The Lion of the North (15 page)

“It is not appropriate that an earl should tend to his own horse much less tend to yours,” he said, eyeing Isobeau as he began to cut into a large loaf of cream-colored bread. “He should have let me do it.”

Isobeau was watching him as he cut the bread and placed a thick slice in front of her; she still wasn’t over thoughts of Titus and the son he didn’t know about. “He seems like a very kind man,” she said. “He has been great company today.”

Atticus moved on from the loaf of bread and began to cut hunks of meat from a boiled beef bone. “Thetford and I have been friends for many years,” he said. “We fostered together, years ago. He is a good man.”

“Did he foster with Titus, too?”

“Aye.”

Isobeau thought’s lingered on Atticus and Warenne and Titus, all of them fostering together, sharing adventures together. Then she thought again of her husband lying cold and alone in a strange stable, without any companionship now whatsoever. It was wrong that a man so loved was now so alone in death. She gazed at the food he was putting on her trencher without much enthusiasm.

“Where did everyone go?” she asked. “The wagon and Titus and my things. Where did they go?”

Atticus pointed in the general direction of the street with his knife. “We saw a livery at the southern edge of town,” he replied. “Kenton has taken them there. He will have the men bring your trunks here, although I cannot see a need for all seven.”

There was disapproval in his tone. Uncomfortable and sad, and with an aching back, Isobeau was increasingly aware that she needed to relieve herself, as they’d not stopped since leaving Alnwick that morning. More than that, she now knew where Titus was. She had to go to him, to tell him of their child and to make sure he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t know what everyone else did and it certainly wasn’t fair that he was alone. Eyeing Atticus, Isobeau knew he wouldn’t let her go to him. He would make excuses to keep her from him, or worse, he would tell her that it was not her right. Therefore, she had to get away from Atticus if only for a precious few minutes. As Atticus continued to dole out food, she stood up.

“Do you know where the privy is?” she asked.

Atticus stood up as well, knife still in hand. “I do not,” he said. “But I will find out.”

Isobeau waved him off; she was already moving away from the table. “I will ask one of the wenches.”

Atticus wasn’t so apt to let her go alone; he followed. “You will not travel by yourself, madam,” he told her. “I will escort you.”

Isobeau came to an irritated halt and faced him. “There are some things that women need to do in private,” she said. “This is one of those things. I am sure the privy is out back and there are plenty of people about, so nothing will happen. I will scream if I need you.”

Atticus wasn’t swayed by the clipped tone. “I will escort you.”

He took her by the arm but she pulled from his grasp and charged on ahead, asking directions to the privy from the first serving wench she came across. The woman pointed to the rear yard where there were animals and other implements used to run a tavern. Isobeau headed for the back door with Atticus on her heels but before she crossed into the cold, muddy yard beyond, she turned to him and held a hand out.

“Please,” she said quietly but firmly. “I will tend to this alone. I ask that you return to the table and eat your meal. I promise I will yell if I need you.”

Atticus was unhappy but he wasn’t accustomed to not granting a lady’s wishes. He looked around the yard outside, only seeing animals milling about, and a shack with a trench dug beneath it that dumped out into a stream that ran behind the tavern. He even went so far as to go out into the yard and throw open the door to the privy only to be greeted by a horrifically smelling hole in the ground with a hollowed-out stool poised over it. Satisfied there were no dangers lurking about, he went back into the tavern.

“Go on,” he told her. “But if you are not back in two minutes, I will come looking for you.”

Isobeau didn’t reply. She slipped out into the dark, muddy yard and ran for the privy, slamming the door. It didn’t take long for her to relieve herself, and use a nearby bucket of water to wash with, but when she was ready to leave, she barely opened the privy door to see if Atticus was still standing at the back door of the tavern. She didn’t see him but she knew there was every possibility he was lurking about, waiting for her.

But she didn’t want to go back into the tavern, not at the moment. She wanted to find Titus and tell him what she had not had the opportunity to tell him, what her fainting spell yesterday had prevented. She wanted to spend a moment with him. A brief moment was all she wanted, a last moment with her husband before they put him in the ground forever.

In the darkness, she dashed out of the yard gate and into the street beyond.

Warenne returned to
the tavern to find the entire structure in chaos.

People were running from the building as if the devil himself were inside, demanding their souls, and the closer he came, the more he could hear yelling and banging about. Curious, and on guard, he unsheathed the sword at his side, the sword of his forefathers,
Lespada
. The ancient blade glimmered wickedly in the weak light as he stepped into the tavern, expecting a fight.

The first thing he saw was an empty room. Chairs were tipped over, meals half-eaten, and ale was spilled out over the floor. The dogs who usually congregated by the hearth were happy as larks as they wandered around the room, eating off vacated tables. Cautiously moving further into the common room, Warenne could see three serving wenches clustered in the back of the room near the kitchens as the tavern keeper hovered near them, evidently fearful of someone Warenne couldn’t quite see.

There was a great deal of banging and crashing going on just out of his line of sight, back in the kitchens. As Warenne approached, on guard, Atticus suddenly appeared, sword in hand and a large pitcher of something liquid in the other. He hurled the pitcher across the room, smashing it against the wall on the other side and spraying wine everywhere.

“Do you understand that the next thing I throw across this room will be you?” Atticus bellowed. “If you do not tell me where she is, you will not have a tavern left when I am finished. Is that in any way unclear?”

Shocked, Warenne rushed forward. “Atticus!” he gasped. “What has happened? What are you doing?”

Atticus glanced at Warenne but his gaze quickly returned to the tavern keeper and the three wenches, who were, by now, huddled and weeping.

“Lady de Wolfe went to the privy a short time ago,” he said, his eyes riveted to the employees of the tavern. “She never made it back inside the tavern. I checked the yard and the privy myself before she went in, and it was clear of danger, but she has somehow disappeared. I would wager to say that these people know who has taken her and if they do not tell me, I will crack a skull against a wall as easily as cracking that pitcher of wine.”

Warenne sheathed
Lespada
immediately. “I know where she is,” he said, reaching out to pull Atticus away from the thoroughly terrified people. “I just saw her. Come with me, Atticus, and leave these poor people alone.”

Atticus looked at Warenne, shocked. “You just
saw
her?” he demanded. “Where in the hell is she?”

Warenne tugged on him. “With me,” he ordered quietly. As he yanked Atticus along, he spoke loudly to the tavern keeper. “I will pay for the damages. It is a misunderstanding. Please make sure our rooms are prepared, as we will return shortly.”

Puzzled, enraged, Atticus allowed Warenne to drag him out of the tavern but the moment they hit the muddy road outside, Atticus pulled Warenne to a halt.

“
Where
is she?” he asked, insistent. “The last I saw her was back in the tavern yard.”

Warenne reached out and grabbed him again, pulling him along. “She is at the stable where the wagon is housed,” he said quietly. “I was there bedding the horses down when she came in. She did not see me as she made her way to the wagon where Titus is. I was going to announce my presence to her but she climbed onto the wagon, sat on the coffin, and began to weep. The poor girl… I simply could not announce myself and embarrass her, so I slipped out through the rear and came to find you.”

Atticus looked at the man at first with puzzlement but then with great relief. But that relief was quickly replaced by anger.

“She should not have run away,” he said. “I thought she knew better than to run off. If she wanted to see Titus, why did she not ask me?”

“How did she know where Titus was?”

Atticus lifted his eyebrows at the foolish answer he was about to give. “She asked me earlier.”

Warenne gave Atticus a long look. “You did not take her?”

“Nay. She did not ask.”

Warenne sighed. “Atticus, forgive me, but it seems to me as if you have been incredibly selfish with regard to Titus,” he said. “You treat that woman as if she has no rights to your brother at all. You said that Titus loved her. Do you think he would appreciate the fact that you have treated his wife with such disregard?”

Atticus was trying not to feel guilty as they crossed the last of the muddy road and ended up on mashed, frozen grass. The livery was in the near distance with the de Wolfe escort party milling around the livery yard near a cooking fire.

“I have not treated her with disregard,” Atticus said, feeling as if he were defending himself. “I have been polite when the situation called for it.”

Warenne sighed, shaking his head. “She was your brother’s wife,” he said, sounding disgusted. “You told me you may have seen a flicker of what your brother loved in her yet you continue to treat her poorly. I am ashamed of you, Atticus. This poor woman felt she had to slip away to see her husband because you would not take her to him. Is that truly what kind of a man you are? I would never have guessed it but your actions have thus far proven otherwise.”

They had entered the livery yard by now and Atticus was feeling fairly well disgusted with himself, too. Hearing his behavior through Warenne’s eyes made him think that perhaps he’d not been as benevolent and kind to Isobeau as he thought he’d been. Perhaps he had been selfish with his brother and hadn’t even realized it. But he knew it wasn’t because he had disdain for Isobeau; in fact, just the opposite. When he realized she was missing, he’d experienced fear such as he’d never known. He was still feeling the fear.

Through the small ventilation window of the livery he could just see the top of Isobeau’s blond head; she was still up in the wagon. He couldn’t hear her and she didn’t seem to be moving around, but the sight of her was enough to make him realize what an idiot he’d been. Maybe he really had treated her poorly because he didn’t feel as if she had a claim on grief for Titus. He was wrong; he knew he was wrong. Heart full of sorrow, he turned to Warenne.

“I never meant to treat her poorly,” he said quietly. “Mayhap… mayhap in a sense you are correct. I was being selfish with Titus, as if I am the only one who has claim to grieve for him. She does, too. I could see how enamored she and Titus were when he was alive. Mayhap… mayhap there is some jealousy there as well, that it was no longer simply me and Titus anymore. Isobeau was introduced into our lives and for the first time in his life, Titus was focus on something other than our common goals. It was terrible of me, I know. So what do I do?”

Warenne wasn’t really angry at Atticus; he simply wanted the man to think about Isobeau and stop thinking about himself. He patted Atticus on the side of the head.

“Go in to that livery and apologize to her,” Warenne said quietly. “Apologize for being selfish and terrible. Marry the woman tonight and make her happy as Titus wanted you to. If you truly want to honor your brother’s memory, that is what you will do.”

Atticus nodded, resigned. “I will,” he muttered. “She wants to go with me when I seek out de la Londe and de Troiu, too. She accused me of being selfish about that, too. She said I acted as if I were the only one allowed vengeance in Titus’ death.”

Warenne shrugged. “You do act that way,” he replied. “But fortunately, I did not listen to you. I will say this, however – just as you are allowed your vengeance, so is Isobeau. She has as much right to vengeance as you do. More, even. She was Titus’ wife.”

“Then you believe I should take her with me?”

Warenne lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully, perhaps indecisively. “I think you should consider it,” he said. “She may resent you otherwise, for the rest of your life. I do not think you want that, do you?”

Atticus shook his head. “Nay,” he confirmed. His gaze moved to the livery again; Isobeau’s head had disappeared in the window. “But a quest for vengeance is no place for a woman. She may be hurt, or worse. Moreover, she is with child – Titus’ child. How can I risk her and the child like that?”

Warenne shook his head. “Believe it or not, there are midwives all over England who can deliver a child when the time comes,” he said sarcastically. Then, he grasped Atticus by the arm, his gaze intense. “She will not be hurt. Kenton and I will be there to aid you. We will also protect her. Stop treating his woman as if she does not matter, Atticus; she mattered to Titus a great deal. She has every right to mourn for him and she has every right to seek vengeance regardless of the fact that she is with child. I admire her strength for wanting to do so and you should, too.”