Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (39)

The gates were on fire.

Whatever oil or fat Summerlin was using, it burned very hot and very long, and after the first wave of flaming arrows, Summerlin and his men had managed to get up against the big iron and oak gates of Wolfe’s Lair and light the things on fire. A great pile of kindling and wood had been pushed up against the gates and ignited, and even now, a great, black cloud burned steadily into the brilliant night sky.

Atticus stood in front of the gates, watching them burn, as his men had a bucket brigade going, dousing the flames from their side. Wolfe’s Lair had two big wells that provided more than enough water to battle the blaze but the fat that Summerlin and his men had smeared on the gates would not be extinguished. It was those areas, with fat spread into the old and pitted wood, that were burning hotly. The smell was almost overpowering.

The truth was that Atticus was worried. The gates were reinforced with great strips of iron about an inch thick, like bars on a cage, so even if the wood burned away, the bars would remain. They would still be protected. But if the fire from the burning wood burned hot enough, the iron would soften and that would be a problem. Therefore, it was important to keep water on the fire to lessen the heat generated by the flames.

Atticus, therefore, not only directed the water on the gate, he participated as well. He tossed great buckets of icy water on the burning wood. Kenton was upon the wall walk, directing the soldier to dump burning rocks and earth onto the men below. It was a common enough tactic and they heated earth in great cauldrons in the bailey before taking them up to the wall in buckets or baskets or anything they could find, dumping them out onto the Norfolk men below. The scorching earth and pebbles and layers of sand would get into the cracks of men’s armor, seriously burning them. As Atticus manned the gate, Kenton rained hell from above.

Beneath the courageous façade, however, lay great sorrow and grief. Both men were struggling with the death of Warenne. Having been notified of the earl’s death and then subsequently seeing the man’s body in the inner ward had taken something out of Atticus’ soul. First Titus, and now Warenne… he was struggling not to think on the loss of those closest to him, focused on what he must do in order to protect Wolfe’s Lair. It would have been very easy to become disoriented by death, to let it claim his sound mind. He thanked God for Kenton, for the man was unbreakable and emotionless, a rock when Atticus felt like crumbling. When Atticus heard Kenton’s bellows over the commotion of the siege, it reinforced his courage. All was not lost and he was not alone.

But there was something more on Atticus’ mind as well; the more compromised the gates became, the more his thoughts turned towards his wife. Locked up in her room, he was glad for her safety but he knew that if the gates were breached, she would be in danger. Wolfe’s Lair appeared to only have one way in or out, through the front gates, but the truth was that there was a tunnel that ran from the storage area beneath the great hall to the creek bed to the south of the fortress.

When Atticus had been a small boy, he and Titus used to play in that tunnel constantly but he had no idea if the tunnel was still open and viable. Somehow, someway, he would have to get Isobeau to the tunnel and the more he watched the front gates burn, the more he knew he would have to go to her whether or not she wanted to see him and take her to safety. He would have to take the woman and flee.

“Atticus,” Solomon was suddenly standing next to him, interrupting his thoughts. “If we cannot douse the flames on the gate, the bars will start to soften. We must prepare the men for the breach.”

Atticus looked at his father, a man he had shoved aside a few hours before when he felt his father was in his way. Solomon was old and slow, but his mind was still very sharp. Atticus suddenly felt very badly for the way he had treated his father. He reached out, putting a big arm around his father’s broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

“They are already prepared,” he said. “But you… you cannot withstand hand to hand combat these days, Papa. I have been standing here thinking about the old tunnel that leads to the creek bed off to the south. If the tunnel is still open, then mayhap we should think about leading my wife to it. I am hoping you might do this for me.”

Solomon shook his head. “I will not leave my home,” he said. “I was born here and I shall die here. I will not flee. But you must go, Atticus. It is you they want. You must take Isobeau and leave. Run, boy; run away and do not look back.”

Atticus looked at his father, studying the man. After having lost Titus, and now Warenne, he was fairly certain he couldn’t handle losing his father.

“Papa,” he said softly. “You are all I have left. I could not stand to lose you. Therefore, you must come with Isobeau and me when we flee. But if you remain, then I will remain. I will not go without you.”

Solomon looked at him and Atticus was struck by the defeat he saw in the man’s eyes. The death of a son, now the siege of his home… Solomon was weary. He was an old man and he was weary of what life had dealt him as of late. But there was more to it than that; Atticus had never seen his father so… calm. Resigned, even. Perhaps Solomon was prepared to accept the end, which Atticus was not.

“You have a beautiful wife now,” Solomon said quietly. “You and Isobeau will carry on the de Wolfe name. You will have many strong sons that will outshine the sun. We are descended from greatness, you know. William de Wolfe himself, the Wolfe of the Borders, is our ancestor. I imagine when I look at you that I see a great deal of him. You have his strength and his sense of honor. There is so much of William de Wolfe within you, Atticus. That must be preserved.”

Atticus had heard that before from his father; I see you as the embodiment of William de Wolfe. He smiled faintly.

“William de Wolfe lived two hundred years ago,” he said. “Whatever traits the man possessed, I am sure that generations of breeding have watered it down. What you see in me is a reflection of yourself. You are the greatest knight I have ever known, next to Titus. Whatever you see in me, it is you.”

Solomon smiled, sharing a warm moment with his son as the gate began to burn even hotter now. De Wolfe men were trying frantically to douse it but the flames were shooting up the length of the gates, igniting the wooden frame that held it against the opening of the gatehouse. But even though the enemy appeared to be winning, and soon they would be overrun with Norfolk men who wanted to claim Wolfe’s Lair for Edward, there was peace and joy between Solomon and Atticus. He patted his youngest son on the cheek with a big, meaty hand.

“You are my shining light, boy,” Solomon said softly. “Never forget that. Now, go to your wife and take her to the tunnel. It is still open although we use it for storage these days. Take Isobeau and flee. I must know you are safe.”

Atticus sighed heavily. “Papa, you are putting me in a terrible position,” he said. “I will not leave you.”

“You must.”

“If the situation was reversed, would you leave me?”

Solomon frowned. “I would do what my father told me to do.”

“Then I am a terrible son because I am not leaving.”

“What about your wife?”

Atticus’ staunch refusal took a hit as he was reminded of Isobeau. Soft, sweet, lovely Isobeau… she could not fall into the hands of Norfolk. He was fairly certain that Summerlin would treat her well, but he could not be sure of her fate. What a prize she would be to Norfolk or even to Edward. Could he risk her falling into the hands of the unscrupulous new king and his lascivious family? Nay, he could not. But he was greatly torn about leaving his father behind. He simply couldn’t do it.

“I will take her to the tunnel and tell her to flee into the woods that are to the south,” he said. “But I will not go with her. I will only join her after we have fought off Norfolk’s assault.”

Solomon’s heart ached for Atticus, understanding his son would not leave him to face the aggression alone. He understood the loyalty, the unwillingness to leave the man he loved to battle for him. But time was growing short and there was no time for argument.

“Do you think she will go without you?” Solomon said, now moving out from under his son’s arm and pushing at the man’s chest as if to push him away. “We have discussed this; she has already buried one husband and it would be unfair, nay, tragic to expect her to bury another. You must go with her, boy. I have lived my life. I was married to a woman I loved. I had my beloved sons. My life has been lived. But you… your life has only just begun, now with a beautiful wife at your side. You must go, Atticus. It will kill me to have you linger simply because of me.”

Atticus was starting to feel panicky, torn by his father’s words. He wished to God that Warenne was here to advise him, but Warenne was wrapped up in an old coverlet and stored in the corner of the dark and cool chapel. Warenne wasn’t here to tell him what he should do because Atticus’ instinct was to remain with his father. He couldn’t leave him. The more Solomon pushed, the more Atticus resisted.

“Papa, please,” Atticus said. “You are asking me to choose between you and… and….”

“And your wife!” Solomon snapped. “You must take her and flee, Atticus. Time is shorter than you realize. Look at the flames; the iron frame is already beginning to soften. If you do not go now, it may be too late. You must save yourself!”

Those were the magic words as far as Atticus was concerned. He had no intention of saving himself and fleeing like a coward. But he would lead Isobeau to the tunnel. Then, he would return and fight off Norfolk as best he could. Feeling saddened but determined, he moved away from his father.

“I am going to take Isobeau and the servants to the tunnel,” he said, pointing at his father. “But I will be back. If you are planning on fighting off Norfolk’s assault, then I suggest that you arm yourself. Go the armory and collect your weapon.”

Solomon bellowed at him, something gut-wrenching and painful. He told Atticus not to return; he begged the man. But Atticus wasn’t listening. He was racing across the inner ward towards the steps that led up to the living levels. His heart was racing for more reasons than one. He was apprehensive to see Isobeau again, fearful that the anger and hatred in her heart for him had not yet dissipated. He was fearful of seeing such animosity in the eyes of the woman he was so deeply emotional for.

Thoughts of her, now heavily upon him, weighted him down with worry and anxiety. What if she wouldn’t come with him? What if she wouldn’t even listen to him? He would have to become a brute, forcing her to do his will and try not to care that she would hate him for it. She already hated him. One more offense would not make a difference. It was with an extremely heavy heart that he put his foot on the first step. But a shout from the wall stopped him.

“Atticus!” Kenton roared. “Incoming!”

Atticus turned in the direction of the shout, watching as Kenton waved almost frantically to him. That wasn’t like Kenton at all, for the man did nothing that conveyed agitation or fear. Deeply concerned, not to mention curious, Atticus shifted direction and ran all the way to the steep, narrow staircase that led up to the wall. He had to push men aside as he went, pushing through soldiers and archers, until he reached Kenton’s side. He opened his mouth to ask Kenton to clarify his statement when Kenton pointed a finger eastward. That’s all the man had to do; he simply pointed. When Atticus turned to see what he was pointing at, everything became instantly clear.

Northumberland banners, leading a mighty Northumberland army, were approaching.

Atticus would believe until the day he died that, at that moment, he had witnessed divine intervention in the form of an allied army.

*

“Tertius!”

Isobeau had very nearly screamed the name when her brother suddenly appeared in her doorway. Startled, she dropped her dragonfly embroidery and flew to her brother, throwing her arms around the man’s neck and breaking into tears. She had never been so surprised, or so glad, to see anyone in her life.

Tertius had just fought his way through a weary Norfolk army to make it to the gates of Wolfe’s Lair that, by the time he arrived, were twisted and smoldering and very difficult to move. But they managed to get one of them open, allowing Northumberland’s army in as Norfolk’s exhausted men scattered and fled south. It had been an extremely short-lived battle that had seen Northumberland, and Wolfe’s Lair, emerge the victor. The de Wolfe standards still flew high above the battered gatehouse.

“Easy, Iz, easy,” Tertius told his hysterical sister, giving her a squeeze before releasing her. “All is well. Everything is safe now.”

Isobeau wiped the tears of joy and relief off her face. “You came!” she gasped. “Why did you come? Why are you here?”

Tertius looked her over critically. “Are you well?” he asked, avoiding her question for the moment. “You look rather pale.”

Isobeau waved him off. “I am fine,” she insisted. “What are you doing here?”

Having his question answered, and knowing that his sister had emerged from the siege of Wolfe’s Lair unharmed, Tertius was inclined to provide Isobeau answers to her own inquiry.

“We were told that Wolfe’s Lair was under attack and made haste to lend assistance,” he said. “How long has this been going on?”

Isobeau shrugged, for she truly didn’t know. It seemed like forever. “At least a week, possibly more,” she said. “Is… is Atticus well? I have not seen him in a very long time.”

Tertius nodded. “Not a scratch on the man,” he replied. “Solomon, either.”

“And Warenne? Kenton?”

Tertius seemed to sober. “Kenton is well,” he said. “But Warenne is dead. You did not know this?”

Isobeau gasped in horror at the news. “I… I did not,” she said, devastated at the passing of the Earl of Thetford. “I have been locked in this room for the past week. I have not been allowed to leave and no one has come to tell me anything, save Thetford. He… he was only here a short while ago. Now he is dead?”

Tertius nodded. “Aye,” he said sadly. Then, he sighed heavily. “Losing Titus and now Warenne… it makes me want to give up war altogether and take up the life of a fisherman. I have seen far too many friends perish over the past few years, but the past few weeks have been the most costly. I am coming to wonder if these wars between Henry and Edward are worth the price we all must pay.”

Isobeau was still lingering on Warenne’s death, so deeply saddened by it. She wandered back over to her little table where her embroidery lay and sat heavily on the nearest chair. “He was such a giving and wise man,” she murmured. “I am sure Atticus is… Tertius, where is Atticus?”

Tertius tugged at his mail gauntlet. “The last I saw, he was cleaning up pockets of fighting near the gate,” he said. “I told you he was well.”

Isobeau nodded. “It is not that,” she said, thinking on the last conversation she and Warenne had shared. He already lost someone he cared very deeply for in a situation where he was unable to protect him. He could not lose someone else he cared deeply for and not do anything about it. She wondered if Warenne had ever made it back to Atticus to tell him that she was more than willing to see him. To forgive him. Since Atticus had not come to her yet, she suspected that perhaps Warenne had never told him. Her expression to Tertius was filled with urgency. “Please find Atticus and send him to me, Tertius. I must speak to him immediately.”

Tertius frowned. “The man is cleaning up after a battle,” he said. “He has better things to do right now.”

Isobeau stood up. “If you do not send him to me, I will go out and find him,” she said. “Please, Tertius. It is very important.”

Tertius made a face at her but he wasn’t beyond sensing the stress in her tone. Snarling at her, he turned for the door. “You are a demanding creature, Izzy,” he said, unhappy. “I will send Atticus to you when he is finished and not one moment sooner. You should know that you cannot always have everything just the way you wish it.”

Isobeau stuck her tongue out at her brother. “I love you very much, Tertius,” she said. “But sometimes you are an annoying little snip.”

Tertius shook his head at her, lingering in the doorway before he left completely. “And I love you, too,” he said. “But you are a spoiled child.”

“I hate you now.”

“I hate you more.”

Tertius left the chamber but not before Isobeau saw a grin on his lips. Grinning herself, she went to the door, watching her beloved brother head down the corridor and out to the steps that led down into the inner ward.

Once he was gone from her sight, she began to wonder if he would really tell Atticus to come and see her. She suspected he wouldn’t, at least not right away, and that thought began to drive her into agitation. The battle was over, so Tertius said, so surely there was no danger any longer. Surely she could leave her chamber and find Atticus without any hazards befalling her. She simply couldn’t wait any longer to speak with him; seven days had been far too long to wait.

She had to see him.

In silence, she left the chamber and headed out into the gentle dusk.

*

More death and more destruction.

At least, that was what Isobeau thought when she made her way down the steps that led into the inner ward. The big ward was badly damaged and dead men, men with arrows still in their bodies, were being piled up near the great hall. She could see at least a dozen or more, all being carefully lined up. She stood upon the steps for quite some time, watching the activity below, trying not to become ill at the sight of so much death, before shifting her attention to the stable off to her left.

The structure didn’t seem to be any more damaged than it had been the last time she saw it and she made her way over to it to check on her mare. The horse was still where she had left it, crowded into an undamaged stall with a pony and three goats. The horse was gnawing on the wooden slats of the stall so she gave it some of the dried grass that was piled up in another stall. The mare and the pony and the goats descended on the grass, hungry. Leaving her animal friends feasting, Isobeau wandered back out into the ward.

It was difficult to tell if there was still fighting going on at the gate because there were so many men grouped around it that she couldn’t really see what was happening. All she knew was that there were dozens of men, and knights on horseback, and she recognized Maxim de Russe and Alec le Bec. Alec even waved at her. She waved back even though her attention was focused on finding Atticus.

Men were moving about everywhere and she dodged groups of them as she made haste across the inner ward, heading for the great hall where she knew the wounded were. She tried not to think on the last time she was in the great hall, the day that Alrik du Reims was killed, but it seemed an easy enough thought to overcome when she wanted badly to see Atticus. She had to find him and she had to tell him… well, she wasn’t quite sure what, exactly, she was going to tell him, but if what Warenne had said was true, then perhaps it was time for her to be truthful with the man she had married. All she knew was that she had to see him. She was lingering by the entry to the great hall, straining to catch a glimpse of the men inside, when she heard a soft, deep voice behind her.

“Isobeau?”

Whirling around, she found herself facing Atticus. He was in plate armor, without his helm, and he appeared positively exhausted. A dark growth of beard spread over his face and his beautiful eyes were ringed with dark circles. But it was what she saw within those eyes that had her breath catching in her throat; there was something very deep and very emotional there. Whatever it was brought tears to her eyes. She was so glad to see him that she very nearly crumpled.

“I heard about Warenne,” she said, her throat tight with emotion. “I am so sorry, Atticus. I know he was your friend.”

Atticus’ gaze lingered on her. In fact, he couldn’t stop looking at her. He’d happened to notice her when she came out of the stables and even though he had been at the front gate, directing the disposal of the Northumberland dead, he left the knights in charge and followed his wife all the way across the inner ward until she came to a halt at the entry to the great hall. Now, all of those words he had planned to say to her, or wanted to say to her, seemed to catch in his throat. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“He was a dear and valued friend,” he finally said. “I will miss him.”

“As will I.”

“What are you doing down here? It is quite a mess still.”

She took a step towards him, her lovely face upturned to him, illuminated by the torchlight that was casting a warm glow over the inner ward. “Tertius came to see me,” she said. “He said that Northumberland came to help us.”

Atticus nodded. He wanted so very badly to reach out and hold her but he knew it wouldn’t be well met. His arms fairly ached to touch her. “They did,” he said. “A Wellesbourne knight, who was traveling to Wolfe’s Lair to see me, came upon the siege and rode straight to Alnwick for help. Fortunate for us that he did or I have no idea what state we would be in now.”

Isobeau grew serious. “Was Wolfe’s Lair in danger of falling?”

Atticus nodded. “I believe so,” he said. “In fact, before Northumberland appeared, I was coming to see you to take you to safety.”

Isobeau’s face lit up. “You were coming to see me?”

He nodded, seeing that she appeared rather pleased by the thought. “Aye,” he said, wondering if he should say anything more. He was terrified to, terrified she would run off or, worse, reject him. Therefore, he restrained himself. “As I said, I was going to take you to safety.”

Isobeau’s face fell. “I see,” she said, lowering her gaze and looking to the destruction of the inner ward. “I am glad that Northumberland appeared, then. I understand that your father is well also. He survived.”

Atticus nodded, noting how depressed she seemed now whereas moments before, she seemed quite warm and receptive. “He is very well,” he said. “Now I cannot keep him out of the clean-up efforts. He thinks he is in charge.”

“Well, it is his fortress.”

Atticus gave her a lopsided smile. “Aye, it is,” he said, eyeing her. He cleared his throat softly and somewhat nervously. “You… you said that you came to find me?”

Isobeau looked at him; really looked at him. At that moment, she could do one of two things – she could simply tell him that she was pleased he was uninjured and leave it at that, or she could bare her soul and pray he didn’t run off in horror. Since Warenne had led her to believe that Atticus felt something for her, she took a chance on the latter. But speaking of her feelings for the man was the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do in her life.

“I did,” she said quietly. “I… I wanted to speak with you.”

“What about?”

She looked at him sadly, perhaps with some chagrin. “Shall we pretend that I did not say such terrible things to you the last time we saw one another?” she said softly. “I, for one, cannot do such a thing. I cannot ignore the terrible things I said to you and… and I wanted to ask for your forgiveness. I understand that you were trying to protect me, Atticus. You saw danger and you did what you could to save my life. I should not have been so horrid to you about it. I should have trusted you and I am sorry that I did not.”

At that moment, Atticus felt as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He could breathe again. He smiled faintly at her, realizing that he felt more alive and joyful than he had in days, even weeks or months. Perhaps ever. Nothing he’d ever known equated with what he was feeling at her words.

“I am sorry, too,” he said. “I frightened you and I upset you. I did not mean to do either of those things, but when I saw the knight with his arm across your neck, I knew that it was either his life or yours. Know that if I had it to do all over again, I would do the same thing. I could not let anything happen to you, Isobeau. It would destroy me.”

Isobeau could feel her heart racing, that giddy feeling she was coming to associate with Atticus. Very boldly, she reached out to take his gloved hand and he instantly latched on to her, bringing her fingers to his lips. He closed his eyes tightly, her flesh against his mouth, and Isobeau instinctively put a hand to his cheek. A dam of some kind had broken and she could feel the emotions flowing from both of them, wrapping up around them like a vortex. Any hesitation she had at speaking her mind or her thoughts vanished.

It was time for total truth.

“As it would destroy me as well if something happened to you,” she whispered, watching him kiss her hand. There was so much power behind his kisses that it brought tears to her eyes. “I have been so worried for you, Atticus, and I did not want anything to happen to you before I had the opportunity to tell you how I feel. I had the opportunity to tell Titus before he left and I did not take that chance. I will not make the same mistake twice.”

Atticus opened his eyes, focusing intensely on her. “What do you feel?”

Her eyes were glimmering with every unspoken emotion she was feeling. “Shall I tell you?”

Atticus nodded. Then he shook his head. “How is it even possible that you should feel something for me?” he asked, bewildered and genuinely curious. “You loved my brother.”

Isobeau smiled sadly, her palm still against his cheek. “I was very fond of him,” she murmured. “Titus was a warm and wonderful man and mayhap in time, I would have loved him. But in hindsight, it wasn’t love that I felt for him. It was simply a great fondness. I will always be greatly fond of him. But you… you are a man unto yourself, not to be overshadowed by a brother that everyone loved. What I feel for you has nothing to do with Titus and everything to do with you, as a man. My fondness for you grows by leaps and bounds. I look forward to the day when I can tell you that I love you with all my heart. I pray that does not repel or alarm you.”

Atticus kissed her hand once more and the dropped it, cupping her face between his two big palms. He gazed into her eyes, trying to think of something sweet and warm and lovely to say to her but he could only think of one thing to say. It was the truth.

“I cannot remember when I have not loved you,” he said softly. “It came upon me and suddenly I realized that it was true. I tried to tell myself that it was wrong to love my brother’s widow but the truth is that you are my wife. You belong to me and I will love you, and only you, until I die.”

Isobeau was swept away by his words, her heart beating furiously against her ribs and her limbs turned to liquid fire. She leaned into him and Atticus slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her so forcefully that he drove her teeth into her soft lip. He tasted her blood and, loving it, suckled her mouth harder. His arms went around her and he pulled her so tightly against him that he thought to crush her. But he didn’t care; she was where he wanted her and where she belonged, in his arms, never to stray again.

It was a magical moment.

But they were not alone in it. Standing several feet away, Tertius, Kenton, Alec, Adam, Maxim, and Juston de Royans stood, watching Atticus devour his luscious and shapely wife. Juston turned to Tertius.

“Is that your sister?” he asked.

Tertius nodded, watching the woman being ravaged by her husband. “Indeed it is.”

Juston lifted his blond eyebrows. “If I had known she was such a beauty, I would have pledged for her myself.”

Tertius grunted. “I cannot think of her in those terms,” he said. “She is still the skinny, freckle-faced sister I have always known.”

All five knights shook their heads in utter disagreement but Kenton was the one who spoke. “Nay, she is not,” he said. “A blind man can see what a prize she is. I am glad Atticus finally realized that. I was coming to wonder if he ever would.”

Tertius, his gaze lingering on his sister and her amorous husband, waved a hand at the pair as if to dismiss them and their lusty display, and headed back to the gates where his men were collecting the dead. Kenton, Maxim, Alec, Adam, and Juston were still clustered in an exhausted group, watching Atticus and Isobeau for a few moments longer before turning away. They had their own duties to attend to. In truth, they had come to find Atticus to seek out direction on what he wanted them to do as far as cleaning up Wolfe’s Lair, but they could all see that the man was indisposed. They would have to figure out their tasks without his direction.

“Does Tertius have any more sisters?” Juston asked Adam as they walked away.

Adam snorted. “He does not,” he said. “But Maxim and Alec do. Mayhap they will put in a good word for you. But be advised that I have seen these women and they look just like their ugly brothers, so you may want to reconsider.”

Alec, hearing Adam’s comment, threw a pebble that hit the man in the neck. Angry, Adam shook his fist threateningly at Alec but his threats went largely ignored. The knights then dissipated into the deepening evening to help shore up Wolfe’s Lair for the night while Atticus and Isobeau lost themselves in a kiss that would go down in history as possibly one of the best and purest in the true sense of the gesture. It was everything they ever knew it could be… and more.

After that, Atticus spent the next hour with his wife simply to make up for lost time before reluctantly pulling himself away from her to oversee the post-battle activities of Wolfe’s Lair. At least for the night, there was no talk of battle, of death, or of war.

With Shaun Summerlin and his men on the retreat and Wolfe’s Lair under a veil of peace, Atticus was able to relax somewhat. For the moment, he was worry-free. For a brief and shining moment, he allowed himself the luxury of life without battle or grief. For that brief and shining moment, there was only Isobeau.

Even though Atticus slept in his mother’s bed next to his wife that night, he did not engage in his husbandly rights. He knew she was still healing from her recent miscarriage and he suspected that an act of that sort would be physically difficult for her, so he refrained. It was the first time in his life that he’d ever thought of someone else over himself. But he didn’t regret it. In fact, sleeping with her in his arms was quite possibly the best thing he ever did.

Waking up to her soft, gentle singing was just this side of heaven.