Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (42)

The night was soothing and surprisingly balmy. Night birds were calling to each other over the treetops and the moon, high and bright in the sky, cast silver light over the landscape. There was a sense of tranquility and peace, something Atticus hadn’t felt in months. Years, even. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d known such utter stillness and calm, as if nothing was amiss in the world.

It was a feeling he knew he could grow accustomed to.

“Atticus?”

A soft voice pulled him away from the lancet window and his view of the countryside. He turned to see Isobeau gazing up at him from her position in the big, comfortable bed. He smiled as he went to her, sitting on the bed beside her.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly. “You slept a long time.”

Isobeau smiled faintly. “Sleepy,” she said. “How long was I asleep?”

Atticus stroked her blond head. “All day,” he told her. “Do you remember that I brought you up here after the events in the bailey?”

Isobeau nodded, the smile fading from her lips as she recalled the dagger and the death that she had inflicted. She had killed a man. It was the first thing that came to mind but, strangely enough, she wasn’t sorry in the least. She did what she’d had to do. She hoped Atticus would see it that way.

“I do,” she murmured. “Are you angry with me for what I did? I… I want to say something before you berate me. I want to say that I understand now why you killed du Reims as you did. Atticus, I saw you in the bailey with blood on you and it seemed to me that de la Londe might actually best you. I could not stand by and watch that. I had to protect you. Can you understand that? I realize this was an honorable fight and I ruined it, but I do not regret it. You are alive and that is all that matters to me. Now, if you must still berate me, go ahead.”

Atticus listened to her somewhat rambling speech. He could see she was upset, nervous even, and it softened his heart. He stroked her head again. “No one has ever cared for me as much as you do,” he told her. “In answer to your question, I am not angry. Vengeance was your right as much as it was mine.”

Isobeau, vastly relieved that he was not upset with her, shook her head. “I suppose there was some vengeance to it,” she admitted. “When I drove the dagger into him, I imagined that it was Titus doing it. Perhaps I was an instrument for Titus’ spirit in a sense. But more than that, I was protecting you. It had less to do with Titus and much more to do with you.”

Atticus leaned down, kissing her on the forehead. He was deeply touched. “You are a strong and remarkable woman, Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “I am honored to be your husband. I am honored that you would care so much for me that you would kill for me.”

Isobeau reached up and put her hands on his face, her fingers in his dark hair. There was so much emotion swirling in her heart that it was difficult to grasp a single coherent thought. All she knew was what she felt for him… that she loved him. Aye, that was all she knew.

“I love you, Atticus,” she finally whispered. “It was difficult to understand what, exactly, I felt for you all of this time, fearful that what I was feeling somehow overshadowed my relationship with Titus. I told you all of this before… what I feel for you has nothing to do with Titus and everything to do with you. To men, you are The Lion of the North, the fiercest and most cunning knight in all of Northumbria, but to me, you are my sweet and beautiful husband and I shall love you until I die.”

Those were the words Atticus had been waiting to hear all his life. He hadn’t realized that so much as he did at that very moment. To have Isobeau’s love, love so deep that she would kill for him, was something few men ever knew. He was the most fortunate man in the world, of that he was certain.

At last, the vengeance that had clouded their marriage from the start was over. Those who had murdered Titus had been punished. Norfolk was defeated, at least for the moment. Now, it was just the two of them and nothing else. They were alone and the night was peaceful. Atticus could only think of one thing to do to celebrate their marriage and their new beginning. He felt as if he had been waiting all of his life for this moment.

His mouth slanted over hers, hungrily. Isobeau responded immediately, latching on to him, her hands in his hair drawing him down to her. Atticus fell over onto the bed, on top of her, and his arms went around her as he kissed her fiercely. She was sweet, delectable, and warm. But he wanted more.

His tunic began to come off and he realized that Isobeau was removing it. She was pulling it up over his head. She tossed it aside as he grinned at her, kissing her ferociously as he went to remove her from her gown. Fortunately, it wasn’t restrictive and when the stays were unfastened, she easily slid out of it. Atticus threw it onto the ground. He very nearly jumped up and stomped on it. He’d been waiting to get the woman out of her clothing for days, weeks even, and he was thrilled to finally have his way. The shift followed next and at the sight of her nude and entirely delicious body, Atticus’ roving hands and mouth descended upon a taut nipple.

Isobeau groaned as he suckled her, his heated mouth sending bolts of pleasure through her body. He was moving quickly, with great passion, but with great care. Nothing he did was painful or unpleasant. Every time he touched her, every time his tongue lapped at her, she experienced only the greatest of pleasure.

In the midst of his mouth to her breasts and belly, Atticus had somehow managed to remove his leather breaches. He almost jumped up and stomped on those things, too, things that would prevent his flesh from touching Isobeau’s. They had made his arousals most painful as of late. Utterly nude against her, he savored the moment, their naked skin touching, and as his mouth continued to suckle her breasts, his fingers probed the dark curls between her legs. She was already moist and heated, her body preparing itself for his entry. He didn’t keep her waiting.

Atticus looked Isobeau in the eye when he finally mounted her, thrusting his long, hard length into her warm and quivering folds. Isobeau groaned with pleasure, bringing her legs up, wrapping them around his thighs as he thrust into her. Her hands moved over his body, acquainting herself with the feel of his skin as her nostrils drew in the scent of his musk. The man was pure power and pure excitement, and she savored every thrust, every movement. The Lion was finally mating with his chosen female, his wife, and as they took their pleasure upon the bed, Atticus simply couldn’t get enough of her. She was absolute paradise in his arms.

The wound on his hip, since stitched by Wellesbourne’s surgeon, pulled slightly and caused him a slight amount of pain as his hips moved, but he ignored the discomfort. There was far more pleasure to override any discomfort. Isobeau’s luscious body beneath him drew his lust, his hands on her heaving breasts, feeling the silken texture, until he could hold back no longer and his release came with a deafening roar.

The Lion’s roar.

Feeling his tremors within her body, Isobeau was catapulted into a blinding climax of her own, nearly screaming with pleasure until Atticus covered her mouth with his own in order to silence her. He knew that everyone in the castle had probably heard them but he didn’t much care; he was glad they heard him. It meant that life was good and normal again. It meant that grief was a thing of the past for them both and now, they could move forward into the light.

It meant that he loved Isobeau with all his heart.

Isobeau and Atticus remained in their chamber in Wellesbourne Castle all night and well into the day, making love no less than six times. Atticus only left the chamber to procure them food, which grinning servants gladly provided. The rest of Northumberland’s knights, meanwhile, enjoyed a few days of good food and hunting, knowing they would not be returning to Alnwick until Atticus was good and ready, and given the noises coming from his chamber up at the top of Wellesbourne’s keep, he might not be ready for a very long time.

But that was okay with them. Atticus and Isobeau had suffered through a long and painful journey to reach this point and to that regard, they deserved all of the joy and pleasure they were experiencing and then some. On that terrible day back in March when Titus had been killed, it had been the catalyst for something much larger for The Lion of the North, much larger than Atticus or even Isobeau could have ever realized.

On the night of their third day at Wellesbourne, Atticus stood in the lancet window of his chamber as Isobeau slept, gazing up at the stars and seeing a vast blanket of diamonds across the sky. They were glittering back at him, winking even, and he imagined he saw Titus in that blanket of stars, winking back at him. He even imagined he saw a smile. Atticus smiled back. For the younger brother of the murdered knight, finally, he was to know some joy.

Wherever Titus was, Atticus knew that he approved.

Atticus and Isobeau, at last, had found peace.