Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (31)

Titus’ burial in the small chapel of Wolfe’s Lair had been a somber and intimate affair. The crypt behind the altar that Rosalie de Wolfe was buried in contained another one next to her, meant for Solomon, but Solomon chose to put Titus there instead. Therefore, Titus was laid to rest next to his mother and infant sister in the great, stone de Wolfe vault. The entire mass had reeked of the scent of fresh rushes, dirt, and decay, making it a rather odd and somewhat nauseating experience.

Isobeau had remained surprisingly stoic through the mass as the tiny priest had intoned the burial service. Dressed in a dark blue surcoat and matching cloak of heavy, blue wool, she sat upon a small stool that Atticus had brought for her. She was calm and sedate.

The real issue had been Solomon. He had no idea who the strange woman was entering the chapel on Atticus’ arm and when Atticus introduced Isobeau as Titus’ widow, Solomon wasn’t sure if he should shun the woman or embrace her. They could all read his indecision in his expression. He knew of Titus’ marriage, of course, but he’d not been able to travel to the ceremony down near Coventry. Now he was finally meeting Titus’ de Shera bride and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It was nearly too much for him to comprehend and, overwhelmed, he’d simply greeted the woman and walked away.

So the service had been conducted with Solomon quietly weeping over the crypt where his wife and daughter and eldest son lay and everyone else stood near the altar. Isobeau hadn’t listened to the priest at all; her attention was on Solomon as the man mourned his family. She very much wanted to stand next to the crypt, too, and whisper final farewells to Titus, but she felt that by doing so she would be intruding on Solomon’s grief. Not even Atticus was standing near the crypt, perhaps to leave his father alone to grieve. Therefore, with an aching heart, she allowed Solomon to grieve alone as well.

As the priest droned on, Isobeau found her thoughts wandering to the last time she had seen Titus. It had been a cloudy day, cold and windy, and she had stood upon the steps of Alnwick’s keep, watching the army assemble in the inner bailey. Titus and Atticus had been walking among the men, issuing orders and making sure everything was prepared for departure.

Whereas Titus would offer a kind word or even a smile to the men, Atticus would remain serious and stern. And the way he walked; he stalked. He stalked like a predator, like a lion would. As she remembered that day, it occurred to her that there was perhaps one more reason Atticus was called The Lion of the North. The man stalked like one. That had not occurred to her before. Glancing at Atticus as he stood, head bowed in prayer, she was coming to think there were many things about the man that were mysterious and deep.

“My lady,” the priest said, but Isobeau was still looking at Atticus. “Lady de Wolfe?”

Isobeau hadn’t realized the tiny priest was speaking to her until he addressed her a second time. By that time, everyone had turned to look at her, including Atticus, and she was hugely embarrassed that she had been caught daydreaming. She smiled weakly at the priest.

“Sirrah?” she answered.

The priest gestured in the direction of Titus’ crypt. “It is my understanding that you wish to sing a lament for your husband,” he said. “Now would be the time.”

Isobeau hesitated; what she wanted to sing for Titus wasn’t a lament. It was a love song she had written for him the night before he departed but had been too embarrassed to sing it for him. Now she was singing it at his funeral and there was particular irony in that. Now he would only be able to hear it after his death. She wondered if he would have liked it.

It was difficult not to feel some measure of guilt because she should have sung the song for the man when he left. Perhaps it would have comforted him. Rising from the stool, and the least bit embarrassed that everyone would now hear the song she’d meant for Titus alone, she swallowed her embarrassment and went to stand next to his crypt. She ignored Solomon, partly because the man was ignoring her. But she mostly ignored him because her focus was on Titus, as it should be. She had words to sing to him, words that would send him off into the afterlife. Laying her hand on the cold, stone crypt, she lifted her crystal-clear soprano into a magnificent acapella song.

“May God’s good grace be upon you;

May He grant you the strength to stand tall.

May God keep you embraced to His bosom;

Until we meet again in this life or within His Holy Hall.

Never have I adored as much as I do now;

Never have I seen such light.

Never have I known such serenity.

Never have I cherished such a knight.

May God keep you and protect you, my dearest Titus.”

When she was finished, one could have heard a pin drop. Even Solomon had stopped weeping, staring at his dead son’s wife in astonishment. Isobeau leaned forward, kissed the stone, and quietly made her way back to her stool. The entire time, she kept her head down and her gaze averted, as if she didn’t want to see the expressions facing her. Somehow it was easier to pretend that only Titus had heard the song if she didn’t see the other faces just yet.

But she had cast something of a spell, a spell that was fragile and haunting and beautiful all at the same time. Solomon felt that spell the most, surprisingly. He followed the subdued young woman from the crypt.

“My lady,” Solomon said, awe in his voice. “The song you sang… it was beautiful. I have not heard it before.”

Isobeau forced a smile at the man. “That is because I wrote it for Titus,” she said. “It was meant only for him.”

Solomon seemed to approve; his entire mood seemed to change. “You have given me comfort.”

Isobeau touched him reassuringly on the arm. “I am glad, my lord,” she said. “I… I hope we all have great comfort now.”

Solomon seemed rather interested in her now, now that she had sung so beautifully for his son. He had been in his own world for so long that it was strange to see him so lucid and curious. As Warenne paid the priest for his services, Solomon reached out and took Isobeau’s hand.

“I am sorry that I have been such a terrible host since your arrival,” he said. “I pray you can forgive a grieving old man. But you are grieving too, are you not? This cannot be an easy thing for you.”

Isobeau glanced at Atticus, who was paying attention to the conversation closely. He seemed quite interested in his father’s sudden turn-about behavior. She returned her focus to Solomon.

“It is not,” she said. “And I am sorry that you and I had to meet under such circumstances. I am sorry that you could not come to our wedding. Those were much happier times.”

Solomon continued to hold her hand, his old, yellowed eyes inspecting her from the top of her long, blond head to the bottom of her dark surcoat. As if just seeing her through new eyes, because he essentially was, he thought she was an exquisite creature.

“I do not travel these days,” he told her. “As much as I wanted to go to Coventry, my old bones would not have withstood the travel. I, too, am very sorry I was unable to attend your marriage to Titus. It was heartbreaking for me.”

Atticus stepped in before his father could go on another emotional tangent about missing Titus’ wedding, which was more than likely about to happen. Atticus knew his father well. “Do not fret, Papa,” he said. “You will be able to attend my marriage. We will be married right here at Wolfe’s Lair.”

Solomon looked at his youngest son with surprise. “What is this?” he demanded. “A marriage, you say? What marriage?”

Atticus tried to be calm and reasonable in his delivery; he hadn’t yet had the chance to tell his father of Titus’ request to him and he was categorically uncertain as to how the man would react. Solomon tended to react first and think later. He honestly wasn’t sure how the man would take the news.

“When Titus lay dying, he made a request of me,” he said quietly. “He asked me to marry Isobeau and that is what I intend to do. He wanted her taken care of. He said he could not stand it if she was to marry another.”

Surprisingly, Solomon didn’t react overly. He actually appeared thoughtful. His gaze moved between Atticus and Isobeau as he pondered Atticus’ statement. Then, he scratched his yellowed, graying beard.

“I can understand his concern,” he said. “I would want my wife taken care of, too.”

Atticus was quite surprised that he hadn’t met with any resistance. “Then you approve?”

Solomon shrugged. “It is what Titus wanted.”

Evidently, it was as simple as that. Atticus tried not to let his astonishment show at his father’s easy acceptance of what could be construed as an odd, if not marginally distasteful, situation. Marrying his dead brother’s wife. Oddly enough, Solomon had accepted the request far more easily than Atticus had at first.

“Do we have your blessing, Papa?” he asked. “Obviously, I have Titus’. It would mean a great deal to have yours.”

Solomon looked between Atticus and Isobeau. Mostly, he was looking at Isobeau. “My lady?” he asked her. “I would like to know how you feel about marrying Atticus. Are your affections so easily transferred?”

It could have been construed as an insult, but Isobeau viewed it as an honest question from a grieving father who was in a very strange position. He’d just lost one son and now his surviving son was about to marry the dead son’s wife. She did, however, think it odd that the man asked her opinion. She was chattel and nothing more, so she wondered why he even cared to know. After a moment, she shook her head.

“They are not, my lord,” she replied. “Atticus has not asked for my affection. Only my hand.”

Solomon was satisfied with her frank reply. His gaze lingered on her a moment. “Did you love my Titus?”

Isobeau lifted her eyebrows, smiling faintly. “Everyone loved your Titus,” she said. “He was a great man.”

Solomon pondered her answer, thinking on her and Atticus and Titus. Titus had something Atticus didn’t, and that was emotion. He had a tender heart; too tender. Atticus had well learned to control his emotion but Titus never had. Solomon suspected that was what made the man so endearing to others and especially his wife. But Atticus… he was the perfect warrior. No emotion, only duty.

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….