Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (32)

~ The New Beginning ~

It was just after dawn.

Atticus had spent most of the night watching his new wife sleep, pondering the turn his life had taken and feeling the loss of Titus to his bones. Yesterday had been a pivotal day for him, burying his brother and getting married all in the same stroke. But in the same breath, he knew that he had to push his grief and heartache aside. He had a task to accomplish, and a new wife to know, and he couldn’t do it with the constant sorrow of Titus’ death hanging over his head.

Today, his new life with Isobeau began and his determination to bring de la Londe and de Troiu to justice was stronger than it had ever been. Something was screaming in his soul about it, demanding his brother be avenged louder than he’d ever heard it. His thoughts had moved between his brother’s murderers and his new wife throughout the night and by the time the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, de la Londe and de Troiu had won over. He could think of little else.

After he and Isobeau had married yesterday morning, he’d escorted her back to the chamber that had been prepared for her, the chamber that had once belonged to his mother, where she had lain down to rest and ended up sleeping all day and all night. Even now, as dawn broke, she was still asleep, her body recovering from the trials and tribulations it had been forced to endure. Through it all, Isobeau had remained strong, at least as strong as she could. She had never complained or lamented her situation, a manner that Atticus found admirable. He’d seen that quiet resolve from the woman since the beginning but the sheer strength of character was coming to impress him. Ever since that night in the stable at Rothsburg, he had seen the woman in a new light.

In spite of everything, he was glad he had married her.

But a new day was breaking and, much like him, Isobeau would be forced to face her new future. There was something they had to do, a purpose to their lives. They would need to move south, following Norfolk’s trail, in their search to locate de la Londe and de Troiu. Atticus was, in fact, planning a meeting with Kenton and Warenne this morning to plan that very journey and for the past hour he had been trying to figure out how to discourage his father from joining them. It was true that Solomon didn’t travel, and hadn’t for ten years, but these were extenuating circumstances. It was possible the old man would try, which would only drag them down. That thought concerned him.

“Did you even sleep last night?”

It was a soft, female voice that spoke, interrupting his chaotic thoughts. Atticus looked over to see that Isobeau was sleepily gazing at him. When their eyes met, he smiled faintly, watching her lips bloom with a lovely smile. It was a glorious thing so early in the morning, on this day that started their new life together. As Atticus looked at her, any lingering grief he had for his brother slipped away. If there was joy to be found in the darkness of his sorrow, he was looking at it.

“I may have,” he said quietly, a glimmer of humor in his eye. “I cannot recall.”

Isobeau stifled a yawn and lifted her head. “Surely you are weary,” she said. “I will rise and you may sleep in this bed for a time if you wish. I will sit outside of the door and make sure everyone is quiet.”

He laughed softly. “Although I appreciate the offer, it is unnecessary,” he said. “How are you feeling? You slept a long time.”

Isobeau couldn’t stifle the second yawn that caught her by surprise. “How long?”

“All day and all night.”

She sighed, thinking on the very long and restful sleep. The truth was that she felt much better than she had in quite a while. “Then it is little wonder that I am so famished,” she said. “Would it be possible to have some food brought to me?”

Atticus was on his feet already, moving for the chamber door. “I will have them bring a feast,” he said. “You slept through the meal last evening so I would imagine that you are quite hungry.”

Isobeau yawned one last time, her eyes lingering on the man she had married as he opened the door and sent the nearest servant running for the kitchen. She reflected upon him the first time they’d spoken at Alnwick, when they had discussed Titus’ death and the man’s subsequent request for the two of them to marry. Atticus, at that time, had been a hard and bitter man but those particular traits seemed to have left him as of late and she was thankful. Ever since their discussion back in that cold, dark, livery stable, discussing their lives over Titus’ coffin, Atticus had seemed much different towards her. Almost… kind. And sweet. Well, perhaps not exactly sweet, but there were times when she thought he might have a propensity towards that particular trait. Like now; he had been quite kind and friendly as she awoke from a deep sleep. Almost as if he was glad to be there.

But no; Isobeau knew he was marrying her out of a sense of duty alone. Still, if the man remained kind to her, she could grow used to such a thing and learn to accept it. She could learn to accept him even though she truly had no choice in the matter. She hoped they could at least have a pleasant association. She didn’t expect it to be anything like her relationship with Titus so pleasant was the best she could hope for. Anything more seemed impossible. Confusing, even. But… even the least bit attractive.

Do you transfer your affections so easily? Solomon had asked her. Isobeau had never considered herself one to share her affections with anyone other than her husband, but Atticus was her husband now. Perhaps in time, there might be affection. She wondered if she would be an awful person for allowing that to happen.

Lost to her thoughts, she noticed when Atticus entered the chamber again and she sat up in the bed, immediately realizing she was in her clothing from the previous day. She brushed at the now-wrinkled dress.

“Sweet Jesus,” she muttered. “I am still in the garments I wore yesterday. You must think me a terribly slovenly person for sleeping in my finery.”

Atticus gave her a half-grin. “As I said, you were clearly exhausted,” he said. “It was a difficult day for you.”

“And for you.”

He shook his head, averting his gaze as if an inherent sense of guilt forced him to. Guilt for allowing Titus’ child to come to harm, guilt for his inability to protect Isobeau from forces beyond his control.

“I would say it was considerably worse for you,” he said quietly. Then, he eyed her. “Are you sure that you feel well?”

“I do.”

“I do not need to summon another physic or a midwife to tend to you?”

Isobeau knew what he meant and her heart hurt, just for a moment, thinking on the child she had lost. She sighed softly. “You do not,” she told him. “I feel well, indeed. Please do not worry so.”

Atticus wasn’t sure what to say to that; if the woman said she felt well then he would not be rude and press her. So he simply nodded his head and changed the subject away from the unhappy occurrence of yesterday. “I instructed the servant to bring you warmed water as well so that you may wash if you wish,” he said. “Is there anything else you require to begin your day?”

Isobeau shook her head. “Nay,” she said quietly, her gaze lingering on him. She, too, wanted to move the conversation away from the tragic event of her lost child, something neither one of them could do anything about now. It was best not to dwell on it because there was so much to be hurt over as of late. But she had cried her tears. At some point, they were going to have to move past the pain. “I… I suppose this is a terrible way for a new bridegroom to spend the eve of his wedding, watching his bride as she passes out on the bed like a drunkard.”

He laughed softly. “It was not so terrible,” he said, his eyes rather warm. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.”

She snorted, smoothing at her mussed hair. “If that is true, I cannot think of one.”

“I can.”

She simply grinned, perhaps a bit embarrassed at his moderate flattery, and rose wearily from the bed. It took her a moment to get her balance before she headed over to her capcases lined up against the wall. She noticed that he was watching her and she paused as she opened the first case, looking to the man with some sincerity.

“I did not have much opportunity to speak with you yesterday on the event of our marriage,” she said, “but I would like to say that I will do my best to make this a pleasant association. I would say that it is for Titus’ sake, because it is he who wished for our marriage, but it really has nothing to do with Titus at all. I say it because we are married now and will be together for the rest of our lives, and I should like for our association to be pleasant and peaceful.”

Atticus pondered her statement for a moment. He realized that he wanted to say something more about it, as if he wanted it to be more than simply pleasant or peaceful, but he held his tongue. It was too soon to say such things, so he succumbed to the appropriate answer.

“As should I,” he said. “I told you once before that I would endeavor to make a good husband. I will hold to that vow.”

With a little smile, Isobeau turned to her capcases and began rummaging around for something to wear for the day. Atticus lingered over by the door, watching her. He liked to watch her. In fact, she had the most beautiful hands he had ever seen and he found himself fascinated by the way she moved. Every movement was fluid and graceful. He found himself moving from her hands to her torso, eyeing the woman’s incredible figure of full bust and slender waist, thinking that all of that tender flesh now belonged to him.

He tried not to think on the fact that his brother had once touched that same flesh; there, he’d said it. Was it perverted that he would be lusting over her, tasting what Titus had tasted, joining his body to the woman in the most private sense where his brother had once been? Perhaps that dilemma, more than anything, had been bothering him. He was sharing the same woman his brother had loved and he was expected to perform as a man should perform with her. He was expected to impregnate her with his children as Titus had done. Was it wrong? Was it strange? Perhaps it was only to him, but it didn’t matter now. He was married to her and she was his wife. He was allowed to do as he pleased. Already, the woman was drawing his lust, as misplaced as that might be.

A knock on the chamber door jolted him from his thoughts. He opened the panel, expecting to see a servant bearing food, but it was Kenton in the corridor instead. One look at Kenton’s face and Atticus knew that something was amiss.

“You must come,” Kenton said, his voice low. “We have sighted riders heading for Wolfe’s Lair.”

Atticus could hear the concern in the man’s voice. “Have you identified them?”

Kenton nodded. “One of them is wearing a Norfolk tunic,” he answered, keeping his voice down so that Isobeau could not hear. “You must come.”

Startled at the mention of Norfolk, and seized with both curiosity and rage, Atticus fled the chamber, slamming the door in his wake and charging down the corridor with Kenton on his heels. He found that the information had him unstable, furious, and he struggled to contain his emotions.

“How far out are they?” he asked Kenton.

They had reached the steps that led down to the second level. “Very close,” Kenton replied. “They should be reaching the gates by now.”

“And you are only now telling me?”

“We did not see Norfolk’s colors until a few minutes ago. Until then, we had no idea who they were.”

“Has my father been notified?”

“We sent a man to rouse him.”

Atticus was still agitated that he’d not been notified sooner but he let it go. Kenton would not have deliberately withheld anything from him. Descending the stairs into the freezing cold bailey, icy and shadowed in the early dawn, they made their way to another flight of stairs that led up to the gatehouse and the wall walk where dozens of men were gathered, evidently watching the approaching party.

Atticus had to push his way through men in order to reach the vantage point on the wall where he could see the entire moor spread out before him, facing off to the south. The sun was just peeking over the horizon at the point, reaching golden fingers onto the frozen landscape, illuminating but not warming.

Almost immediately, Atticus could see a group of six heavily armed men approaching the gatehouse, including two well-equipped knights of the highest order. It was then that he grew incredibly suspicious; more than that, he could feel the familiar scent of battle in his nostrils. Whenever he saw heavily armed knights, he couldn’t help it. It was in his blood.

Warenne was standing closer to the gatehouse, right on the edge of the wall walk as the riders drew close to the gatehouse and pulled their agitated mounts to a halt. Steam was rising from the heated horses as Atticus came up behind the young earl.

“Norfolk,” Atticus growled in Warenne’s ear.

The earl nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the men below. “I know,” he said. “You will let me handle this, Atticus. Knowing you as I do, you will be flying off this wall and murdering all six of those men before a word is even spoken. Leave this to me for now.”

Atticus didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. His silence was enough of an agreement for Warenne. Tension as thick as the ice floes in the streams weighed heavily upon the men of Wolfe’s Lair as they gazed down at enemy riders. Theirs was an unwelcome appearance.

“Tell me your business immediately,” Warenne shouted off the wall. “Who has sent you and why have you come?”

Six frozen faces looked up at Warenne and both knights flipped up their visors. The only things revealed were their eyes; their faces were wrapped up in layers of wool against the cold. The biggest knight, however, unwrapped the wool from around his mouth and nose so that he could speak clearly.

“I have come on business on behalf of the Duke of Norfolk,” he said. “I did not expect to see you here, Warenne. What are you doing at a de Wolfe outpost?”

Warenne, who was cool and collected even in the worst circumstances, visibly tensed. He stared at the knight for several long seconds, processing the voice, the words, before the light of recognition finally appeared. His features twisted with disbelief.

“Shaun?” he said, obviously surprised. “What are you doing representing Norfolk?”

Sir Shaun Summerlin grinned ironically at his brother-in-law. “Father and I have been serving Edward for over a year,” he said. “Had you come home at any point in time over the past two years, you would have known this. My sister knows it.”

Warenne was feeling disoriented and sickened at the mention of his wife, Madeleine. “I have been home,” he said flatly. “Maddie made no mention of such things. If she knew, she would have told me.”

Shaun shook his head. “Not if it meant your ire towards her family,” he said. “If Mad did not tell you, then she did it to protect you and to protect us. She does not like discord, especially between family members.”

Warenne’s mind was reeling with the very real possibility that his beloved wife had withheld vital information from him about something that was quite possibly very important to him and his cause. But he couldn’t dwell on that now; whatever was between him and his wife was his business alone. He would not shout it out for everyone to hear. He struggled to overcome his shock and disappointment.

“It is of little matter,” he said, downplaying the seriousness of Madeleine’s lack of trust in her husband. “What matters now is what your business is here. I would know now.”

Shaun knew that Warenne was off-balance by his appearance but that was of little concern to him at the moment. He gestured to his bulky companion. “You know Rik du Reims, of course,” he said. “His family is East Anglia.”

“I know him.”

“We have ridden a very long way to speak with Solomon de Wolfe. Will you announce us?”

Warenne leaned onto the frozen stone, peering down at his brother-in-law and the man’s noble companion. “I will when you tell me what your business is with him,” he said. “De Wolfe is an old man who buried his eldest son yesterday. Surely you are aware of that, Shaun. Norfolk paid two Northumberland knights to betray all of Northumberland’s knight corps. When Titus tried to stop them, they killed him.”

Summerlin lost some of the confidence in his expression, now replaced by a hint of sorrow. “I had heard of Titus’ death,” he replied. “But those knights tell a different story. They were defending themselves against Titus and killed him in self-defense.”

Warenne turned to look at Atticus and was met by, perhaps, the most steely expression he had ever seen. The Lion of the North was gazing back at him as hard and as unmovable as Warenne had ever seen the man. He was mostly looking to Atticus for a response or a comment on the circumstances surrounding Titus’ death but when he received nothing, he returned his attention to Shaun.

“Be careful how you proceed, Shaun,” he said calmly. “The Lion hears everything you say. If he charges, I cannot stop him.”

That information seemed to surprise Summerlin. “Atticus de Wolfe is here?” he asked. “Then I would speak with him as well. My message is for him, to be truthful. We did not know he was at Wolfe’s Lair.”

“He is. Be advised.”

That bit of knowledge seemed to change Summerlin’s tactics. He didn’t seem nearly as smug as he continued. “If he is listening, then I come bearing greetings from John de Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,” he said. “The duke sends his warmest greetings and his sincerest condolences on the passing of Titus de Wolfe. It is with this in mind that he has sent me to speak with Solomon and Atticus on a most urgent matter. I have been instructed to only divulge details of my purpose directly to the recipients so that is as much as I can tell you. Will you please announce me to Solomon and Atticus?”

Warenne sighed faintly, unsure what more to say. He turned to Atticus again only to discover that the man was no longer standing next to him. Panicked, he demanded to know where Atticus had gone but no one could seem to tell him. Even Kenton was missing, which was a sure sign that something very bad was about to happen. When Atticus and Kenton traveled in a pair, death wasn’t far off. As Warenne sent the de Wolfe soldiers scattering in search of Atticus and Kenton, the great gates of Wolfe’s Lair began to crank open.

Startled by the noise of rattling chains and creaking wood, Warenne and the men upon the wall strained to catch a glimpse of the gates and were not surprised to see Atticus emerging.

“God, no,” Warenne breathed. Then, he lifted his voice. “Atticus, go back inside! Do you hear me?”

Atticus heard his friend but he soundly ignored him. At the moment, all of his attention was focused on the six Norfolk men in front of him and particularly on the knights. They were big men, of the highest order, but that only served to fuel Atticus’ bloodlust. He knew Kenton was behind him, standing in the open gate, watching the four men-at-arms in case someone decided to be clever and pull out a crossbow. Kenton had a crossbow of his own trained on the group. With that confidence, Atticus was able to have his complete focus on his prey.

And, yes, they were prey.

“I am Atticus de Wolfe,” he said calmly. “You will tell me your business now.”

Summerlin wasn’t surprised to see that Atticus had emerged from behind the walls of protection. From what he’d heard about The Lion of the North, there were no walls that could adequately contain or protect him. Atticus de Wolfe was something of a myth, immortal and swift. He inspected the very big knight who had announced himself as Atticus.

“The Lion of the North,” Summerlin finally said, some satisfaction in his tone. “Somehow, I thought you would be nine feet tall with swords instead of arms.”

Atticus remained cool, focused. “In the heat of battle, I am all you have imagined and more.”

It was a fairly arrogant statement but Summerlin rather liked it; he fought off a grin. “We’ve not formally met, my lord. I am Sir Shaun Summerlin,” he said, then indicated the knight next to him. “My companion is from the Earls of East Anglia, Alrik du Reims. We have been sent by de Mowbray to speak with you on a matter of utmost importance.”

Atticus gazed up at the knights in the deepening light of dawn. “I do not speak with men on horseback,” he said. “Dismount.”

With some hesitation, they did. Now, Summerlin and du Reims were on level ground with Atticus but somehow, Atticus seemed bigger. Larger than life. Summerlin pulled off his helm and propped it on his saddle, peeling off the layers of wool to reveal a handsome, square-jawed face and shaggy, blond hair.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked.

Atticus didn’t respond directly. “State your business.”

“May I approach?”

“Stay where you are.”

It was clear that Atticus was not the least bit friendly; Summerlin did not expect the man to be. “De Mowbray extends his sorrow at the passing of Titus de Wolfe,” he said. “He wanted me to relay that to your father.”

Atticus’ lips flinched in a hint of a sneer. “Spare me your platitudes of condolences,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “De Mowbray bribed two of Northumberland’s knights to swear fealty to Edward and when they approached my brother with betrayal in their hearts, my brother denied them and they killed him for it. If they told you they killed my brother in self-defense, then they lied. My brother told me upon his deathbed what happened. De la Londe and de Troiu killed my brother because he refused to swear fealty to Edward and, based upon that betrayal, it is my intention to track those two knights down and kill them. If anyone stands in my way, I will kill them as well. Is this in any way unclear?”

Summerlin was a seasoned knight. He knew how to negotiate and he knew how to deal with threats. He understood that de Wolfe had lost his brother and he knew the man was grieving, but he also believed every word. Atticus de Wolfe, as far as he knew, did not issue threats. He made promises that he kept.

“I was not aware that Titus lived after his wounds were inflicted,” he said evenly. “Clearly, we were told that Titus was killed by men defending themselves against him. Since none of us were present when the event took place, mayhap there is truth on both sides of the tale.”

“My brother’s deathbed confession is the only truth.”

Summerlin nodded faintly; he wasn’t going to argue the point. In fact, there was no use in delaying what he had come to relay. Better to get to the point.

“As you wish,” he said to Atticus. “Will you summon your father so that he may hear Norfolk’s proposal?”

“Nay. Get on with it.”

Summerlin could see that Atticus had no intention of showing any manners in the situation; therefore, he decided his manners were misplaced as well. His behavior turned cold and professional, just as Atticus’ was. It was time to discuss the reason behind his visit.

The time had come.

“Norfolk has sent me to propose an alliance between the House of Norfolk and the House of de Wolfe,” he said. “Specifically, an alliance between Wolfe’s Lair and Norfolk. Surely you realize that Edward is now king and Henry has fled the country with his whore wife. There is no longer any reason for a house as fine as that of de Wolfe to serve a king with no honor. It is Norfolk’s wish to extend a hand of friendship and peace to you. If you agree, I have one thousand men encamped over two miles away that Norfolk offers to you to reinforce your ranks. I have also brought supply wagons with me and coinage to bolster your supplies and wealth. It will be an equitable agreement. However, if you refuse, Norfolk has instructed me to lay siege to Wolfe’s Lair, confiscate it, and make it an outpost for Edward. Do you understand these terms as I have relayed them to you, Sir Atticus?”

So there it was – motives as plain as the sun in the sky. Norfolk was now moving on Wolfe’s Lair. Titus had denied the man’s offer and had died for that denial. Now, de Mowbray was going to the heart of the House of de Wolfe, to the Lair, and he was trying to infiltrate it any way he could.

Atticus respected a man who was to the point, and Summerlin had been quite clear. His gaze lingered on the man a moment before turning around and moving for Kenton. He murmured something to the big knight, who then disappeared into Wolfe’s Lair. Atticus, however, remained by the open gate, his gaze still on Summerlin. It would not do to take his eye off the prize. As he lingered by the open gate, Warenne suddenly appeared.

“Atticus, what are you doing?” he asked, urgency in his voice. “What did he say to you?”

Atticus’ gaze beheld Summerlin standing several feet away. “He has offered us money, supplies, and men if we will swear fealty to Edward,” he told the earl. “If we refuse, then he has one thousand men camped about two miles away who will lay siege to Wolfe’s Lair in an attempt to claim it for Edward.”

Warenne sighed heavily, his attention shifting to his brother-in-law. “You know that Summerlin is my wife’s brother,” he said in a low voice. “Atticus, I would not dream of telling you how to conduct your business, but whatever you do, if you can spare Shaun, I would consider it a personal favor.”

Atticus knew who Summerlin was; he had heard the conversation between Warenne and the knight upon the wall.

“I will do what I can,” Atticus said. “But if he tries to kill me, I will have no choice.”

“I understand. What are you planning on doing?”

Atticus looked at him. “We have been threatened, Ren,” he said. “What would you do?”

Warenne could only sigh heavily again, raking his hand through his dark hair. “Should I prepare the man for battle, then?”

“That may be wise.”

Warenne was deeply upset by the situation. His focus moved to Summerlin once again and without saying a word to Atticus, he was suddenly heading in Summerlin’s direction. He simply couldn’t let the situation spiral out of control without trying to ease it. For everyone’s sake, he had to try.

“What in the name of God are you doing?” he hissed at Summerlin as he drew close to the man. “You have sincerely come to Wolfe’s Lair to threaten the House of de Wolfe? Is de Mowbray truly that stupid? Does he not realize that by attacking Wolfe’s Lair, all of Castle Questing and, more than likely, all of the north will come down on him? This is not a war de Mowbray can win.”

Summerlin’s gaze was steady upon his brother-in-law, a man he truly liked. “Ren, do you not understand that Edward is king now?” he replied with equal passion. “Henry is gone; the man has fled the country. That being the case, any man who supports Henry is the enemy of the King of England. We cannot have enemies embedded within our own country.”

Warenne hissed unhappily. “You are speaking of de Wolfe,” he said. “That family is the core of England’s heart. They are not enemies.”

“They are if they support Henry.”

Warenne threw up his hands in frustration, stomping about as he struggled not to wrap his fingers around Shaun’s neck. He threw a finger in Atticus’ direction.

“That man is The Lion of the North,” he said. “He is smarter and more cunning and more passionate about truth and justice and England than you could ever hope to be. If he decides to move against you, I cannot stop him. I cannot protect you. Go away, Shaun; go away and take your men with you. Get out of here before something terrible happens and I am forced to tell my wife that I watched her brother die.”

Shaun looked at Warenne with a mixture of sympathy and anger. “Madeleine has gone back to Blackstone Castle,” Shaun told him. “She is no longer at Thetford. She has taken the children and has returned to the home she was born in. She lives under my father’s roof, Ren. You may as well swear fealty to Edward because you shan’t have your wife back if you do not. Father will not let her return to you.”

Warenne stared at the man, struggling to conceal his shock. “You must be mad.”

Shaun shook his head. “Not in the least,” he said. “Go back to Thetford and see for yourself.”

Warenne was reeling. He stepped back, away from Shaun, struggling to process what he’d been told. It was true that he’d not been home in quite some time but that was necessitated by the battles he had been involved in. He hadn’t a choice. It had been something that had been a terrible rub between him and his wife but the knowledge that his lovely Madeleine had gone back to her father had him shaken to the core. Had she so little faith in him? Had she simply given up? Without anything more to say, Warenne made his way back to Atticus. In fact, by the time he reached Atticus, he simply walked past the man and didn’t say a word. He continued on into the innards of Wolfe’s Lair in complete silence.

Atticus, taking his eye off his prey for a brief moment to watch his friend walk by him, took some concern with Warenne’s silent manner. It wasn’t like him in the least. Thinking that Summerlin must have said something terrible to upset the man, his rage returned as his focus once again moved back to Summerlin.

There was going to be blood to pay.

Atticus was in the process of studying his opponent when Kenton suddenly appeared by his side, pushing the hilt of a big, heavy sword into his hand. Atticus looked down to see that he was holding Titus’ sword, a masterfully crafted piece of equipment that had been Titus’ pride and joy. As Kenton took up station by the open gate again, crossbow in hand, Atticus made his way, very slowly, towards Summerlin.

“Although I understand and appreciate that you are under Norfolk’s orders, you must understand that by carrying out those orders, you are now in my line of fire,” Atticus said steadily. “I have sworn vengeance against those who killed my brother and I warned you what would happen to those who stood in my way. You are now standing in my way. I will give you the opportunity to leave, now, but that grace will only be given once. If you refuse to leave, and take your men with you, then I shall be forced to do what is necessary. Do you comprehend?”

Summerlin didn’t flinch nor did he change expressions. He remained surprisingly calm for a man who had just had his life threatened. “I do, my lord.”

“Will you leave peacefully?”

“Alas, I cannot. I must carry out Norfolk’s orders.”

“Then you understand what this means for you.”

“I understand that you are refusing Norfolk’s offer.”

“That would be a fair assumption.”

Summerlin didn’t back away, not even when Atticus came to within a few yards of him. He simply stood there, facing the man who had earned a reputation as a cunning fighter and brilliant military commander. He was waiting for Atticus to rush him and he believed himself properly braced.

Not wanting to provoke anything, he stood as still as stone and bade du Reims to do the same as Atticus began to stalk a slow circle around him, studying him from in front and behind. Atticus wasn’t wearing a lick of protection. In fact, all the man had on was a heavy, woolen tunic, breeches and boots, and a very big broadsword in his left hand. Summerlin’s senses were heightened as Atticus got in behind him, studying him and inspecting him. But The Lion made no move against him; he was watching, waiting, and biding his time.

“What did you say to Thetford that upset him so?” Atticus asked from behind.

Summerlin turned his head slightly so he was speaking in Atticus’ general direction. “His wife is my sister,” he said. “I told him that she has returned to the home of our father.”

He heard Atticus snort faintly. “And you hoped that would sway Ren to Edward’s cause?”

“I had hoped nothing. I simply told him the truth.”

Atticus was still standing behind the knights in a move designed to unbalance them and make them very nervous. “I want you to listen to me and listen closely,” he said. “My knight by the gate has the crossbow trained on your companion, du Reims,” he said. “If you look upon the walls, there are several soldiers with crossbows trained on your men-at-arms. If they move, they will be killed. Is this clear so far?”

Summerlin glanced to the wall without moving his head. He could, indeed, see armored men with nasty-looking crossbows trained upon them. Cursing himself that he had allowed his party to walk into a trap, he was starting to feel some disgust.

“It is clear,” he said, knowing his men heard him. “Is this how you treat guests?”

“You delivered a violent ultimatum. Therefore, you are not a guest.”

“I could have brought the entire bloody army to your doorstep.”

“But you did not. Now, I will deliver an ultimatum of my own.”

“I am listening.”

“I am going to take you and your men hostage and exchange you with Norfolk for de la Londe and de Troiu.”

Summerlin did turn to look at him, then. “It will not do you any good,” he said. “The two knights you seek are not with Norfolk.”

“Where are they?”

Summerlin turned back around. He wasn’t going to tell him. It was information that would betray those two knights and, subsequently, Norfolk. Now, the true test of wills would begin.

Atticus didn’t think that Summerlin would willingly supply the information but he was fairly certain that the knight knew where de la Londe and de Troiu were. If he didn’t know, he more than likely would have said so; therefore, his silence was telltale. As he lifted Titus’ sword to poke Summerlin in the back with it, a silent threat and a hearty suggestion that he tell what he knew, du Reims caught the movement of the blade and panicked.

Seeing the flash of the sword from his periphery, du Reims moved to unsheathe his sword, thinking a battle was at hand. The problem was that he wasn’t fast enough to adequately gain his weapon. In cold armor and bogged down by the weight on his body, he simply couldn’t move fast enough.

Atticus, seeing that Summerlin’s companion was going for his weapon, shifted Titus’ sword quickly and went for an immediately disabling move; since du Reims had his back to him, Atticus went for the most crippling and most obvious part of the body. Using the razor-sharp tip of Titus’ sword, Atticus sliced through both of the man’s ankles, at the heels, severing both of the major tendons that controlled the feet and, consequently, the legs. It was one of the weakest parts of any suit of armor and also on the human body, hence the name Achilles’ heel. Tendons severed, du Reims fell like a stone.

But the fight was on. Summerlin, believing that du Reims saw danger that he didn’t, moved to unsheathe his own weapon. As Atticus disabled du Reims, Summerlin brought forth his weapon and moved swiftly away from Atticus, giving himself room to maneuver. The Norfolk men-at-arms, thinking the knights were under attack, began to move but they were subsequently cut down by the archers on the wall and by Kenton, who was still near the gate. In a hail of arrows, the four soldiers went down and their mounts fled. Now, all that was left of the Norfolk party was carnage and one able-bodied knight.

Atticus faced off against Summerlin, who had his broadsword out and was currently on the defensive. The big, blond knight was now in a fight for his life and his previously pleasant manner was gone. Now, there was a deadly gleam in his eye as he beheld his enemy.

“I did not believe you capable of attacking me from behind, de Wolfe,” he said, sword leveled in Atticus’ direction. “I thought you were a man of honor.”

Atticus, too, had his sword defensively postured. “I did not make the first move,” he said evenly. “Your knight did.”

“He would not have acted without cause.”

“Mayhap not, but in this case, I was not poised to strike.”

Summerlin couldn’t chance taking his eyes off of Atticus to look at du Reims, who was lying on the ground several feet away, grunting in pain. “What did you do to him?”

“He will not be able to walk for quite some time.”

“Then at least let me take him to a physic.”

Atticus shook his head. “Not until I gain the answers I seek,” he said. “Where are de la Londe and de Troiu?”

“I will not tell you that.”

“Then your companion is going to be lying there in pain for quite some time. That was what de la Londe and de Troiu did to my brother, in fact. Left him to die. Those are the men you are protecting.”

Summerlin’s jaw ticked. “I was told your brother attacked them.”

“He did not.”

“You do not know that. You were not there.”

“My brother told me the truth.”

Summerlin grunted in frustration. “So you would let a fellow knight linger in pain because you want answers to a question I will not give?” he said angrily. “What kind of man are you, de Wolfe? I see nothing honorable in this behavior.”

That set Atticus off. He unexpectedly charged Summerlin, delivering several vicious blows against the heavily-armored knight who was slowed down by the fact he was laden with freezing armor that weighed a great deal. Atticus, with no protection, moved faster and lighter, and within the first few rapid-fire blows, had Summerlin overwhelmed. It was quite clear that Atticus was the superior fighter. As Summerlin staggered back from the heavy thrusts, Atticus leapt up into the air, lashed out a booted foot, and caught Summerlin squarely in the chest. Off-balance, and unable to catch himself, the knight toppled heavily onto his back.

But the fight wasn’t over. Even with Summerlin down, Atticus went on the offensive, chopping at him, catching him in the hand and on the back where the seams of the armor were weak. Blood spattered from cuts onto the hard, dead ground. When Summerlin tried to rise, Atticus kicked him in the head and sent him crashing to the frozen earth. Half-conscious, Summerlin still struggled to get up and defend himself but Atticus stepped on his right wrist, so hard that Summerlin heard bones crack before he let go of the sword he was still trying to grip. Atticus reached down and yanked the sword from the man’s grasp, tossing it several feet away. Shoving a knee into Summerlin’s neck, he grabbed the man by the hair and lifted his head.

“Now,” he growled. “Tell me what I want to know or there will be two knights lying in pain upon these frozen moors. Where are de la Londe and de Troiu? My patience wears thin, Summerlin.”

In pain, and at a distinct disadvantage, Summerlin struggled between the innate sense of self-preservation and the unwillingness to divulge Norfolk’s information.

“This is not what honorable men do,” he breathed. “They do not cheat in battle.”

Atticus yanked his hair, snarling in his ear. “Do not speak to me of honor when you serve a man who paid knights to betray their friends,” he said. “Norfolk solicited Northumberland knights to betray their comrades. When my brother did not agree to their terms, they killed him. The men you are trying to protect killed my honorable brother because he would not betray his fellow knights. He would not betray me. I know Norfolk wants me worst of all; by all that is holy, I know it. So do not speak to me of honorable behavior when the very man you serve is a snake in the grass, seeking out the next victims of his deceit and treachery.”

Summerlin didn’t want to concede Atticus’ point but he knew there was truth to it. Norfolk continued to work in secrecy and deceit in order to gain men for Edward’s cause. He’d known before Towton that Norfolk had secretly solicited support from de la Londe and de Troiu, so everything Atticus said was true. He grunted as Atticus’ knee grinded into his neck.

“If I tell you where they are, Norfolk will know I have spoken,” he said. “I… I have a wife and a young son at Arundel Castle. If I betray Norfolk, they will suffer.”

“He will not know you have given me any information unless you tell him.”

“There is no one else to tell you but me. He will know.”

Atticus continued to press his knee into Summerlin’s neck for a few moments longer before abruptly releasing the man. As Summerlin collapsed onto the ground, unarmed and battered, Atticus stood a few feet away.

“Summerlin,” he said, “as I see this situation, you have little choice in the matter. Either you tell me what I want to know, or I will lock you up in the vault of Wolfe’s Lair and you will never see your wife and child again.”

Summerlin pushed himself up on his bloodied hands, rolling onto his side and eventually into a sitting position. His ears were still ringing from Atticus’ kick to the head and he struggled to shake off the bells.

“If you lock me up in the vault of Wolfe’s Lair, my army encamped over the hill will eventually come looking for me,” he said. “They will lay siege to Wolfe’s Lair. Are you prepared to withstand an extended siege?”

“If they lay siege, I will throw your dead body over the wall onto them.”

“Then you will never learn the answers you seek.”

“Then tell me what I want to know and I will be merciful.”

They were at a stalemate. Summerlin had no doubt that Atticus would do as he said he would and he didn’t particularly want to be locked up in a freezing vault or thrown over the fortress wall. He was at a distinct disadvantage with no choice in the matter as he saw it; he wanted to live to see his wife and son again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain his survival instinct to Norfolk, but he would think of something. He had no other alternative. With a heavy sigh, he looked up at Atticus.

“Do I have your word that you will release me?” he asked.

“If you tell me everything you know about de la Londe and de Troiu, I will show mercy.”

“Do I have your vow?”

“I told you I would. That is good enough for you.”

Summerlin wriggled his eyebrows; it would have to suffice. He glanced over his shoulder at the massive edifice of Wolfe’s Lair, wondering what had become of his brother-in-law. He’d hoped to have an ally in Warenne but it was evident that he had been abandoned. He scratched his head with a bloodied hand.

“The last I heard, the knights you seek were heading for Wellesbourne Castle,” he said, defeat in his tone. “Norfolk sent them there to try and elicit a promise of fealty from the older Wellesbourne. Since the younger Wellesbourne serves Northumberland, Norfolk would try to sway the father with the hope that if the father swears fealty to Edward then the son will follow.”

Atticus was quite interested in what he had to say. “Andrew Wellesbourne?” he clarified. “Norfolk is trying to gain the man’s vow?”

Summerlin nodded. “I swear to you on my oath as a knight that my last information on the whereabouts of de la Londe and de Troiu are Wellesbourne Castle,” he said. “I do not know if they are still there. I was sent north by Norfolk to submit his proposal to you and your father, which I have done. That is all I know.”

Atticus was genuinely perplexed. “So he would try to gain Adam Wellesbourne’s fealty through the man’s father?”

“It would seem so.”

Atticus pondered that information, turning to Kenton, who was standing over near the gates with the empty crossbow in his hand. He waved Kenton over. As the big knight came near, Atticus relayed to him what Summerlin had told him and Kenton was clearly just as bewildered as Atticus was. In fact, the usually stone-faced knight sneered as he mulled over what he’d been told.

“What would make Norfolk so determined to destroy Northumberland’s knight corps?” he asked, more of a musing than an actual question. “There are several battle lords that are loyal to Henry, so why single out Northumberland? What purpose could he have?”

Atticus turned to look at Summerlin, who by this time had his attention on du Reims. The knight with the severed tendons had managed to roll himself into a sitting position also, but he was essentially crippled after Atticus’ attack. Atticus spoke loudly to gain Summerlin’s attention.

“Why does Norfolk want so badly to destroy Northumberland’s knights?” he asked him.

“I know.”

The voice came not from Summerlin but from the gates of Wolfe’s Lair. Atticus, Kenton, and even Summerlin turned to see Solomon lumbering from the gates. The man was moving slowly and painfully, as he usually did in the morning with the disease that caused his joints to ache and swell. Atticus went to his father to help the man.

“What are you doing here, Papa?” he asked, grasping his father by the arm. “I have handled the situation. Go back inside and go to bed. I will come in when this has all been settled.”

Solomon waved him off. “Nay,” he grumbled. “I must speak now. I heard your question. It seems to me that I know why Norfolk is intent to destroy Northumberland’s ranks.”

Atticus was puzzled. “How would you know this?”

Solomon fixed on his youngest son. “Because three years ago, when Henry was upon the throne, Norfolk was still a supporter of the king, as were we,” he said. “The man sent me a missive at that time – he wanted Titus for his youngest daughter in marriage but I refused. Titus had already been pledge to the de Shera heiress so Norfolk wanted you instead. Again, I refused. I told him that my sons were not meant for de Mowbray stock. I am sure he was insulted because I never heard from him again. Dear God… that may be why Titus was approached first. Norfolk was still trying to bring him into his fold and killed him when he refused.”

Atticus was somewhat horrified by the revelation. “Why did you not tell us of this?” he demanded, although it was without force. “We knew nothing of Norfolk’s overtures to wed Titus or me to his daughter.”

Solomon shrugged, suddenly looking very old and very weary. “There was no reason to tell you,” he said. “Besides, you were away serving Northumberland and I rarely saw you as it was. Why waste breath on talk of Norfolk? It certainly did not seem worth mentioning until now.”

Atticus didn’t press his father but what the man told him was certainly food for thought. It would explain Norfolk’s obsessive behavior when it came to the destruction of Henry Percy’s stable of knights. There was a great deal of odd dealings but nothing distracted from the fact that now, Atticus had his answer. Wellesbourne Castle. Now, he knew his next destination. He looked over his shoulder to Kenton, who was still standing over by Summerlin and du Reims.

“Keep du Reims and send Summerlin back,” he told him. “We will keep du Reims as insurance that Norfolk’s army will not attack Wolfe’s Lair. If they do, I will do to du Reims what I threatened to do to Summerlin – throw his dead body over the wall and onto his men. Make sure Summerlin understands this.”

Kenton nodded, turning to Summerlin, who had heard Atticus’ directive. It was clear that Summerlin realized he should have been shrewder when dealing for his release – he should have included du Reims as well. Nothing was ever mentioned about releasing du Reims. Disgusted with himself, with the situation in general, Summerlin knew he had no room to negotiate. The best he could hope for was de Wolfe’s mercy.

“Will you at least make sure du Reims is tended?” he asked.

Kenton, who was closer to him, grunted. “We are not animals,” he grumbled. “The knight will be well tended.”

Summerlin glanced at his dead soldiers, bleeding out over the frozen earth. “Will you also bury my dead?”

Kenton cocked a dark eyebrow. “I told you that we are not animals,” he said, his voice hard and gritty like shards of steel. “Go back to your men now and return to Norfolk. Tell him that Wolfe’s Lair is still held for Henry and that will not change.”

Weary, and in pain, Summerlin rolled to his feet and stood for a few moments, unsteadily. His head was still swimming from Atticus’ blow. Glancing up to the wall, he caught sight of Warenne near the gatehouse, as he had seen the man when he had first arrived, but he made no move to acknowledge the man. He knew, without a doubt, that they were at odds, and this entire meeting on the frozen moors outside of Wolfe’s Lair had gone very badly for all of them. With no mount and four dead men-at-arms around him, Summerlin began the long trek back to his encampment.

Kenton and Atticus watched the man go. In short order, Kenton ordered several men to collect du Reims and take the man into the fortress, which they did. Solomon followed. Meanwhile, Atticus was still standing with Kenton near the half-open gates, watching Summerlin stagger off into the distance.

“Now what?” Kenton asked Atticus. “Do we ride for Wellesbourne?”

Atticus nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “We will leave today. Make sure the horses are prepared and that we have adequate supplies. It will take us two or three weeks at best, depending on the weather and how fast we can move, so I intend to start right away.”

Kenton didn’t say what he was thinking; they have probably already moved on. Nay, he didn’t say that at all. He knew that would not be well-met by Atticus so he simply nodded and went about his business. Already, Kenton felt as if the situation were out of their control, especially with Norfolk’s ulterior motive now revealed. Did the man truly want Atticus in his fold or did he simply want him dead? They would have to be on their guard constantly.

A bad situation was only going to grow worse.