The Lion of the North (3 page)

“He is resting,” Warenne said softly, putting his hands on Atticus’ broad chest to prevent the man from moving forward for the moment. “I must speak with you before you talk to him, Atticus. You must listen to me. Will you do this?”

Atticus was looking around the tent, spying his brother’s legs about ten feet away from him. Titus was lying down and there were men around him, enough so that Atticus couldn’t see his brother from the knees up. Seeing his brother in a prone position did nothing to ease his anxiety and he looked at Warenne imploringly.

“What happened to him?” Atticus asked.
Begged.
“I was told he was injured.”

Warenne sighed heavily; a younger man bearing the great de Winter name, he was muscular and handsome with dark hair and dark eyes. He was a respected commander and ally of Northumberland, and a close friend of the de Wolfe brothers. He knew how hard Titus’ mortal injury would be on Atticus and with that in mind, thought carefully on his reply.

“You will listen to me carefully, Atticus,” he said quietly. “I will tell you what I know but you must vow to remain calm. Your fury will not help your brother. Is that clear?”

Atticus’ eyes narrowed, briefly, as if struggling to process what the earl was telling him. “Fury?” he repeated, bewildered. “What in the hell happened?”

“Your vow, Atticus. You will remain calm.”

Now he was frustrated. Atticus nodded impatiently. “You have it,” he said. “What happened to my brother? Tell me now.”

Warenne drew in a deep, pensive breath. “Titus tells me that he was summoned by de la Londe and de Troiu,” he said, keeping his voice low. “This was just after sunrise. He was approached by these two Northumberland knights, men you have fought with time and time again. He did not think anything strange of it. Atticus, did you see your brother at all today?”

Atticus thought a moment. “I did not,” he confessed. “But I saw him before sunrise and he said nothing about de la Londe and de Troiu. I did, however, see those knights after sunrise in the heat of battle. De la Londe looked to have a serious wound to his face. Why? What do they have to do with this?”

Warenne’s jaw ticked faintly, so very sorry for what he was about to say. “They are traitors,” he said simply. “Although they are Northumberland knights, and men well paid with a history of service to Northumberland, they have evidently been in negotiations with John de Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. De Mowbray promised them money and lands if they would swear fealty to him and help turn the tides of this battle. Evidently, de Mowbray asked them to recruit men from Northumberland’s stable of knights. They did not approach you with this offer, then?”

Atticus was stunned. He had served with de la Londe and de Troiu for four years. They were good knights and he trusted them, so this news was quite shocking.

“They did not,” he said, clearly surprised. “Are you sure of this?”

“I am.”

Atticus shook his head, baffled. “I would not believe them capable of treason.”

Warenne rubbed his eyes wearily. “Neither did Titus,” he said. “De la Londe and de Troiu approached your brother with de Mowbray’s proposition. When Titus refused, they tried to kill him to silence him so he could not tell others what they had offered him. That is the story your brother told me. I cannot find de la Londe or de Troiu to confirm this, but there is no reason why your brother would lie. He is mortally wounded, Atticus. He will not survive the night. Sit with him and tell him of your love for him. This will be your last chance to speak with him in this life.”

Atticus stared at the earl. For several long, painful moments, he simply stared, as if unsure how to react. Disbelief swept his features followed closely by anguish in its most raw form. Atticus’ face, usually so expressionless, was now flooding with emotions he could not control.
Titus… dying.
Dear God, was it possible? Was the man he admired most in this life soon to leave him? He finally hung his head, reaching out to grasp Warenne as if struggling to hold on to something, anything, to keep him from falling to the ground. Warenne, in turn, held the man’s arms tightly.

“It is not true, Ren,” Atticus hissed. “This cannot be true.”

Warenne could feel the man’s anguish as it flowed through his body, entering Warenne’s at the point of contact and flooding him with grief. His heart hurt so badly that he could hardly stand it.

“It is true,” Warenne murmured. “I am so very sorry, Atticus. I love your brother very much. I feel as if I am losing my own brother.”

Atticus was holding Warenne with a death grip, staring at the ground. He realized that tears were finding their way to the surface and he blinked rapidly, chasing them away. Nay, he could not show emotion now, not when the Northumberland advisors were standing about, watching him for his reaction. They had already lost their liege today and were brittle enough without watching Atticus de Wolfe lose his composure. The Lion of the North was beyond the pull of emotion, always in control of himself. He was a rock when all else around him was crumbling.

Except now; Titus, his beloved older brother, was dying.
Dying.
Dear God, was it even possible?

Atticus let go of Warenne and turned in the direction of Titus. He pushed through a pair of advisors, men he knew, but said nothing to them. He was focused on his brother, intensely focused on fighting off an emotional breakdown. As he came upon the man, supine on Warenne’s personal cot, he could see that Titus’ naked torso was wrapped tightly with bloodied bandages as the earl’s personal surgeon bent over him, inspecting something on Titus’ chest.

Reality hit him, causing his knees to weaken. Titus was pale and pasty, the look of a man who was standing in the shadow of death. Atticus stared at the bloodied wrappings a moment, feeling his heart shatter. A million pieces of pain exploded into his body, causing his limbs to ache and his knees to weaken further. Physical pain manifested. When he managed to tear his eyes away from the bloody linen and look at Titus’ face, he could see that Titus was looking at him with those hazel eyes he knew so well. When their gazes met, Titus smiled grimly.

“You are here,” he sighed weakly. “Praise the saints that you are alive. I had feared otherwise.”

The surgeon moved away and Atticus’ knees gave way as he knelt down next to his brother, taking the man’s hand and holding it tightly. The moment he gripped the man’s warm flesh, the tears very nearly returned. Titus was warm and alive in his hand. According to Warenne, that was not to be for much longer. He could hardly grasp the concept.

“There is no Yorkist in England that can topple me,” he said, his voice tight. He was trying to make the moment light but failing. His smile faded. “What happened, Titus? Ren said something about de la Londe and de Troiu trying to kill you.”

Titus de Wolfe gazed steadily at his younger brother by two years, a man he had helped raise when their mother had died those years ago. They were so very close, the two of them, and he knew his passing would be very hard on Atticus. It had been just the two of them for so long that he could only imagine how he would feel if the situation were reversed and he was the one about to lose his brother. He knew he would feel incredibly alone. But even that description couldn’t begin to scratch the surface of the true loneliness and abandonment he would feel. He would be lost. With that in mind, he squeezed his brother’s hand as tightly as he could, feeling his flesh one last time, something to be remembered in the afterlife.

“They have turned,” Titus said softly. “Norfolk has promised them riches if they would serve him and recruit others to serve for him. They approached me and I refused, so they tried to kill me so I could not warn others. Do not trust them, Atticus. De Mowbray will want you most of all. You must not let them approach you and you must not trust them. Do you understand me?”

Atticus nodded in agreement, with deep regret, as Titus confirmed the information he’d been told. He sighed heavily. “I still cannot believe it,” he said. “But the fact remains that they tried to kill you for refusing their offer. This I cannot abide. I will seek them out and I will punish them, Titus. Make no mistake; this will not go unanswered.”

Titus shook his head. “Not now,” he rasped, swallowing hard because he was beginning to have trouble breathing. His legs were strangely numb as well and he knew that his time was very limited. There was much he had to say before the veil of eternal darkness claimed him. “I have something much more important for you to do now, Atticus. You must take care of my wife. That is the only thing of import.”

Atticus wouldn’t be easily swayed from thoughts of vengeance. “You do not have to even ask,” he said. “You know I will take care of her regardless. But de la Londe and de Troiu….”

“Listen to me,” Titus cut him off as forcefully as he could. “Isobeau… I realize we have not been married very long, but in that time… in that time I have grown quite fond of her. She is a warm and wonderful and beautiful woman, Atticus. It is imperative that she remarry a man who is worthy of her.”

Atticus was still lingering on de la Londe and de Troiu. “Of course I will select a man worthy of her,” he assured him. “You do not even have to ask, Brother. I will make sure she is well taken care of by someone who will treat her with respect and kindness.”

“I meant you, Atticus.”

Atticus’ eyebrows lifted in surprise and astonishment. “
Me
?” he repeated. “You want me to marry your wife?”

Titus squeezed his hand, although the gesture was weaker than it had been only moments earlier. It was clear his life was fading. “You are the only man I trust,” he whispered. “Atticus, she is all to me. These past two months that she has been my wife have been the two most wonderful months of my life. I know you will be kind to her and that you will respect her. It is most important that you marry her, Atticus. I… I could not bear it if another man were to have her.”

Atticus tried to keep the look of horror off his face. “Titus, I… I cannot marry,” he said. “Not her, not anyone. You know this. You know my mind and future is not focused on a wife. There is the battle in support of Henry, now more important than ever as Edward takes the throne.”

Titus would not be put off. “You
must
marry her.”

“And you would have her widowed twice if anything happens?” Atticus hissed. “I will not stop fighting if I marry her, Titus. She will be secondary to my vocation.”

Titus looked at him;
really
looked at him. Tears began to stream from his eyes and down his temples. “Please,” he begged, a tight whisper. “Isobeau is the most important thing in the world to me. Please marry her and be kind to her. I will trust you, Atticus. You must do this for me.”

Titus’ tears poked holes in Atticus’ resistance. In fact, it destroyed his resistance altogether. He was shocked to see the tears, the emotion, coming from Titus, who had perhaps been one of the strongest and most emotionless people he knew. But in this brief conversation, he could see one thing clearly; Titus’ new wife was much more entrenched in her husband’s heart than Atticus could have ever guessed. He was, frankly, astonished. He never suspected Titus capable of such emotion. Squeezing his brother’s fingers again, he placed a big hand on the man’s forehead.

“As you wish,” he said, giving in without another word of argument. “I will… marry her and take care of her. You needn’t worry. Isobeau will be well tended.”

Titus closed his eyes, emitting a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered sincerely. “I can die in peace knowing she is taken care of. Bless you, Atticus. And for the years of being my brother and sharing a bond with me that few men know, I thank you. I love you very much.”

Now, the tears were returning to Atticus’ eyes, but this time he could not stop them.
Is this really the end?
He thought.
Is this really the last time I will ever speak with my brother?

“And I love you,” he whispered tightly for the lump in his throat. “You are my older brother, Titus. I have always worshiped you. I am not sure how I am going to go on without your guidance and your wisdom.”

Titus opened his eyes, although it was a struggle. The peculiar numbness in his legs had now reached his chest. It was difficult to breathe.

“But you will,” he ordered. “You will go on and you will do great things. You are The Lion of the North, a man so fierce that your reputation borders on myth. You are the greatest de Wolfe of all. Know that I am proud, Atticus… so very proud that you are my brother. It… it has been an honor….”

He faded off. Atticus didn’t try to stop the tears now; they streamed down his cheeks as he bent over his brother. “Titus?” he asked hoarsely. “Titus, can you hear me?”

There was no response. Northumberland’s personal surgeon, who had been standing behind Atticus during the exchange, moved around Atticus and put his fingers on Titus’ neck. After a moment, he lifted both eyelids and peered into the glazed eyes. Then, he looked at Atticus and shook his head.

“He is gone, my lord,” he said quietly.

Atticus released his grip on Titus, his hands flying to his head as if to hold back the explosion of grief that was building.

“Nay,” he breathed. “He is not gone. Not yet.”

The surgeon nodded his head again, glancing over at Warenne, who had also been watching the exchange. There was great concern on Warenne’s features as Atticus went into denial.

“I am afraid he is,” the surgeon said, putting himself between Atticus and his dead brother. “I will make sure your brother is properly cleaned and prepared for the return home. I will take care of him, my lord, I swear it. Mayhap you should go with Thetford now. Go with him, Sir Atticus. There is nothing more you can do for your brother.”

Atticus stared at the man, his hands still on his head, as if hardly understanding what he was being told. His gaze moved back to Titus, who was pale and still upon the pallet. In fact, he seemed rather peaceful. Atticus pushed the surgeon aside and put his hands on his brother.

“But he is still warm,” he insisted.

He knew it was a stupid thing to say even as he said it. The surgeon shook his head again, motioning to Warenne, who quickly came forward.