Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (33)

Isobeau had never seen anything like it in her life.

After hearing the servants fearfully whispering about an envoy from Norfolk at the gates of Wolfe’s Lair, she had wrapped herself up in a heavy, woolen cloak and followed the trail of whispers, nervous servants, and uneasy soldiers to the wall walk of the fortress. She had seen the crowd of men gathered up near the gatehouse and she had seen Atticus and Kenton as they left the compound and went outside the great gates.

It seemed odd, everyone watching what was going on outside of the walls by the gatehouse. Inherently curious, Isobeau mounted the stairs to the wall and had moved among the soldiers for a view of what was happening. Strangely enough, no one questioned her or tried to stop her; they simply moved aside when she came near. That aversion afforded her a very clear view of Atticus’ battle with the enemy knights.

At first, she had been terrified but the more she watched, the more fascinated she became. It had truly been a sight to behold. At first, Atticus seemed to only be speaking with the six men who had ridden to the gates of Wolfe’s Lair but that all changed in a fraction of a second. Where there had once been six men, a hail of arrows left only two, and Atticus has completed a skilled and cunning move to disable one of the remaining knights so that there was only a single healthy man to face him. But that man, too, quickly succumbed to The Lion’s talent as a knight. As Isobeau had watched with shock and awe, Atticus had effectively subdued the second knight so that the man was at his feet, begging for mercy. At least, that was what it looked like.

Isobeau had never seen anything like it.

It had been a terrible and tense situation but in the end, the remaining knight had been sent away while his companion, injured, had been carried into Wolfe’s Lair. After that, the show was over and the men on the wall seemed to disburse as Isobeau made her way down the slippery stone steps to the inner ward of the fortress. De Wolfe soldiers were carrying the injured knight into the great hall whilst Atticus, now with Solomon clinging to him, entered the enclosure. The great gates closed, creaking and groaning, behind them.

Isobeau watched the very big, very silent knight, Kenton, move off towards the stables whilst Atticus and Solomon seemed involved in deep and quiet conversation. Solomon kept shaking his head, putting his hands on Atticus’ face, seemingly very distressed over what had occurred.

In silence, Isobeau watched the two men, feeling like an outsider and wondering what had happened. Thinking perhaps that she should return to her chamber, as she was feeling quite cold and still somewhat weak from the events of the previous day, she turned back for the stairs that led to her chamber when she heard Atticus’ voice call to her.

“My lady?” he said. “Isobeau?”

Isobeau came to an abrupt stop, whirling around to see Atticus heading towards her. His expression was warm in spite of his nose being red, pinched by the cold, and he reached out to gently take her elbow as he came up on her.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked. “The last I saw, you were warm and cozy in your chamber.”

She gazed up into his handsome face, thinking it rather surprising that a man she had seen easily disable two heavily armed knights not moments before was now here by her side, appearing completely unflustered and calm. As if he hadn’t been in a fight for his life mere minutes before. Cool, collected… it was a testament to The Lion’s faith in his talents. Above all else, he would survive no matter what.

“You left so abruptly I thought that something might be amiss,” she said after a moment. “When I heard the servants whispering about a Norfolk escort, I had to come and see what was happening.”

His warm expression faded somewhat. “What did you see?”

She shrugged. “Enough, I suppose,” she said. “I saw you fight those two knights. Why did you do that? Were they truly from Norfolk?”

He sobered, glancing over his shoulder at his father, who was being escorted into the great hall by a few servants who had learned to take care of the man. Solomon was fortunate in that he had a small army of servants who would tend his every need and that was why neither Atticus nor Titus every truly worried about the man. His servants of the body were very loyal. With his father taken care of, Atticus was able to focus on Isobeau and he grasped her elbow, leading her back in the direction of her chamber.

“Come along,” he said quietly. “Let us break our fast and I will tell you all.”

Isobeau gathered her skirt so it wouldn’t drag over the muddy, frozen ground as she permitted Atticus to escort her. “Should I not have come?” she asked him, sensing his morose mood. “I did not mean to do anything wrong if you did not want me to leave my chamber.”

He shook his head, carefully leading her up the old, stone stairs. “You did not do anything wrong,” he said. “And those men were, indeed, from de Mowbray. It would seem that the man is attempting yet again to gain the loyalty of the House of de Wolfe, at the very least. At the very most, he wants all of Northumberland’s knights.”

Isobeau was listening with interest. “Why would you say that?”

They reached the second level and began taking the steps to the third. “Because I have learned that the men who betrayed and murdered my brother have gone to Wellesbourne Castle in an attempt to coerce Adam Wellesbourne’s father into swearing fealty to Edward,” he said. “These are very complex times, my lady, made worse by Norfolk’s subversion. He does not seem to be willing to take a straight denial in exchange for the question of loyalty to Edward. Now, he is going to work on the families of the knights in order to elicit an oath for Edward.”

Complexity was an understatement; even Isobeau sensed that. There was far more to Norfolk’s dealings than met the eye but she understood clearly from Atticus’ statement that de la Londe and de Troiu were now said to be at Wellesbourne Castle. The men who had killed and betrayed Titus had evidently been sighted or tracked. At least now they had a location or some clue as to their whereabouts. She felt some excitement and relief at that.

“Then we are going to Wellesbourne Castle to confront those who betrayed Titus?” she asked.

Atticus nodded as they reached the top of the steps and headed into the corridor that led to the sleeping chambers. “We are, indeed,” he said. “I have Kenton pulling together our supplies and mounts. We will leave as soon as you are ready.”

Isobeau thought quickly on packing what she needed, struggling to ignore the massive chill throughout her body. She just couldn’t seem to get warm this morning and the thought of riding out into the icy weather was not particularly appealing to her, but she would not beg off. She was determined to see her task through of seeing the men who killed Titus punished, just as Atticus was.

“I can be ready very soon,” she assured him. “I will pack a small satchel. Will that be too much to take?”

They reached her chamber door and Atticus opened it. “If it can fit on your saddle, it is not too much,” he told her. “We will travel swiftly and lightly, so keep that in mind when packing.”

She unfastened the heavy, woolen cloak, laying it upon the table. “Will I be able to ride my mare or would you prefer for me to ride something more hearty?”

Atticus shrugged. “The mare seems strong enough.”

“She is, but I have never taken her on a long journey. I do not know how she will react.”

Atticus’ gaze lingered on her a moment. “I am more concerned with how you will react,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you feel up to this?”

Truth be told, Isobeau wasn’t. She was very cold and feeling oddly weak. She knew it was because of what happened yesterday and she also knew that she more than likely should not be up and moving around. She should be in bed because her body needed rest. But she didn’t want Atticus to go without her and she didn’t want to delay him if she couldn’t travel, so she did what she had to do. She lied.

“I feel well enough,” she told him. “I will pack right away and we can leave.”

Atticus didn’t question her even though she seemed somewhat pale to him. She simply didn’t look well. But he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he went to the table where her cloak lay, to the food that the servants had brought. He sat heavily and began pulling at a warm loaf of crusty bread, cooling quickly in the chill temperatures.

“Did you eat anything?” he asked.

Isobeau already had a satchel out and was selecting things to pack. She looked at him as he stuffed bread into his mouth.

“Not yet,” she said. “I will after I have packed for our journey.”

“I will make sure that you do.”

She turned back to her packing. “How far is it to Wellesbourne Castle?”

Mouth full, Atticus poured himself some watered wine. “It will take us a couple of weeks at the very least to reach it,” he told her. “It is much further south.”

“Near Coventry?”

He nodded. “It is very near Coventry.”

Isobeau paused, hope on her face. “Do you think it would be too much to stop at Isenhall Castle and visit my father?”

Atticus shrugged. “That can more than likely be arranged if you wish it,” he said. “But my business at Wellesbourne will come first.”

“I understand.”

They fell into silence after that, although it was not uncomfortable. Isobeau was packing and Atticus was eating. But eventually Isobeau’s movements slowed as she thought of the men she had seen Atticus battle so effortlessly. She couldn’t seem to push the event out of her mind. It had been both a horrifying and thrilling spectacle, something she had never before witnessed.

“Those men you fought,” she said, grasping for words and wondering if she should say anything at all. “You did not have any armor on. Were you not concerned that they might injure you?”

He looked up from his bread and cheese. “Were you?”

She shrugged because she truly didn’t know what to say to that. “I do not know,” she said honestly. “I suppose that I was frightened at first. I realize we have been married less than a day but I do not believe I am strong enough to bury another husband at the moment.”

Atticus swallowed the bite in his mouth, wondering if he was reading too much into her words. Did she say such a thing because she knew she could care for him? Or perhaps she already did? He was absolutely terrified to say anything emotional to her, fearful that she would reject any sentiment. Their marriage was a business arrangement, after all. He was certain she saw it as nothing more than a duty.

“You will not have to,” he said, taking a sip of his wine because he wanted to say much more than that. Putting something in his mouth was a way of preventing anything embarrassing from coming out. “In the cold, and in armor, they were not as agile as I was. I knew I could best them both but I had to move first and move quickly. There was really nothing more to it than that.”

Isobeau turned to look at him; really look at him. Seated at the table in his woolen tunic, with the weak sunlight coming in through the window behind him, he had a rather ethereal look. Her heart began to beat faster as her gaze lingered on him, the odd weakness plaguing her body growing worse and better at the same time. There was a certain giddiness to it, something that seemed to be caused by Atticus. He was an exquisitely handsome man. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him so.

“It was very brave,” she finally said, taking her eyes off him because she had to. Her heart was beating so strongly against her ribs that she could hardly catch her breath. “But you sent one of them away while the other you brought inside. Why did you do that?”

He drained the wine in his cup. “The knight I brought inside is a hostage against any hostile action Norfolk might try to take against Wolfe’s Lair,” he told her. “I would not worry. I do not believe we will have any further trouble from the man, at least not here at Wolfe’s Lair.”

Isobeau looked at him. “But we could have trouble with him elsewhere?”

Atticus nodded, toying with his empty cup. “It is possible,” he said. “But you should not worry overly.”

She shook her head, packing in the last of what she intended to take with her, a lumpy bar of white soap and a comb. “I am not worried,” she said. “But it seems as if Norfolk is going to great lengths to try and gain your loyalty.”

Atticus grunted. “The man is an idiot.”

Isobeau sealed up the satchel. “Mayhap,” she said, leaving the satchel and moving to the table where there was bread and cheese and strips of jerky. She eyed the food, not particularly hungry. “But it seems to me that he is trying to get to the House of de Wolfe somehow. Mayhap Titus was only the beginning. Mayhap he means to destroy the entire house and everyone within it. Must we be looking over our shoulder for the rest of our lives, fearful that he is lurking in the shadows?”

Atticus could hear tension in her voice, not surprising considering the history with de Wolfe versus de Mowbray over the past few weeks. Much like his world, hers had been rocked lately, too. The poor woman had lost everything. She was standing near him and instinctively, if only to give reassurance, he reached out to grasp her hand but the moment he did so, it was as if a bolt of fire shot through him.

She was warm, that was true, but it was more than that; it was fire that surged through him like nothing he had ever known. Fire and ice and lust and passion, and everything in between suddenly flashed before his eyes. Instinct told him to drop her hand because the mere contact between them was shattering, but his emotions, those things he kept deeply buried, overcame his instincts and he squeezed her hand more tightly, feeling her flesh against his.

“He will not be lurking,” he said in a strange, husky voice he’d never heard from himself before. “This is war, my lady, and men have many enemies. Norfolk will soon tire of me and find others. We will not live our lives in fear of a man who is not worthy of such regard.”

Isobeau’s focus was riveted to his face as he held her hand, tightly, as if the touch meant something to him. Her heart was racing again, brought on by Atticus’ touch, and her breathing was coming in strange little gasps. It occurred to her that Titus had never brought on such a reaction. He had been kind and gentle, and his kisses sweet, but he had never set her heart to racing the way Atticus did. Part of her wanted to yank her hand away from him but a greater part wanted to grip him as he was gripping her, flesh against flesh, heat against heat. His touch was exhilarating.

“If… if you say so,” she managed to stammer, realizing that she was fixated on the shape of his lush lips. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. “If you say there is nothing to fear, I will believe you.”

Atticus could hear her voice but he almost couldn’t understand her words. She was standing up against him, her hand in his, and he’d never known anything so intoxicating in his life. His fingers caressed her hand, acquainting himself with the silken texture of her flesh, before he even realized he was doing it. There was something incredibly inviting and alluring about the woman, something that overwhelmed his senses. Before he could stop himself, he brought her hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing her hand again simply because he couldn’t stop himself. “It would make me unhappy if you worried. I would have to ride to Arundel myself and kill de Mowbray simply to ease your mind.”

He said it with a twinkle in his eye and Isobeau broke into a grin. “That seems rather drastic,” she said, breathless.

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said huskily. “You are my wife. It is my duty and my pleasure to make your life as worry-free as possible.”

Isobeau’s cheeks flushed a dull red at his sweet flattery. You are my wife. Sweet Jesus, she loved hearing those words from his mouth but then in the same breath she felt guilty because she had never felt such joy hearing the same words from Titus’ mouth. Overwhelmed, and thrilled, she averted her gaze because looking into his handsome face had her so giddy that she could scarcely breathe.

“You are too kind,” she managed to say.

Atticus didn’t reply. He was too swept up in her flushed cheeks and coy expression. God, but she was an alluring creature. She seemed to grow more beautiful by the moment. He kissed her hand once more, a final time, before releasing it, mostly because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t. He wanted to pull her against him and kiss her in the worst way and he knew, if that happened, that he wouldn’t be able to stop at a mere kiss. She was his wife and he had every right to her luscious body but after what she had been through the day before, it simply wouldn’t do. It was wrong and tasteless on too many levels. He would be an inappropriate man indeed, filling her womb with his seed so soon after his brother’s child had been lost. Confused, and feeling guilty for his overwhelmingly lustful reaction to her, he stood up from the chair.

“Then I will leave you to your meal and to finish packing,” he said, heading for the door and realizing that his male member was semi-aroused against his breeches. He made sure his tunic was covering the bulge. “I have duties to attend to but I will return for you shortly. Dress warmly; it is cold outside.”

Isobeau, still keeping her head down and her gaze averted because of her red cheeks, nodded. “I will be ready.”

Atticus quit the room with a nod although Isobeau didn’t see it; she wasn’t looking at him. But the moment he shut the door behind him, she let out such a sigh that her entire body nearly deflated. It was relief but it was also a release, and the grin on her lips was unmistakable, a grin only for her, the secret longing for her new husband now fully revealed.

Isobeau was certain it was wrong, feeling as she did so soon after losing Titus, but the truth was that she and Titus had only known each other for two weeks before he departed for Towton. She’d spent much more time away from him than with him, and theirs was a relationship that had never truly developed past the initial stage. Had she loved him? It was possible that what she had felt for him would have developed into love, but as she thought hard on her feelings for Titus, she couldn’t honestly remember feeling anything more than great fondness for him. Titus had been a warm and sensitive man and she admired that a great deal. But Atticus… God help her, Atticus was quickly forging his way into her emotions. He was searing and passionate and exciting. She couldn’t stop him.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to try.

You are only a duty to him, she reminded herself. Only a duty!

Would it be that way forever? She wondered.

With her satchel fully packed, she sat down in the seat that Atticus had vacated, feeling his warmth still on the wood. The realization made silly, giddy thoughts roll through her head. She stared at the cheese and bread in front of her, thinking that she really wasn’t very hungry. She was tired more than anything, exhausted from the eventful past. Her head hurt and the odd weakness had not gone away. Rising from the chair, she made her way over to the bed and lay upon the faded silk coverlet that had once belonged to Atticus’ mother. It was soft and warm and comfortable, and very quickly she fell into a deep sleep.

When she dreamt, it was with vivid images of Atticus.

*

Alnwick Castle

Adam Wellesbourne, in charge of the wall on this fine but cold evening as the sun set against the western hills of Northumbria, was the first one to see the lone rider approach from the south.

Alnwick had been bottled up tight since the return of the army from Towton nearly two weeks ago. No one went in or out, and there was the constant fear of Edward’s army arriving and demanding the surrender of the fortress. They all knew that was coming; they simply didn’t know when. With Edward’s rule established after the victory at Towton and Henry on the run, the surrender of Alnwick was inevitable. Like a sinking ship, it was only a matter of time before it was scuttled. That being the case, the young earl spent most of his time with his mother these days, planning the move to Warkworth Castle as Atticus had demanded, while his knights, seasoned men that had served his father, had charge of the fortress, watching and waiting for the coming changing of the guard.

In such a case, it would stand to reason that things like lone riders grated on their fears. Tertius, having been in charge since Atticus left, was currently in conference with the young earl and the dowager countess as Wellesbourne signaled the approach of the lone rider. Since there was only one man, the man-gate that was built within the great gates of Alnwick opened, emitting two armed men on horseback who quickly intercepted the approaching rider.

Together, the trio then approached the gatehouse and by that time, Adam was there to meet them. Surprise registered across his face when he realized that he recognized the rider.

“De Royans?” he asked, incredulous. “Why are you… oh, God… my wife. Is Audrey well? Or is it my father?”

Juston held up a heavily gloved hand. “It is neither,” he said. “They are both in good health.”

Adam was so relieved that he nearly collapsed with it. “Thank God,” he muttered. But it only seemed to increase his puzzlement over de Royans’ presence. “Then why are you here?”

Beneath his open visor and heavy, woolen scarf, Juston’s blue eyes were riveted to Adam. “Because we received information that you are now sworn to Edward,” he said. “Yet I find you here at Alnwick, manning the gatehouse with Percy soldiers. This is most confusing.”

Adam was clearly perplexed. “Me?” he asked. “Sworn to Edward?”

“That is what your father was told,” Juston replied. “He has sent me to Alnwick to discover the truth of it.”

Adam’s expression went from one of puzzlement to one of rage quite quickly. “Who told you such lies?” he demanded. “I have never declared for Edward nor shall I.”

De Royans could see simply by Adam’s reaction that the rumor was false. He had suspected as much and on his long ride north, he’d come to the conclusion that de la Londe and de Troiu were complete and utter liars. De Royans had known Adam for many years and the man was many things – rash, impulsive, fierce, and humorous – but he was not a traitor to the crown. Hearing Adam’s denial simply confirmed it. He didn’t doubt the man for a second.

“Take me inside,” de Royans said, pointing at the gatehouse. “Unfreeze my bones and we will have a discussion, you and I. Your father wants to know what is going on, Adam. There are mysterious and unhealthy dealings afoot that you must be made aware of.”

Adam already figured that much out; de Royans’ very presence told him as much. Ordering the gate opened so they could all pass through comfortably without being restricted by the man-gate, Alnwick was once again bottled up tight as Adam took de Royans into the great hall.

By this time, word had spread of de Royans’ arrival and they were joined in the great hall by Alec le Bec and Maxim de Russe. De Royans had been traveling for days upon days and, in particular, he’d set out on this day well before dawn, traversing frozen moors in icy weather. Therefore, when it came to removing his clothing, the man could barely move and Alec and Maxim took to pulling stuff off of him. Even Adam got into the action, removing de Royans’ ice-bound helm from his head and unwinding the crackling, icy, woolen scarf that had become sweaty, and frozen, and sweaty again over the days of travel. By the time the knight was unwound, unbound, and removed from most of his outer clothing, he simply sat there in the heat of the great hall and quivered.

“God’s Bloody Neck,” de Royans hissed a curse through blue lips. “Why has it remained so frozen this spring? The warmth should at least be making an attempt to return by this time of year.”

Adam gave him a half-grin as he ordered the servants to lay out de Royans’ things before the snapping hearth. “It is simple,” he said. “God hates England. He is trying to freeze us to death.”

De Royans’ lips cracked into a smile. “That is possible,” he said. “I believe he likes France and Spain more. It is warmer there.”

The knights around the big, scrubbed table snorted with humor, lightening the mood. But soon enough, the mood darkened again as Adam faced his father’s half-frozen knight.

“Tell me what has you traveling over miles of frozen land, Juston,” he said. “Who said I had sworn fealty to Edward?”

A servant brought hot wine and de Royans wrapped his cold fingers around the cup, sighing with contentment at the heat. “A short time ago, Declan de Troiu and Simon de la Londe came to Wellesbourne Castle,” he said. “They came on a mission from Norfolk, which was confusing enough until they mentioned that you had sworn fealty to Edward. Your father, sensing that something was afoot, had both knights thrown into the vault at Wellesbourne Castle until he could discover the truth. That is why he has sent me here, to learn what goes on here in the north. Why would de Troiu and de la Londe say such things?”

Adam grunted with disgust, eyeing Maxim and Alec. Maxim, perhaps the most emotional knight of the group, plopped down on the bench opposite de Royans.

“They have become traitors to all we have known,” he said, raking his hand through his black hair. “They murdered Titus de Wolfe.”

De Royans’ brows furrowed in concern, in horror, as Adam filled in the details. “As near as we can determine, the Duke of Norfolk somehow contacted the pair,” he said. “In exchange for money, or lands, or both, he somehow coerced them into attempting to persuade Northumberland’s entire knight corps into swearing fealty to Edward. The first knight they approached was Titus and when the man refused, they murdered him. Then they fled south, undoubtedly to flee Atticus’ wrath.”

De Royans sipped at his hot wine. “The Lion of the North,” he muttered. “Where is Atticus?”

Adam accepted his own hot wine from the nearest servant. “He took Titus back to Wolfe’s Lair for burial,” he replied, sipping at the steaming brew. “The man is bent on vengeance, Juston. He wants de Troiu and de la Londe. You say that my father has them both captive at Wellesbourne?”

“He does indeed.”

“Then Atticus must know. He will want to go to Wellesbourne Castle to dispense justice.”

“And I will go with him,” Maxim declared. “Titus was my mentor. I wanted to go with Atticus from the start but Thetford would not allow it.”

Adam held up a hand to the hot-headed young knight. “Because Atticus was volatile enough without emotional knights tagging along with him,” he said, bordering on scolding. “But Atticus must know that de Troiu and de la Londe are at Wellesbourne and someone must ride to tell him.”

“Let me go,” Alec said, standing over de Royans’ shoulder. “I would consider it an honor.”

Maxim stood up, his unhappy focus on Alec. “I told you that I wanted to go with Atticus,” he said. “Why should you be allowed to go?”

Adam put up his hands between the pair before someone threw a punch, which had been known to happen between the cousins. They loved each other dearly but didn’t hesitate to fight one another if the situation called for it.

“Cease,” he commanded, glaring at Maxim before turning his attention to Alec. “I have a feeling that each one of us will volunteer to go to Wolfe’s Lair to inform Atticus that the very men he seeks are at Wellesbourne Castle, so it is my inclination that only de Royans should go since he has seen de la Londe and de Troiu personally. He can verify with his own eyes to Atticus that those men are prisoners at Wellesbourne. Moreover, you know that we cannot leave Alnwick, not now. There is too much at stake.”

Maxim growled unhappily. “Because Edward will march upon us,” he said. “That will not happen for months, Adam. Do you truly believe Edward will march an army up here so soon after Towton? Men are wounded and battle lords scattered. Edward is in London. He has better things to do than worry about Alnwick!”

As Adam and Maxim started to argue, caused by the stress of being bottled up in Alnwick awaiting Edward’s proverbial axe to fall on their heads, de Royans put up his hands to interrupt them.

“We heard news of Towton,” he said loudly, distracting the two knights, “but we heard it from de la Londe’s point of view. What has happened?”

Adam was still glaring at Maxim but answered de Royans out of politeness. “It was a route for Edward’s forces,” he said, sounding weary and unhappy. “Edward soundly defeated us. We lost Henry Percy among others. However bad de la Londe made it sound, the reality is that it was much worse. Be glad you were not there, de Royans. I have never seen such carnage or death in my life. It was hell.”

De Royans listened seriously. Pondering the destruction, he shook his head in sorrow. “Then I am saddened to hear this,” he said. “But I fail to understand why Henry was so badly defeated. He had superior numbers, did he not?”

Adam shook his head and spent the next hour explaining to de Royans the tactics of Edward against Henry. By the time he was finished, de Royans was counting his blessings that Wellesbourne had not been at the fight. He more than likely would have been one of the dead, too.

When tempers calmed, the evening was spent in a quiet meal with the knights of Alnwick, including Tertius, and also including the new earl, young Henry. The older knights deliberately kept the conversation away from Towton, or Atticus or Titus, or any reference to death in general. They told stories of past adventures, laughing at their foolishness or their cleverness, and passed the evening in a rare, jovial mood. As of late, there had been little to be jovial over and the meal had been a welcome respite in the midst of their stressful existence.

But the evening inevitably ended and there were tasks to be completed. Before dawn, de Royans was once again on the road, heading for Wolfe’s Lair and the news that the very men Atticus wanted were safe and sound, locked up in the vault of Wellesbourne. He left behind several disappointed knights, a fearful young earl, and a castle that was once again sealed up to await her fate as the tides of the throne had shifted against them.