”

Atticus’ features tightened with anger. He could see that Tertius was trying to manipulate him and he didn’t like it one bit. Tertius was his friend but he was also quite envious of Atticus, as if there were some rivalry there. Usually it didn’t bother Atticus but at this moment, it bothered him a great deal.

“Marriage to your sister is incidental to my quest for justice for my brother,” he said. “It is true that I promised Titus I would marry her, but that has no bearing on anything. No offense to your sister, Tertius, but I am only marrying her because my brother asked it of me and for no other reason than that. I will leave it to you to take care of her whilst I am away.”

Tertius frowned. “She is your wife,” he said. “I will not nursemaid her. If you are going after de la Londe and de Troiu, then I am going with you.”

“You are staying here.”

Warenne, seeing that the two knights were on the verge of a battle, quickly stood up and put himself between Atticus and Tertius. He wanted to break their focus on one another for he was positive that Atticus, in his emotional state, would not hesitate to lash out at Tertius. They’d seen enough blood already over the past few days.

“Gentle knights,” Warenne said pleasantly, trying to stave off the downward spiral of emotion. “Nothing is going to happen this night, so I would suggest we all retire to rest and eat. We can resume this conversation in the morning if you wish, but Tertius, I will say this – if Atticus does not want you to accompany him, then you will not. This is his fight, not yours. That goes for all of you; if Atticus does not want your company in his quest for justice for Titus, then you will obey his wishes. Is that understood?”

The Northumberland knights weren’t particularly happy about that order, especially Tertius. In fact, the man turned and left the vault without another word. It was clear how displeased he was, upset that he wasn’t allowed to share in the vengeance and perhaps in doing so, share in some of the victory. Tertius could be selfish that way. Warenne watched him go before turning his focus to the others around him. He especially looked at Kenton.

“Take the men out of here, le Bec,” he told him quietly. “Make sure they are fed and rested. You will eat and rest also. I will not require you until morning.”

Kenton nodded, acknowledging the order, before herding the younger knights from the vault. As they clamored up the slippery stairs, with Wellesbourne slipping yet again, Warenne waited until they had left and all was silent before finally turning to Atticus.

The man was still sitting by his brother, staring at his brother’s sunken features. Warenne suspected that he needed to take charge with Atticus or the man would spend all of his time down in the vault, staring at Titus until the man’s flesh rotted away and his bones turned to dust. It was very clear that Atticus could not or would not separate himself from his brother, at least not at the moment. It was a sad realization, sadder still to know that Atticus de Wolfe was so grief stricken over his brother. Warenne went to Atticus and put a hand on his broad shoulder.

“Now,” he said softly, “your men are taken care of. There is nothing you need worry over until morning. For right now, you have tasks you need to accomplish, not the least of which is marrying your brother’s widow. From our earlier conversation, I am assuming your relationship with the woman is marginally adversarial so it is my suggestion – nay, my request – that you make amends with her. You said before that you had no idea why your brother had fallen in love with such a petulant woman. Do you trust your brother’s judgment, Atticus?”

Atticus nodded, glancing up at Warenne. “I do,” he said. “Of course I do.”

Warenne smiled weakly at the man. “Then assume he found something in her to love,” he said. “Mayhap you could find the same thing. If at least not to love, then mayhap to like. In any case, you must make the attempt. This marriage will be what you make out of it and if you are to be linked to the woman for the rest of your life, then mayhap you should start by coming to know what Titus liked so well about her. Fair enough?”

He made a good deal of sense whether or not Atticus wanted to admit it. His gaze returned to Titus’ features and, remembering how the man had been driven to tears when thinking on the wife he would leave behind, all of Atticus’ resistance started to drain away. Perhaps Warenne was correct; if Titus found something to love in the woman, then perhaps there was something there, after all, beyond the stubborn petulance. Atticus was obligated to find out.

“Fair enough,” he finally grunted, stiffly standing up from his seat next to Titus. “I am still not entirely happy about this.”

Warenne laughed softly, directing him towards the vault stairs. “I know,” he said. “But you know this would make Titus happy and I know you want to please your brother, so make every effort to establish a rapport with Lady de Wolfe. And stop being so bloody stubborn about it.”

Atticus made a face at him as they hit the stairs but refrained from commenting. He’d already said all he had to say about the subject. As they ascended the steps up to the ground level of Alnwick, the colors of sunset and a few angry, black clouds greeted them, the promise of nasty weather moving in from the east. The great hall, with its glowing lancet windows, beckoned in the distance, looking somewhat inviting even though Atticus knew that was where the wounded were being cared for. That vast and great hall was surely anything but inviting at the moment. He thought perhaps to check on his men before heading into the keep once more to see to Lady de Wolfe.

The thought of encountering the woman again didn’t please him but, as de Winter had said, perhaps he needed to try to come to know the side of her that Titus had fallen in love with. There had to be something there. Perhaps then he wouldn’t be so resistant to the marriage. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter.

With thoughts of the beautiful harpy of a woman on his mind, he headed towards the great hall.