The Lion of the North (34 page)

The old soldier cast her a long glance. “Do ye sing, m’lady?”

Isobeau nodded. “I do.”

“Will ye sing something for me?”

Isobeau nodded eagerly this time. “Of course I will,” she said. “What do you wish to hear?”

“Old Rose the Whore.”

Isobeau’s eyes widened in shock. “I do not know any such song,” she said stiffly. “Even if I did, I would not sing it. What else would you have me sing?”

The old soldier was giggling at her offended manner. “Do you know Tilly Nodden?”

Isobeau eyed him suspiciously. “You only want me to sing unseemly songs.”

The old man put a hand on her arm. “That is all I know, my lady,” he said. “I am a soldier and know a soldier’s life. Do ye know Tilly Nodden?”

Isobeau frowned. “Well,” she said reluctantly, “I have heard it a few times. My father had soldiers that would sing it.”

The old soldier’s eyes twinkled in the dim light. “It is a happy song,” he said. “Would ye please sing it for me?”

Isobeau was very hesitant. “I cannot sing some of the verses,” she insisted. “I
will
not.”

“Then sing the chorus. Let me sing it with ye.”

Isobeau opened her mouth to try to refuse him yet again because the chorus had some very dirty phrases in it when a deep, smooth voice interrupted.

“That is not an appropriate song for a lady to sing. Choose another song.”

Isobeau looked up to see where the voice had come from and noticed, tucked back against the wall, a big man laying upon a pallet. He was actually sitting up, his back against the wall, and both of his legs below the knees were tightly wrapped. Because of the dimness in the hall, she couldn’t really see his face but it began to occur to her who the man was.
The knight Atticus cut down.
She wasn’t particularly frightened, but she was wary.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said rather firmly. “I can make my own denials.”

“You have not done a very good job.”

She eyed the man in the shadows with some irritation. “I am trying to be polite with a wounded man.”

“That is true, my lady, but he is taking advantage of your good heart by trying to coerce you into singing a bawdy song.”

The knight was probably right. Frowning, and unhappy that she had very nearly sang that bawdy tavern song that spoke of a cross-dressing whore, she stood up and collected her bucket with water, making her way over to the knight in the darkness.

Isobeau could see the man’s face better now. He was handsome, square-jawed, with black eyes and long hair that tumbled in waves to his shoulders. He was handsome in a barbaric sort of way and she eyed him curiously.

“You are the knight that my husband cut down,” she said. “What is your name?”

The knight dipped his head politely. “I am Sir Alrik du Reims,” he said. “You may call me Rik. No one calls me Alrik except my wife when she is cross with me. When she uses my full name, it is time to run and hide.”

His humor softened Isobeau somewhat and she fought off a grin. “You are married, then?”

He nodded. “Indeed I am,” he said. “I have a wife and three small daughters.”

Isobeau knelt a foot or so away from him, scooping some water from her bucket and extending the cup to him. “Where do they live?”

Du Reims took the cup gratefully and drank. “At Arundel Castle,” he said, smacking his lips. “My wife is actually from Sussex. I met her whilst stationed at Arundel.”

Isobeau took back the empty cup. “Have you been away from them a long time?”

Du Reims’ black eyes took on a distant cast. “It seems like ages,” he said. “It has only been a few months, but it seems like ages.”

There was such longing in his voice that it tugged at Isobeau’s heart. She couldn’t help it. She lowered her gaze, putting the cup back into the bucket. “I understand,” she said. “It is terrible that this war should separate and destroy families. It seems that… forgive me. I meant to say that I will pray for your wife and your children’s good health while you are away, even if you are my husband’s enemy.”

Du Reims leaned back against the wall, eyeing the extremely luscious Lady de Wolfe. He was not surprised to see that Atticus de Wolfe had such a beautiful wife; a man of such reputation was worthy of such a woman. But it also occurred to him that, in Lady de Wolfe, he saw the woman who would save his life.

Du Reims was no fool. He knew that Summerlin had returned with the army to lay siege to Wolfe’s Lair. He had expected it, in fact, and up until Lady de Wolfe presented herself, he was resigned to the fact that this would be his last day on earth. He knew that at some point, Atticus would come to the hall and kill him just as he had promised. Du Reims was in no position to really defend himself, as he could not walk, so he had spent the better part of the day attempting to figure out how he could save himself. Now, he knew. He had to do what was necessary in order to exact his freedom and it was unfortunate that Lady de Wolfe was now part of that plan.

“Thank you for your prayers, my lady,” he said. “May… may I have more water before you leave?”

Isobeau complied. Dipping the cup in the water, she approached du Reims and extended the full cup. He lifted his hand to her but instead of taking the cup, he snatched her by the wrist. The water went flying as Isobeau was yanked onto the man’s lap. She screamed, and tried to pull away, but before she realized it, she was seated upon his lap and his big arm was across her neck in an extremely dangerous position. His lips were against her ear.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he begged softly. “But your husband intends to kill me and I apologize that I must use you to negotiate for my life. I wish to see my wife and children again and you will be the means by which I accomplish that.”

Terrified, Isobeau struggled and yelped as the servants in the hall realized she was in a very precarious position. Someone bolted from the great hall, running no doubt for Atticus.

“Please calm yourself,” du Reims said quietly but evenly. “I will not hurt you, I swear it, but your husband must believe that I will. I want to go home and you must help me.”

Isobeau was angry as well as terrified. She tried to pull the knight’s arm away from her neck, which was an impossible feat.

“You will never make it out of here alive,” she said, verging on tears. “My husband will see to that!”

Du Reims was quite calm as she squirmed on his lap. “Mayhap,” he muttered. “But this is a chance I must take. I am very sorry to involve you in it.”

Isobeau was trying very hard not to cry, for she was genuinely terrified. “I gave you water,” she said angrily. “I tried to give you some comfort and this is that thanks I get? You are a beast!”

Du Reims sighed. “I am sure you have every reason to believe that,” he said. “But the truth is that I am an excellent knight and an excellent husband. My wife’s name is Catrina and her family is from Cornwall. She is a d’Vant. I have three daughters. Charlotte is five years of age and very bright. Cassandra is four years of age and she wants very much to be like her older sister. She is a joy. My baby is Annabelle and she has seen two years. Annabelle was born with crippled legs but you have never seen a sweeter nor smarter child. I think it is Annabelle that I miss the most. She loves to sing songs to me, songs she makes up herself. They do not make much sense because she cannot speak very well, but they are the most beautiful songs I have ever heard.”

By this time, Isobeau had stopped struggling. She was hearing of the knight’s family, coming to understand why he would make such a desperate move as to take a hostage. He had children, including a crippled one, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he loved them very much. As frightened as she was, she also found herself being sympathetic to the knight’s plight. He was fearful, too – fearful he would never see his family again. But the fact remained that he had her in a very bad position. All he had to do was squeeze and her neck would be snapped.

“As much as you do not want to die, I do not want to die, either,” she said, her lower lip trembling out of fear. “I only married Atticus yesterday. Before that, I was his brother’s wife. I lost my husband at that terrible place called Towton and my life is in turmoil much as yours is. I do not understand war and pain and suffering and why men who want to be king would throw this country into turmoil in order to rule. So many men have died yet there is no definitive king upon the throne. I do not like any of this and I do not want to die for a cause I do not understand.”

Du Reims could feel the seeds of doubt and sympathy sprouting; doubt in what he was doing, sympathy for Titus de Wolfe’s widow. But he was determined to go home and Lady de Wolfe was an integral part of that plan. If Atticus was going to threaten him, then he had to play hard and dirty as well, starting with Lady de Wolfe.

“No one does, my lady,” he said quietly. “You are correct. There is much turmoil right now. Men are uncivilized to each other all in the name of Edward or Henry. Before this, I was friends with many of the knights I now fight against. It is very difficult to fight against your friends.”

Isobeau could feel his grip on her relax but she didn’t try to bolt, for she knew he would only tighten up. Her only hope was to try and talk him out of whatever terrible deed he wanted to use her for. Perhaps if she could speak with the man and they could understand one another, he might see that holding her hostage to ensure his release was not the way to go about things. She had to try.

“Did… did you know Atticus before these wars?” she asked.

Du Reims shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I knew him by reputation only. My life is in the south and the de Wolfes rule the north. I have never had the opportunity to know much about the north of England except in these wars.”

Isobeau thought quickly on what more she could say to him, anything to force him to speak so that they could understand one another. She had to make the man feel badly enough for what he was doing to her that he would let her go.

“Atticus and his brother grew up here, in the north,” she said. “They fostered at Kenilworth, however. Did you foster in the south, too?”

Du Reims shifted behind her and his enormous arm, the one across her neck, eased. “I did,” he said. “Okehampton Castle. My father is the Earl of East Anglia and Okehampton is an ally. At least, they used to be but like most of us in this war, friends one moment can be enemies the next.”

She sighed faintly. “I am not your enemy, Sir Knight.”

“My name is Rik.”

“And my name is Lady de Wolfe. I do not want to die. Please do not kill me.”

Isobeau heard the knight sigh. “I do not want to die, either,” he murmured. “I want to see my children grow up. I want to see their children born. I love my wife and children, my lady… I want to see them again and your husband has threatened to prevent that.”

Isobeau could feel the sorrow in his tone; there was great sadness there and great longing. She truly felt a good deal of compassion for the man but she wondered, after this action, if Atticus would allow him to leave unassailed. She doubted it. The man had laid his hands upon her and, by that action alone, forfeited his life. The fact was that they both knew it. Therefore, his desperation was fed.

As she opened her mouth to reply, the big door to the hall opened and men were filtering in. She couldn’t see who they were simply because the light behind them made them silhouettes, men with weapons and armor outlined in the backlighting. But she knew, instinctively, that one of them was Atticus and as the men drew close, all three of them, she could see Atticus, Kenton, and Warenne on the approach. Kenton seemed to hang back, to fan out behind them, but Atticus and Warenne approached boldly.

Isobeau looked into Atticus’ face, hope and relief and joy in her expression, but Atticus was focused solely on du Reims. He had yet to even look at her. Without a word, he marched up on them, seated on the ground against the wall of the great hall, and lashed out a massive boot, kicking du Reims in his damaged legs. The pain must have been horrendous because du Reims groaned, more than likely biting off a scream, and instinctively let go of Isobeau with his left hand, reaching down for his injured legs as if to hold them fast against Atticus’ assault.

But his inability to control his reaction to pain and Atticus’ advantage of a surprise attack had devastating consequences for du Reims. The moment he loosened his grip on Isobeau, Atticus reached down and yanked her forward, trying to break du Reims’ grip on her. In the same motion, he thrust a nasty-looking dagger straight into du Reims’ neck, plunging it so deep that it came out the other side. The man’s main artery was cut as well as his windpipe. Dying, he fell over onto his side as Atticus pulled Isobeau completely free.

“Atticus,
no
!” Isobeau screamed. “Sweet Jesus, no!”

Atticus didn’t even look at her. Warenne was beside her now, holding her fast, because it seemed to him that she was trying to run to du Reims to somehow help the man. But he was beyond help. Without thought or sympathy or regrets, Atticus removed the dagger in du Reims’ neck and plunged it again into his chest. With the heart of the big knight punctured, death was immediate.

The only sound now was that of Isobeau’s shocked weeping. She stood in Warenne’s grip, her hand over her mouth as she looked with horror upon du Reims’ dead body. It had happened so fast that she was still struggling to process it all. But it was then, and only then, that Atticus seemed to notice her. He looked her over closely, his gaze intense and still deadly.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

Isobeau looked at him, tears spilling over. “You did not have to kill him,” she wept. “He only wanted to go home to his wife and children.”

Atticus had absolutely no sympathy, not one ounce of pity or guilt for what he had done. In fact, Isobeau’s tears seemed to irritate him.

“And so he will not,” he said coldly. “He signed his death warrant the moment he touched you. What are you doing in the hall, anyway? I told you to stay to your chamber.”

Isobeau couldn’t stop the tears; they kept coming and coming. “I came to help,” she wept. “I came to help the physic tend the wounded. I was giving the knight water when he grabbed me. He… he only wanted to go home, Atticus. You did not have to kill him.”