Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (27)

Doncaster

The King’s Head Inn

“You are going to lose some feeling in your face,” the old surgeon said as he packed up his catgut thread and needles. “Your wound was open for quite some time, m’lord. You should have had it sewn sooner.”

De la Londe could do nothing more than shrug his shoulders at this point; there really wasn’t much he could say to any of it. The wound that Titus had inflicted upon him nearly a week before hadn’t been properly tended until now for a variety of reasons, ones he didn’t care to discuss. Mostly, it was because the freezing weather had frozen the blood and beard on his face and that alone had stopped the bleeding.

During the battle at Towton, there hadn’t been time to do it. He’d kept his face wrapped with the piece of embroidered linen he’d stolen from de Wolfe. But six days later, he’d been forced to have it cleaned and tended because it was starting to fester. Hair had grown into it, as had dirt and debris, so the cleaning of the healing wound had been a harrowing experience. The surgeon had done his best but it was still a mess and de la Londe had been running a fever for two days. It would perhaps get worse before it got better.

But that was, in fact, the least of his concerns at the moment. Sitting in a room at an inn that had been confiscated in whole by the Duke of Norfolk, John de Mowbray, both de la Londe and de Troiu had bigger worries on their mind. De Mowbray, in fact, was in the room with them, as were several of de Mowbray’s knights and a lesser baron from Surrey that had once been aligned with Warenne de Winter. In the past six days since moving south from Towton after the decisive York victory, much had changed in the worlds of de la Londe and de Troiu, and all of it revolved around de Mowbray.

“We will be leaving tomorrow morning,” de Mowbray told the surgeon as the man moved stiffly for the chamber door. “I will ensure that he sees a surgeon in the next town we come to. We will keep check on the injury.”

The surgeon was a big man, older, once muscled but now gone to fatty. He had been a knight once, too, years ago before he injured his sword hand and had been forced to turn to another profession to survive. The surgeon’s gaze moved between de Mowbray and de la Londe.

“It is not the injury that is the issue, my lord,” he said. “It is the fever. I gave you powdered willow bark for that; make sure he takes it at least four times a day in a cup of wine.”

De Mowbray nodded. “He will.”

The surgeon still didn’t leave, a knowing glimmer to his tired, old eyes. He looked around the room, at the powerful and exhausted men. They smelled of war and he knew the smell very well.

“I heard about the battle to the north,” he said. “Towton, wasn’t it? Men passing through town a few days ago were speaking of it. They said it was a massacre for the Lancastrians.”

De Mowbray remained impassive. “It was a defeat for them. Aye.”

The old surgeon nodded at the confirmation. “I didn’t ask you when I came to tend the knight, but I assume he received the wound there?”

De Mowbray lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Indeed he did,” he said. “Thank you for your service.”

The surgeon had already been paid so it was only a matter of pushing him out of the door, which de Mowbray did. A stubby profile of a man, John de Mowbray was a powerful duke and a brilliant tactician. It had been his cunning that had turned the tides at Towton. Now, he was heading to London with his army because the new king had asked him to come. Edward, in fact, had already left for London and was a few days ahead of de Mowbray. The colors of the ruling house had decisively changed.

The king was determined to clean house of any remains of Henry’s loyalists and set up his own court at Westminster. His plans also included taking over the Tower of London as well as Windsor Castle. He was infiltrating deep into the heart of England and wanted de Mowbray with him. But de Mowbray was slowed with a bigger army, and wagons of wounded that had been sent back to Norfolk, and he wasn’t in any particular rush to reach London. At the moment, he was more concerned with gaining backing for Edward from the remnants of those who supported Henry. With Henry running for Scotland, de Mowbray would strike at the defeated supporters.

Which was where de la Londe and de Troiu came in. As de Mowbray shut the door behind the surgeon and bolted it, he turned to the two knights who had once been very close to Northumberland. They had been bought with relatively little effort and now that he had them, de Mowbray intended to use them.

“It seems that we have not truly had the opportunity to talk before now,” de Mowbray said. “Days of travel have left us all exhausted and scrambling for closure, but now that we have a roof over our head and some privacy, I should like to discuss what happened with Northumberland’s men. I already know that Titus de Wolfe is dead and you told me that you did not have the opportunity to speak to the others, but that is all I know. You will now give me the details. I would hear what happened in-depth.”

De la Londe, even though he was having trouble speaking, answered him. “It was too chaotic to give you any details after the battle, my lord,” he said. “It is true that Titus de Wolfe is dead but not before he did this to my face. This happened in a battle to the death. When we gave him your offer, he became enraged and tried to kill us both. We had no choice but to kill him.”

De Mowbray sat in a nearby chair, accepting a cup of wine from one of his men. “Indeed,” he said seriously. “I am sorry that Titus chose to die rather than serve Edward. But what of Atticus? You were not able to speak with him?”

De la Londe resisted the urge to look at de Troiu; for the past few days, they had discussed what they would tell de Mowbray about their inability to recruit other Northumberland knights. They couldn’t tell the man the truth – that they had fled after they’d killed de Wolfe, so de la Londe had been given a few days to come up with a plausible lie. More than that, he had a suggestion that might help them all.

“We were not able to find Atticus,” he said. “My lord, you must understand that we could not risk being seen as the men who killed Titus de Wolfe. If that were to happen, there would have been questions that we could not answer without consequences. At the time Titus was killed, the battle was just commencing. Men were called to arms. We went to arms, too. There was no longer the time or privacy to try and relay your offer to any more of Northumberland’s men because by that time, they were all heading into battle.”

De Mowbray was listening carefully. “I see,” he sighed heavily. “That is disappointing, I must say. I was hoping you would be able to at least speak with Atticus. The Lion of the North would be a fine weapon in Edward’s arsenal. The king has asked for Atticus personally, you know. It is imperative that we somehow communicate with him. Now with Titus dead, he has no reason to remain with Northumberland any longer.”

De la Londe shrugged. “With Titus dead and Henry Percy dead, Atticus is now in command of Northumberland’s army,” he said. Then, his expression took on something of a sly glint. “But that does not necessarily mean we cannot have him. It simply means we must be cunning as we go about it.”

De Mowbray was interested. “You know the man,” he said. “You know his heart and his loyalties. How can we sway him to Edward’s cause?”

De la Londe glanced at de Troiu, then, seeing the man’s silent nod of encouragement. Tell him what we discussed. De la Londe continued.

“Both Titus and Atticus are very close to their knight corps,” he said. “Le Bec, de Russe, and Wellesbourne serve under them. If we could possibly convince one or more of those houses to pledge loyalty to Edward, it might help sway Atticus’ position. Wellesbourne Castle is not far from here, to the south near Warwick Castle. Even though Warwick has switched loyalties from Edward to Henry and back again, Wellesbourne has remained staunch in Henry’s cause. Adam Wellesbourne’s father, Andrew Wellesbourne, knows me. He knows that I serve with his son. Andrew is old now and, according to Adam, remains at Wellesbourne most of the time, but he has command of over a thousand men. If we could convince Andrew to side with Edward, we may be able to sway Wellesbourne for our cause. If Andrew swears fealty to Edward, it is my suspicion that Adam will, too. With Adam out of Northumberland’s stable, we move to le Bec next.”

De Mowbray was coming to see the brilliance of the scheme. “Wellesbourne is married to a granddaughter of le Bec and a daughter of Bastian de Russe,” he said thoughtfully. “Bastian de Russe is still alive.”

De la Londe shook his head firmly. “He was a guardian to Henry when Henry was very young,” he said. “Because of that, I cannot see Bastian de Russe swearing fealty to Edward. In fact, he may try to kill us if we try to convince him. Nay, my lord, I believe that trying to convince Wellesbourne, and mayhap Stefan and Gannon le Bec, is the only chance we have of gaining fealty of some of the great houses in Edward’s favor. If the House of Wellesbourne and the House of le Bec join Edward’s cause, then de Wolfe might follow. At least he might be willing to listen.”

De Mowbray was somewhat dubious about le Bec. “Richmond le Bec’s wife is a daughter of Henry of Bolingbroke,” he said. “I doubt you’ll be able to convince the sons to side against their own blood.”

“We can but try, my lord.”

That was true. It would be something of a triumph if they were even able to sway Wellesbourne. If Sir Andrew was convinced, then it would seriously weaken that entire le Bec-de Russe-Wellesbourne unity, which was a very powerful front. But there was something even more than that lingering on de Mowbray’s mind.

“I am not in the habit of putting all of my hopes in one scheme,” he said. “As encouraged as I am by your approach to Wellesbourne, let us return to the subject of Atticus. Now that Titus is gone, I am assuming Atticus will return his brother home for burial. The entire de Wolfe family resides at Castle Questing, does it not? Tell me what you know of Atticus’ immediate family and where they live.”

De la Londe thought a moment. “Atticus’ father is the second son, brother to Baron Killham of Castle Questing,” he said. “Atticus has spoken many times of his father and of his home, Wolfe’s Lair. It is a garrison for Questing. Atticus’ father has lived there for many years. It is where Atticus and Titus were born, so I would assume Atticus will return Titus to Wolfe’s Lair.”

“Do you know where this garrison is?”

De la Londe nodded. “Near Hawick.”

“That is Scotland.”

“It is indeed, my lord.”

De Mowbray thought on that a moment. “Mayhap whilst you go to Wellesbourne Castle to convince Andrew Wellesbourne to side with Edward, I will send another contingent of men to Wolfe’s Lair,” he said pensively. “If Atticus is there, then mayhap we can open a dialogue with him about his support for Edward now that Henry is in defeat. I will tell him, of course, of Andrew Wellesbourne’s switch in loyalty because I am quite certain your mission to Wellesbourne will be successful. Mayhap if Atticus believes Wellesbourne has sworn allegiance to Edward, it might be enough for him to consider it.”

De la Londe sighed with doubt. “It will take more than that to convince Atticus, I fear,” he said. “It would be wise to wait and work through his knight corps first. Once we have their loyalty, or at lease loyalty from some of them, that would be more persuasive for Atticus.”

De Mowbray scratched his neck, thinking on all of the ways he could convince Atticus de Wolfe to support Edward’s cause. “Is Atticus’ father still alive?”

“He is as far as I know.”

De Mowbray cocked his head thoughtfully. “Then mayhap we use the father to convince the son.”

De la Londe wasn’t sure what, exactly, the duke meant but he knew instinctively that it could not be good. “I would be wary, my lord,” he said, his voice low. “With Titus gone, Atticus is bound to be very protective of his father. If I were you, I would be very careful what I did to Solomon de Wolfe. If you unleash The Lion’s rage, there will be no stopping Atticus. He will come after you.”

De Mowbray pretended not to care, although deep-down he cared a great deal. He did not want The Lion of the North on a vendetta against him. “Your concern is noted,” he said. “You have your orders, de la Londe. Tomorrow, you will depart for Wellesbourne Castle while I send a contingent of men to Hawick. As soon as you are able to speak with Andrew Wellesbourne, I will expect your victorious news.”

“Where will you be, my lord?”

“In London.”

De la Londe simply nodded, collecting a cup of wine and drinking some of the willow powder that the surgeon had left. He wondered if the powder would also take away the uncertain feeling he was having, as if suddenly realizing he was in far deeper than he had imagined he ever would be. Accepting de Mowbray’s bribe had seemed like a simple thing at the time until the conversation with de Wolfe had turned deadly. Truth was, de la Londe felt very badly about Titus. The man had been a friend and fair commander. But he had convinced himself that the rewards from de Mowbray had been worth the price of Titus’ life.

Less and less, however, it was starting to seem that way. He was seriously coming to wonder if the entire situation and his treachery were about to catch up with him.

*

Isobeau was vaguely aware of light in the room. She stirred a bit, realizing she was lying on her belly when her eyes flitted open and she could see the angle of her head. She could also see a pair of big legs near her bed, legs clad in worn leather breeches. It would have looked like any man’s legs except she recognized the boots with an “S” carved into the strap. With a groan, she lifted her head.

“What are you doing here, Tertius?” she said, grumpy, putting her face in her hands in a miserable gesture.

Tertius, seated next to his sister with one big boot up on the table and the other on the floor, looked up from the watered ale in his hand.

“Is this the gracious thanks I receive for spending the entire night by your side to make sure you came to no harm?” he said, incensed. “You ungrateful, little cow. I will leave this very moment if you do not show me more gratitude.”

Grunting, Isobeau rolled onto her side, struggling to acclimate herself. She began to look around strangely. “What on earth happened?” she asked, trying very hard to recall her last conscious thought. “I was in the hall and then I spoke with Sir Atticus out in the ward. And then… then….”

Tertius knew what the “and then” was. Atticus had told him after the man had carried the unconscious Isobeau up from the vault and put her to bed. In fact, Atticus had remained with Isobeau until just before dawn when the man, exhausted beyond endurance, had finally gone to bed at Tertius’ insistence. Aye, Tertius knew what the “and then” was. He was rather hoping Isobeau would not remember.

“It was a very strenuous day for you,” he said, taking his big boot off the table. “You were exhausted. Today will be a better day, I am sure.”

Isobeau was still trying to recall what had happened when suddenly her eyes flew open wide and she slapped a hand over her mouth in a mortified gesture.

“Titus!” she gasped. “Tertius, it was Titus! Sweet Jesus, he was green!”

Tertius, regretful that she finally remembered, stood up and went to her as she burst into quiet tears. He patted her shoulder comfortingly.

“I know,” he said softly. “I am sorry you had to see that. Atticus should not have allowed it.”

Isobeau wiped her eyes. “He did not have a choice,” she sniffed. “I asked him to take me to Titus. Actually, I demanded he take me to him.”

Tertius sighed heavily, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “Why would you do that?”

She looked up at him, still wiping her eyes. “Because he is my husband and it is my right to see him,” she insisted. “I… I had to see him, Tertius. I had to know that he was truly gone.”

Tertius understood, somewhat. “We all told you he was truly gone,” he said. “Did you not believe us?”

Isobeau nodded, sniffling delicately, trying not to think of her green-tinged husband. “I did,” she said. “But I had to see for myself.”

Tertius lifted his eyebrows and moved away from her, towards the table where there was food and drink. “And so you did,” he said. “But it would have been better to remember the man as he was and not his state the very last time you saw him. Sometimes you should not be so stubborn, Izzy.”

Isobeau watched him as he brought her a hunk of bread; she waved it off, nauseous. “Did Atticus tell you that he intends to go after the men who killed Titus?” she asked.

Tertius looked at her with a mixture of disapproval and distress. “How would you know that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did Atticus tell you the circumstances surrounding Titus’ death?”

Isobeau nodded. “He did,” she said. “But he was not going to tell me. A wounded man in the hall spoke of it and I made Atticus tell me the truth. He is going to find de la Londe and de Troiu but he will not take me with him.”

Tertius threw up his hands in relief. “Finally,” he hissed, “the man is showing some sense. Of course you should not go with him, Isobeau. He will not even let any of the knights go with him, me included. I asked to go on behalf of you but he would not allow it.”

Isobeau frowned. “He acts as if he is the only one with a measure of vengeance to be had,” she said. “He acts as if I have no say in this at all.”

“You don’t,” Tertius said sternly. “Let de Wolfe do what he is bound to do. You cannot stop him and he will not let any of us go with him, so there is nothing we can do about it. But trust me when I say that de la Londe and de Troiu will be found and they will be punished. Atticus de Wolfe will make sure of it.”

Isobeau’s gaze lingered on her brother a moment longer before looking away, rubbing her belly gingerly. She wasn’t feeling very well at the moment.

“Mayhap you and I should go alone,” she muttered. “If Atticus will not let us accompany him, then mayhap we should simply go alone. You can find these men and you can kill them.”

Tertius glanced at her. “I will not take you, either,” he said. “De Wolfe told me that you are with child. Do you really think I would drag my pregnant sister all over England? You are mad, Isobeau. Atticus is leaving today to return Titus to Wolfe’s Lair and you will go with him. Then, you will remain at Wolfe’s Lair whilst he does what needs to be done.”

Isobeau looked at him with some guilt in her expression. “I am sorry I did not tell you about the baby sooner,” she said, shrugging. “There has not been the opportunity.”

He waved her off, as if it was of no consequence. “Have you sent word to Papa yet?”

Isobeau shook her head. “I have not.”

“He will be eager to know.”

She pursed her lips irritably. “He will want me to name my son after the de Shera tradition of Roman names for the males,” she said. “I will not do it.”

“Titus is a Roman name. Name him after his father.”

She faltered, fighting off a grin. “That is the only reason Papa allowed me to marry Titus,” she snorted. “He bore a Roman name.”

Tertius grinned. “I fear you will not have a choice in naming your son.”

She conceded the point. “Then I shall name him something grand like Julius Caesar de Wolfe.”

Tertius burst out laughing. “Where did you hear of that?”

She watched her brother laugh. “From Papa, of course,” she said. “You know how he felt it necessary for us to know of our ancient Roman heritage.”

Tertius continued to snort although he was relieved that his sister seemed to be feeling better. The color was coming back to her cheeks. But now he was feeling rather exhausted, having sat up watching over her all night. Now that the sun was rising over the misty morning, he was seriously thinking on seeking his bed.

“I am sure when the time comes that you will honor both our heritage and your husband’s,” he said. “For now, I do believe I will try to get some sleep. I’ve been up all night watching over you and am starting to feel my exhaustion. Will you be all right for a time?”

Isobeau nodded. “I will.”

Tertius pointed to the big wardrobe in the corner. “Since Atticus is leaving today to return Titus home, you should pack,” he said. “I will have your capcases brought out of storage and I will send some servants to help you. Is there anything else you need?”

Isobeau shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “Aren’t you going with us?”

Tertius rubbed his weary eyes. “Nay,” he said. “I must remain here, especially with Northumberland so weakened. Let things settle here a bit and I will come to you at Wolfe’s Lair when I can.”

Isobeau understood. Her gaze lingered on Tertius for a moment, her big and tall brother with the shaggy head of light brown hair. She loved him dearly and a separation from him was not particularly appealing. She would miss him.

“Thank you for being a good brother,” she said softly. “I am sorry you had to sit up all night with me.”

Tertius was already heading for the door. “It was not just me,” he said. “Atticus was here until just before dawn. In fact, he seemed rather concerned about you. That is how I found out about the child, you know. He thought you may have hurt yourself and the child when you fainted. You feel well enough, don’t you?”

Isobeau stood up, rubbing her belly. “I feel fine,” she said. “Tired mayhap. And a bit hungry, although I cannot decide if I actually feel hungry or nauseous. Sir Atticus really stayed here all night?”

“He did.”

Isobeau’s thoughts lingered on Atticus as Tertius bid her a farewell and left the chamber. When the door shut softly behind him, Isobeau continued to think on Atticus de Wolfe. Her conversation with the man from the previous evening had been rather pleasant and she hoped they were past the nastiness that had plagued their exchange when he’d come to tell her of Titus’ death. She truly didn’t want to be at odds with the man, especially when she had an ulterior motive in mind. Perhaps it was time to ply him with honey in an attempt to wheedle her way into his quest to find the men who had killed Titus. Certainly, butting heads with him would not work. He was, perhaps, even more stubborn than she was.

You should know that I will ask you tomorrow if I can go with you.

It was tomorrow, after all.

Nothing had changed. She wasn’t going to let him go without her. For Titus’ sake, she was determined to have satisfaction, too.

*

“I heard you were departing today, Atticus,” Warenne said as he entered the hall where Atticus was sitting at the scrubbed feasting table, enjoying cold beef and cheese to break his night’s fast. “I saw the men bring Titus’ body up from the vault and put it on a wagon.”

Atticus, worse for wear after having only managed to get a couple of hours of very heavy sleep, drank deeply of his boiled fruit juice. He wouldn’t drink watered wine or ale in the morning because it made him sleepy.

“Aye,” he replied, grumpily. “It is at least a four day ride to Wolfe’s Lair in this weather.”

Warenne sat down next to him and confiscated the half-loaf of bread from Atticus, tearing it apart and using a knife to slather white butter on it.

“Fortunately, the weather is clear for the moment,” he said. “But the snow on the ground will prove to be difficult. Hopefully, the skies will hold until you reach the Lair.”

Atticus nodded, shoving beef in his mouth. “Hopefully.”

Warenne eyed Atticus as he at his bread. “And Lady de Wolfe?” he asked. “How does she fare this morning?”

Atticus shrugged. “She was sleeping last I saw her,” he said. “Unfortunately, I am going to have to wake the woman. I want to leave within the hour. When are you leaving, Ren? Surely you do not plan to stay at Alnwick too much longer.”

Warenne shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “We are leaving as well. My army will head south, back to Thetford, while I will go with you to Wolfe’s Lair.”

Atticus looked at him sharply. “Why are you coming with me?”

Warenne swallowed the bite in his mouth. “Because you have need of me,” he said quietly. “I will be truthful with you, Atticus. I do not intend to let you go after de la Londe and de Troiu alone. The two of them managed to kill Titus and he was no slouch of a knight. My fear is that they will use the same tactic they used against your brother on you, and I could not stomach that. So Kenton and I will be going with you whether or not you like it.”

Atticus stared at the man. “You insult my abilities as a knight by assuming I cannot handle two armed men on my own.”

Warenne shook his head firmly. “It is not slander and well you know it,” he said. “Think on it this way, Atticus; if I were bent on revenge by going after two heavily armed men who had already killed a very capable knight, would you let me go alone?”

Atticus frowned. He didn’t answer right away as he looked back to his meal. “Probably not,” he grumbled. “But you are different. You are a soft and pampered earl and you cannot do something like that on your own. You would call upon a seasoned warrior like me to do it for you.”

Warenne fought off a grin. “So now you insult me by calling me soft and pampered?”

Atticus couldn’t hold a straight face. “Well, you are.”

“Would you care to go outside with me so I can show you just how soft and pampered I am?”

Atticus snorted. “Nay,” he said flatly, “because you would cheat and order your knights to fight me in your stead. Although I am confident I can best them, I have no desire to go up against Conor de Birmingham, Gerik le Mon, or Ackerley Forbes. You have a trio of powerful de Winter knights at your disposal. I am no fool; Forbes alone would try to cut me off at the knees.”

“Then you admit you need help against more than one armed knight.”

“I admit nothing.”

“That is a true tragedy because you are going to have my help whether or not you want it. If you do not permit Kenton and me to ride with you, we will simply follow you at a distance, so you may as well accept our presence whether or not you want it.”

Atticus was genuinely annoyed at the man. “Kenton must remain in command of Northumberland,” he said. “He is needed here.”

“You have Tertius to command Northumberland. He is competent.”

“Aye, he is, but Kenton technically outranks him. And I command le Bec, not you.”

“That is true, but in matters of rank, I outrank you and I have ordered Kenton to go to Wolfe’s Lair.”

Atticus sighed heavily and shoved the remainder of his beef into his mouth. What Warenne said was true and Atticus could see that his argument was at an end. There was nothing more he could say and his frustration was evident. “If you were not an earl, and a de Winter, I might tell you what I really think of you,” he muttered.

Warenne was thrilled that Atticus wasn’t fighting him on the matter any longer, or worse, actually fighting him off with weapons. He knew Atticus well and knew the man wasn’t beyond brandishing a weapon when provoked. Warenne wasn’t afraid to push the man, mostly because of his entitlement – he knew Atticus would respect that above all else.

Still, he felt very strongly that he needed to accompany Atticus on his quest for revenge and he’d pulled Kenton le Bec in on his plans. As good as Atticus was, and he was among the best, Kenton was possibly even better in combat by sheer strength and size alone. He was a monster with a sword and that was what Warenne wanted for Atticus should the need arise. The men who had murdered Titus were certainly not to be underestimated.

“You may tell me someday what you think of me when all of this is through,” Warenne said. “But if you insult me too badly, I may have to punish you.”

Atticus gave him a half-grin as he drained what was left in his cup. “With the mighty Lespada?”

“My heirloom sword has killed more men than you have.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. But it is very old and I do not think you should be using it in battle. I have told you that before. It should be put in a place of honor and retired.”

“Lespada is the sword of my forefathers. I carry it and no other.”

Atticus chuckled, thinking on the very old but beautifully crafted sword that was carried by every first born male in the de Winter family. Lespada was a legend all throughout England, in fact, and it had belonged to Warenne since nine years of age when his father had died. He’d hardly been without it.

“I appreciate the tradition, of course,” Atticus said. “But when I punish de la Londe and de Troiu, it will be with my brother’s weapon and not yours. From now on, I carry Titus’ sword and no other. That way, my brother is still with me. When I punish those two traitors, it will be with Titus’ blade.”

Warenne sobered somewhat. “That is fitting,” he said. “You honor Titus in your actions; killing his murderers with Titus’ sword. Marrying Titus’ wife. When is the wedding, by the way?”

Atticus’ frustration returned and he rolled his eyes, standing up from the table. “After I bury my brother,” he said. “Can I not even put the man in the ground first before I claim his widow?”

Warenne stood up with him. “Of course you can,” he said. “But remember what I said. Marry her quickly. The more you delay, the more the possibility that you will never wed the woman, and that is not what Titus would want. Atticus, you must understand that I only have your best interests at heart. It is as I have said before – if you do not marry his widow as you promised, you will forever lament the fact that you did not fulfill your brother’s dying request. You would not be able to live with yourself. So you must marry her very soon. I am going to make sure that you do.”

Atticus knew that. He knew that Warenne was only trying to be a good friend. He scratched his neck. “You should know that Lady de Wolfe and I have had a pleasant conversation last night before she took ill. You told me that I should see something in her that my brother loved.”

Warenne was encouraged. “And?”

Atticus shrugged. “And… and I might have seen a glimpse of it. It is possible.”

Warenne simply grinned. “That is good to know, Atticus. Mayhap there is hope, after all.”

Atticus didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t know what to say to that. He was embarrassed to have admitted as much as he had. But he knew his secret was safe with Warenne.

Together, they quit the hall and met up with the knights out in the knight’s quarters, a stone outbuilding that had been built into the inner wall of Alnwick. Thoughts shifted from Lady de Wolfe to those of the status of Alnwick and its future in the hands of the Percy family. Atticus reiterated the fact that he believed Edward would demand the surrender of the castle so, with the new Earl of Northumberland present at the meeting, they made plans to abandon Alnwick and move the inhabitants to Warkworth Castle that the Percy family also owned. A massive castle along the coast wasn’t considered particularly strategic and plans were made to move there.

Satisfied that the future of the Earl of Northumberland was mapped out, and leaving Tertius in command of its once mighty army, Atticus was better able to focus on returning Titus home for burial and on the quest for justice he now faced. After the meeting with his knights, he found himself standing at the wagon where Titus’ body was placed, now properly housed in an oak casket that the castle craftsmen had made for it, telling his brother of the plans they had made for Alnwick. He didn’t know why he did it, only that it was habit with him to discuss everything with Titus, but it seemed somewhat unsatisfying speaking to a wooden box. Still, he spoke to it, knowing that wherever Titus was, he heard him.

With business concluded, there was no more time for delays. Atticus sent word up to Lady de Wolfe of their imminent departure for Wolfe’s Lair and was mildly surprised when capcases began arriving down to the inner ward almost immediately. Evidently, the woman had already been informed of his plans. But he was also mildly perturbed that no less than seven capcases had been brought down, all of them stacked on the wagon next to Titus’ body. It was fitting considering it had been Titus who had bought so much for his new wife and Atticus found himself laughing at his brother’s expense, for now the man was surrounded by women’s finery in death.

Perhaps it served Titus right to spoil the woman so but, in some small way, Atticus could understand why he would spoil her. When Lady de Wolfe finally emerged from the keep dressed in a beautiful, blue surcoat with a matching fur cloak, her hair arranged in a lovely style and some color to her cheeks, Atticus could understand a great deal of Titus’ infatuation with the woman.

He found that he couldn’t take his eyes off her, either.