Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (40)

~ The End is Known ~

“With the threat against Wolfe’s Lair gone, I do not intend to delay any longer in my quest to ride to Wellesbourne Castle,” Atticus said. Seated around the feasting table of Wolfe’s Lair’s great hall, he spoke to the knights sitting near him, including Juston de Royans. In fact, he was singularly focused on the man. “I realize you and I have not had any time to speak since the chaos of yesterday, but Adam mentioned briefly that you had been on the road to Wolfe’s Lair specifically to see me when you came upon Norfolk’s siege and went to summon help. I am in your debt for that action.”

Juston, a cup of warmed wine in his hand, was exhausted from little sleep this morning after the siege but, like the other knights, he was focused and determined. He had a message to deliver to de Wolfe but from Atticus’ statement, he was coming to think that Atticus already knew the whereabouts of de la Londe and de Troiu. He was moderately surprised to realize that.

“No need, my lord,” he replied. “I was coming to tell you that Simon de la Londe and Declan de Troiu came to Wellesbourne Castle but it seems that you are already aware of that.”

Atticus cocked his head curiously. “The information I had, from Norfolk’s knight no less, is that Wellesbourne Castle was their last known location,” he said, grunting as he reflected upon the past several days and all that had happened. “Let me be clear on the situation; Norfolk’s siege was the direct result of my refusal to swear fealty to Edward. But there is more to it; Norfolk sent two seasoned knights, Shaun Summerlin and Alrik du Reims, to inform me that Norfolk would have my oath or he would confiscate Wolfe’s Lair. Naturally, I refused, but it seemed very odd to me that Norfolk knew where to find me. Logically, I would be at Alnwick, yet Norfolk came straight to Wolfe’s Lair in search of me, as if someone told him to come here. Upon interrogating Norfolk’s knight, I discovered that information for my whereabouts came from none other than de la Londe and de Troiu. I was told that their last known whereabouts was Wellesbourne Castle, according to Summerlin. That is why I said my destination was Wellesbourne Castle. Now, a knight from Wellesbourne Castle has come to Wolfe’s Lair to speak with me, which is both strange and coincidental. What more can you tell me about de la Londe and de Troiu?”

Juston started to speak but Adam interrupted him. “Those bastards went to Wellesbourne to convince my father that I had sworn fealty to Edward,” he said, angry. “They tried to convince my father to swear fealty to Edward also, but my father was smart. He knew there was something odd about the situation and he did not trust them, so he threw both of them in the vault and sent de Royans to Alnwick to find out what the truth of the matter was. Atticus, de la Londe and de Troiu are locked up in Wellesbourne’s vaults. They have been there all along.”

Atticus was stunned; pleased, but stunned. He looked to de Royans. “This is what you were coming to tell me?”

Juston nodded. “Indeed,” he replied. “Upon my arrival to Alnwick, Adam and the other knights strongly denied de la Londe and de Troiu’s assertions. They were lies, as Andrew Wellesbourne suspected they were. But what Lord Andrew does not know is that those knights killed your brother; Adam told me what happened with Titus. He told me of the betrayal, how they have sided with Norfolk and are trying to recruit all of Northumberland’s knights for Edward’s cause. If you will ride to Wellesbourne, I am sure Lord Andrew will happily turn the traitors over to you for your good justice.”

Atticus understood everything now and he felt an extreme amount of relief in what he was being told. The men he sought to punish were being held in a dank, nasty vault at an allied fortress. It was an amazing stroke of good fortune and his gratitude ran deep.

“Now it is clear,” he muttered with satisfaction. “I am more grateful than you can know for the information and for Andrew Wellesbourne’s astute action to capture them. That has made all of the difference in the world to me. Now I will ride to Wellesbourne Castle and dispense justice for my brother.”

The knights at the table, particularly Maxim and Alec, began to eye each other. The subject of accompanying Atticus hung in the air as an unspoken question and, once again, everyone was eager to go with him but no one wanted to speak up. Already the knights from Northumberland had been denied. Tertius, who knew very well what the sentiment was, finally broke the silence.

“I would assume Kenton and de Royans will go with you to Wellesbourne,” he said. “Atticus, I will be honest when I say that every man here wants to go with you. We all have a personal stake in this. Titus was our commander as well as our friend, and what de la Londe and de Troiu did was betray all of us when they swore fealty to Norfolk. What happened to Titus could have happened to any of us; Titus was simply the knight they approached first.”

Atticus looked around the table at the men he had fought with for many years. They were all close friends, brothers-in-arms, and he deeply respected every one of them. Here they sat, surrounded by wounded from the siege, exhausted to the bone from fighting off Norfolk on behalf of the House of de Wolfe, and still they wanted to help him. Their support had always meant a great deal to him but somehow, it meant more today, on this day of days after Titus’ death and Warenne’s death and the realization that he loved his new wife. There were emotions close to the surface for the knight known as The Lion of the North, emotions he was allowing himself to feel for the first time.

“I have learned a great deal over the past several weeks,” he said to the group as a whole. “I have learned that Titus was not the only brother I have. I have several – Tertius, Kenton, Maxim, Alec, Adam, and, in particular, Warenne. I have always considered you all brothers-in-arms but not necessarily brothers of the blood… but now I consider all of you that as well, for only brothers in blood would risk their lives and show support such as you all have. When I left Alnwick, I only took Warenne and Kenton with me. I felt strongly that with Alnwick under threat from what I assumed to be imminent attack from Edward that your places were at Northumberland’s fortress. But I no longer feel that way – Tertius, you are correct in your assertion that every man has a stake in this. We all have a right to see de la Londe and de Troiu punished. But I am the only one with the right to punish them. Therefore, if any man wants to accompany me to Wellesbourne, I will not deny you. But this vengeance, this right to punish, is mine alone. Is that clear?”

Every man around the table nodded except for Tertius. He was looking at the knights he would lose to Atticus’ quest. He drew in a deep, thoughtful breath.

“One of us must return to Alnwick and since you left me in charge, I suppose that should be me,” he said. “But I will certainly not stop any man who wants to go.”

“I want to go,” Maxim said immediately.

“As do I,” Alec chimed in.

Kenton, eyeing the two younger knights, shrugged. “I am already going,” he said, cocking his head in the direction of Maxim and Alec. “Moreover, if these two ladies are going, then I must certainly go to keep them in line.”

“I am going,” Adam said, serious. “I want to see my father and I am sure he wants to see me.”

So the escort party was assembling, men determined to see their former friends and comrades punished. Men determined to support Atticus. De Royans, draining what was left of his watered wine, set the cup down.

“And I am going simply because I live there,” he said, watching Adam and Maxim grin. He sobered. “If I know Lord Andrew, and I do, he has kept those two locked down in the black hole without any light or human contact. They will already be quite demoralized by the time we arrive which is far less than they deserve.”

Atticus, realizing he had nearly all of his knights accompanying him to Wellesbourne, felt a great satisfaction in that. He felt bolstered by their support, as if he were an avenging angel supported by a gang of heavenly hosts, descending upon de la Londe and de Troiu to dispense his particular brand of fiery justice. In that respect, he didn’t want to delay any longer. He had a task to fulfill and he wanted to get to it. Setting his wine cup aside, he rose to his feet.

“Then the end will come and the end will be known,” he commanded, praying and hoping that his quest for vengeance for Titus was now coming to a conclusion. “You will share this end with me, good knights. We will know it together.”

The knights nodded, each of them feeling a different sense of purpose than the man next to him. There were many reasons for this closure, as diverse as the needs of the men around the table. Kenton, across the table, stood up along with Atticus.

“When will we leave?” he asked.

Atticus looked around the table. “Be ready to leave in an hour,” he told the group. “I intend to make arrangements to send Warenne back to Thetford and then see to my father and wife in that time. I will meet you all by the stables. Kenton, please see that my horse and my wife’s horse are saddled and ready.”

The knights stood up as well, intent on completing their tasks so they could be ready to leave when Atticus wanted to. Now, their path was set and the journey lay ahead of them, a journey that was several long weeks in the making. Finally, Titus would know justice. They would all know it because what Tertius said was true; de la Londe and de Troiu’s move against Titus was purely by fate. It could have been any one of them. They all had a stake in this and there wasn’t one man there not eager to watch Atticus dispense justice against those who had murdered his brother.

Vengeance was coming.

The Lion of the North was coming.

*

Isobeau was sitting at the table in her chamber, her small harp in hand, doing something she’d not done in ages; she was writing music again. Now that all was well between her and Atticus, and Wolfe’s Lair was at peace again, her heart was overflowing with songs for her new husband and she’d even awoken that morning with one on her lips. She must have been singing it in her sleep because when she opened her eyes, Atticus was propped up on an elbow, smiling down at her. It had been the most wonderful thing in the world to wake up next to him. Although it was certainly no slight against Titus, she’d never known such jubilation as she did when gazing into Atticus’ handsome face. There was something magical about it.

She and Atticus had broken their fast together before dawn before he went out and about his duties, leaving Isobeau to dress leisurely. She’d had the oily-faced serving wench bring her warmed water and she proceeded to use her precious bar of white soap that smelled of lemon, washing herself as thoroughly as she could, before dressing in a linen gown the color of lilac.

The garment was long-sleeved, snug in the bodice, giving her a delicious silhouette. Braiding her long, blond hair and draping the braid over one shoulder, she had proceeded to remove her small harp from one of her larger capcases, pulled forth the box that contained the precious parchment that Titus had bought her, and the song writing for the day began. Once again, she was happy. It seemed as if she couldn’t remember the last time she was actually happy.

So she composed whilst Atticus was away conducting business. She must have been making some noise at it because she was almost finished with the song she’d been composing in her sleep when there was a soft rap on the chamber door. She bade the caller to enter and when the door swung open, Solomon was standing in the doorway. He smiled timidly as she smiled brightly.

“Sir Solomon,” she said. “Please come in. ’Tis good to see that you are well this morning.”

Solomon entered the chamber hesitantly, lingering near the door even when he came in. The last woman he’d seen in this chamber had been his wife and it was difficult not to relive those memories. Therefore, he remained near the door, refusing to delve deeper into the reflections of Rosalie de Wolfe. At least, for the moment.

“I heard your music, my lady,” he said after a moment “I have not heard music within these walls since… well, it has been a very long time. You play beautifully.”

Isobeau was flattered. “I have always composed music,” she said. “Since I was very young it has been my favored diversion. Do you sing, Sir Solomon?”

He snorted. “Not in a way that anyone likes to hear,” he said. “But you sing beautifully. I have heard you.”

Isobeau smiled, placing her fingers on the strings. “Would you like to hear my newest song?”

Solomon nodded. “I would,” he said. “It has been many years since there has been joy at Wolfe’s Lair. I… I would like to feel joy again.”

Isobeau strummed the strings softly, creating a gentle halo of music that rose up to fill the very room. “Did your wife play music, Sir Solomon?”

Solomon’s gaze turned distant as he thought of the fair Rosalie. Now, he could no longer avoid her memories but he found that in discussing her, there wasn’t the pain there used to be. Odd how that was. He felt warmth more than anything.

“She did, in fact,” he said. “My wife had a clavichord that she would play quite often. I had one brought to her all the way from Italy and she loved it. Those were wonderful days when her music would ring throughout the fortress.”

Isobeau’s smile grew as she continued to strum her harp. “Do you still have the instrument?”

Solomon nodded. “It is in my chamber.”

“Will you show it to me?”

Solomon almost seemed embarrassed to do so but he motioned for Isobeau to follow him and, together, they made their way into his smelly, cluttered chamber. Isobeau paused by the door, remembering this chamber from her first few days at Wolfe’s Lair. It did not bring good memories for her. So she remained by the door as Solomon went over to a darkened corner near his wardrobe and pulled a drape of some kind off of a square object. Beneath it was revealed a small clavichord.

Even from her position by the door, Isobeau could see that the instrument was beautifully painted, dingy with age, but the lure of the clavichord brought Isobeau into the room and she went to it, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship of the piece. It wasn’t very large, perhaps only two feet across, and there was a lovely seascape scene painted on the cover.

When she lifted the cover, however, the true beauty of the piece was revealed; inside the cover, an intricate scene was painted that seemed to depict ships at sea and sirens calling to them from shore. The keyboard was ebony and ivory, beautifully made, and Isobeau was in awe. Instinctively, she put her hands on the keys, as she had taken music lessons as a child and was quite proficient at several musical instruments, and she brought forth the first chords the clavichord had played in decades.

The clavichord was out of tune but not too terribly. Isobeau tightened a couple of the nuts that held taut the catgut strings and she played the chord again. It sounded much better. With a smile at Solomon, she began to play a song.

An old hymn filled the stale air of Solomon’s chamber, music and beauty such as it hadn’t heard in years. Solomon was torn between Isobeau playing Rosalie’s clavichord, for only Rosalie had ever played it, and the beauty of bringing the instrument back to life again. The joy of his wife’s instrument once again playing music won out and he stood there, eyes moist, as Isobeau touched Rosalie’s beloved keys and sang Veni Sanctus Spiritus, a very old church hymn. After the hell of the past several days, of Titus’ death and the siege of Wolfe’s Lair, to hear that unexpected beauty brought the old man to tears as if reminding him that there was still some goodness and glory left in the world.

But the hymn eventually ended and Isobeau, ever the musician, moved to tighten two more strings that she felt were slightly out of tune. As she was tightening up the last one, with Solomon hovering over her and very curious as to what she was doing, they heard a voice in the doorway.

“I thought I heard music,” Atticus said, noting the clavichord that his wife was bent over. “I had no idea you still had Mother’s instrument. I’ve not heard that thing played in years.”

Isobeau smiled at the sight of her husband, feeling her heart race simply at the sound of his voice. “Your father was kind enough to let me play it,” she said. “It is a beautiful instrument.”

Atticus stepped into the room, eyes only for Isobeau. There mere sight of her lightened his heart in ways he could not begin to describe. “And you play it beautifully,” he told her. “I could hear you all the way outside.”

Solomon ran his hands over the old clavichord. “Your mother adored this instrument,” he said. “Do you remember, Atticus? Do you remember that she would play it for you?”

Atticus nodded. “I do,” he said. “When I was very young. Odd how I’d forgotten that until this moment. Those were some of my better childhood memories.”

Solomon was still inspecting the clavichord as if reacquainting himself with it. “Mayhap your wife would like to have it, Atticus,” he said. “I would be pleased knowing that she would play it and love it as much as your mother did. As it is, it is simply sitting here rotting.”

Atticus looked at Isobeau’s jubilant face; he could see how thrilled she was at the offer. “That is very kind, Papa,” he said. “Mayhap when we have settled somewhere, we will have a place for it.”

Solomon turned to look at him, concern and curiosity on his face. “You will not live here?” he asked. “I thought you would return to Wolfe’s Lair, Atticus. I will not live forever. When I pass, you must take your rightful place here. With Titus gone, there is only you to carry on Wolfe’s Lair.”

Isobeau looked at Atticus, who seemed genuinely torn. “You will not pass for a very long time,” he told his father. “And we have all the time in the world to speak of this when I return from Wellesbourne Castle.”

Solomon was puzzled. “Why must you go to Wellesbourne Castle?”

Gazing at his father, it occurred to Atticus that he never told Solomon how Titus had died. He hadn’t consciously withheld the information but with all that had happened, and the grief his father had been going through, there simply hadn’t been the opportunity to give the man the details.

Perhaps there was a part of him that didn’t want to upset his father more than he already was about Titus; the man was dead. How he died was another matter altogether. When Atticus had brought Titus home, he’d merely told his father that they’d lost Titus at Towton. He never said how. Now, he had to tell him how his beloved oldest son met his doom.

It was only fair to Solomon that he know everything.

“Papa, there is something I’ve not told you in all of this,” he said, trying to be gentle about it. “When I brought Titus home, I told you that he had been killed at Towton and that was the truth. But I did not tell you how his death came about. I suppose I simply did not want to burden you with it, not whilst you were grieving so terribly. But I find that I must tell you now. It is the reason why I must go to Wellesbourne Castle.”

Solomon looked at his son warily, wanting to know yet not wanting to know. Did it matter? To Solomon, it did. He wanted to know his son’s final moments.

“Tell me how he died, Atticus,” he said quietly.

Atticus nodded, lifting his eyebrows with some resignation and sadness of what he was about to say. “Two Northumberland knights betrayed and murdered Titus,” he said. “These men had secretly sworn allegiance to Norfolk and when they approached Titus and proposed swearing fealty to Edward, Titus refused and they killed him for his refusal. Now those two knights are at Wellesbourne Castle, in the vault, and I must go there and punish them on behalf of my brother. I swore to Titus that I would avenge him and that is exactly what I intend to do. I will kill those who killed my brother.”

By the time he was finished, Solomon was looking at Atticus with big, horrified eyes. He didn’t say anything right away, unusual for the usually vocal man, as he simply sat and digested what he’d been told. His shock, his sorrow, was obvious.

“Murdered,” he finally muttered. “Murdered by men he trusted.”

“Aye.”

Solomon’s features washed with incredible pain but he fought it; it was pain he’d already suffered through but now with the knowledge of how Titus had died, the pain threatened anew. The angst, so recently eased, was back with a vengeance.

“Great Bloody Jesus,” he hissed after a moment. “I wish I could go with you. Damn these rotten joints that I cannot even exact justice for my own son!”

He pounded on his big leg as Atticus and Isobeau watched with concern, afraid that the latest information would send the man spiraling downward again. Solomon pounded, and he even groaned, but his head came back up and he looked to Atticus with eyes alight with revenge. Atticus had never seen such hatred in the man’s eyes, ever. It was a shocking moment.

“Punish them, Atticus,” Solomon hissed. “For me, for Titus, you will punish them and ensure every pain they feel, every agony they experience, has Titus’ name on it. They killed my son and they must be made to suffer.”

Atticus could see how agitated his father was and he put his hands out, clutching the man’s big shoulders in a reassuring manner. “You know I will,” he said softly, seriously. “I will make them pay with every last breath they possess. They will not get off easily, I swear it. Do you believe me?”

Solomon was nodding his head furiously, his bushy hair waving about. There were tears in his eyes, now trickling onto his face. “I do,” he gasped. “You are The Lion of the North. That reputation was given to you at a young age but never has it meant as much as it does now. You were given that title for this one moment, Atticus – to avenge your brother against those who betrayed him. Let The Lion roar, boy. Let him roar!”

Atticus held on to his father, comforting the man, so very sorry that he was deeply upset all over again. Perhaps he should have told his father the circumstances surrounding Titus’ death earlier, but it did not matter now. Solomon knew that his beloved son had been betrayed and his pain was again fresh. As Atticus put his arm around his father’s shoulders, soothingly, he looked over to see how Isobeau was reacting to everything. He worried for her, too.

But Isobeau seemed remarkably composed. She was still standing near the clavichord and when she saw that Atticus was looking at her, she smiled faintly. It was a reassuring gesture, one of faith and trust, and a gesture not lost on Atticus. It fortified him. Quietly, she made her way over to him.

“Is it true?” she asked softly. “De la Londe and de Troiu are truly at Wellesbourne Castle?”

Atticus nodded, reaching out a hand to her. She took it immediately and he held her hand fast, caressing her flesh with his big fingers. “Aye,” he said. “It is a miraculous series of events that have brought us to this place in time and I will tell you the entire story on our journey to Warwickshire, but for now, if you still intend to go with me, you must pack quickly and you must pack lightly. We leave within the hour.”

Isobeau nodded and fled the chamber, heading back to her room and to her possessions there. She wanted very much to go with Atticus, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she simply didn’t want to be separated from him. She wanted to be with him every moment and she wanted to share this experience with him. It was a vital part of their bonding, of their marriage in general. With de la Londe and de Troiu gone, there would be closure on Titus and a new beginning for them. They both needed that closure, that justice, and that satisfaction.

Atticus could hear Isobeau in her chamber next door, evidently destroying the place as she went to pack for her journey. Things were banging about and something fell. Solomon, distracted from his grief by the banging, looked up as if concerned for the woman but Atticus merely grinned.

“I hope she does not hurt herself in her attempt to pack,” he jested, attempting to lighten the mood for his father somewhat. “It sounds as if she is tearing down the very walls.”

In spite of himself, Solomon smiled weakly. “Women are flighty that way,” he said, putting a meaty hand on his son’s broad shoulder. He seemed more composed than he had been moments earlier. “Are you sure these men are at Wellesbourne, Atticus? Are you positive?”

Atticus nodded unhappily. “Evidently there is a good deal to the lengths they would go to sway men to Edward’s cause,” he said. “They went there to inform Andrew Wellesbourne that his son, Adam, had sworn fealty to Edward in the hopes of gaining Andrew’s vow. Lord Andrew, suspecting betrayal and deceit, threw them in the vault and sent a knight to Alnwick to discover the truth of the matter. Of course it wasn’t true, so now de la Londe and de Troiu are still in Wellesbourne’s vault.”

Solomon sighed faintly, pondering the situation before sitting heavily on the end of his lumpy, smelly bed. It was clear that he was deep in thought.

“It is fortuitous, then,” he said. “As if God has had a hand in helping you find these men and punish them.”

“I think so.”

Solomon lingered on the two knights who had murdered his son. “Tell me,” he said after a moment. “You were with Titus when he died, were you not?”

“Aye.”

“Did he suffer greatly in the end?”

Atticus was reluctant to say anything about Titus’ final moments. “Does it matter?” he asked softly.

Solomon shrugged, suddenly feeling quite weary and old. He rubbed at his knees, thinking yet again how he cursed them because he could not easily travel.

“I want to know what those men did to him,” he finally said. “Did he suffer greatly?”

Atticus was glad Isobeau wasn’t in the room. He found that he couldn’t deny his father’s request but he didn’t particularly want her to hear his answer. Did he suffer greatly? If Atticus had a son who had been killed by others, he would have wanted to know the same thing. He would want to know what his son felt at the end of his life, if he was in pain or at peace. Perhaps it was something only warriors would understand, and Atticus understood his father’s request well.

The man wanted the details.

“He was gored through the belly, twice,” he finally said, his voice no stronger than a whisper. “By the time I saw him, he did not feel much of anything at all. His body was badly wounded, Papa. It simply shut down. Did he suffer greatly? I do not believe so. He was at peace in the end. He simply closed his eyes and was gone.”

At that gentle but frank summation, Solomon lowered his head and wept quietly. Atticus felt very badly for his father, hearing the last moments of his son, but in a sense, perhaps the man would have some peace now. But it wouldn’t be over until Atticus confronted those who committed the crime. Only then would they know complete peace.

Atticus kissed his father farewell later that morning when he departed Wolfe’s Lair with Isobeau by his side. Kenton, Adam, Maxim, Alec, and Juston were with him as Tertius and the bulk of Northumberland’s army headed back for home. Warenne, carefully cleaned and wrapped by Kenton and Adam, was placed in the same coffin Titus had used for transport and sent back to Thetford with twenty-five Northumberland men-at-arms for escort.

Atticus found himself kissing the coffin yet again, this time because his dear friend was inside. It was a truly sad parting for Atticus, who deeply missed Warenne and his wisdom. But he was glad that Warenne was finally able to go home even though it wasn’t the manner in which Warenne had wanted. As Atticus lingered over the coffin, saying his farewells, he remembered that Warenne had once told him to make sure that when he punished de la Londe and de Troiu, one of those sword thrusts was meant from Warenne himself. Now, Atticus would make sure of it.

Under partially cloudy skies on a wind-swept day, all parties departing from Wolfe’s Lair went their separate ways.

But all thoughts were with Atticus on his final journey for Titus.

There wasn’t one man among them who wasn’t praying for his success.