Chapter Six #4
She lifted her head. “I miss you so much,” she whispered, her tone now very serious in contrast from the giggling that had been going on earlier.
“I can still hear your voice and I can still see your smile as you waved farewell to me those months ago. You told me you loved me and I was too foolish to say it in return. I should have; God knows, I should have. Titus, I swear that if I had known you would not return to me, I would have never let you go. I would have found some way to keep you at Alnwick. It is not fair that we did not have a chance at a life together; it is not fair at all. And your brother… he says that you asked him to marry me and to take care of me. I am sure it was a noble thought, my love, but I must tell you that your brother wants nothing to do with me. I am afraid you have doomed us both to a sad and unhappy life with one another. It is therefore my intention to tell him that I release him from your request. Surely you did not mean to make him so miserable, Titus. It was selfish of you to ask. I know you do not want me to marry anyone else and I swear that I shan’t.
When we reach Wolfe’s Lair, I will find the nearest church and tell the priest of my situation and beg that he admit me to the nearest convent.
I will become a bride of Christ. I would rather do that than marry anyone else. ”
With that, she trailed off and laid her head back on the coffin lid, simply laying there and perhaps dreaming of a life that would never be.
Atticus, filled with sorrow and regret, turned to look at Warenne, who was gazing back at him with equal sorrow.
They had both heard what Isobeau had said, now knowing what was in the lady’s heart. It was tragic to say the least.
“That is not what Titus wanted,” Warenne whispered. “You must speak with her, Atticus, now.”
Atticus didn’t hesitate. He went straight into the livery, leaving Warenne outside, and approached the wagon where Isobeau lay with the top part of her body across the coffin lid.
She didn’t hear him enter so he cleared his throat softly as he approached simply to warn her that she was no longer alone.
Isobeau’s head shot up when she heard him, her eyes big on him.
There was guilt and fear across her features as Atticus came to stand next to the wagon bed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke; they simply stared at one another.
Isobeau kept waiting for the man to explode at her but, so far, he’d given no indication he planned to.
His expression was surprisingly calm, considering she had run off and lied to him.
Maybe he was so calm because he was beyond fury and had terrible things planned for her punishment. Nervously, she cleared her throat.
“Sir Atticus,” she stammered. “I… I did not mean to cause you any undue concern by leaving the tavern, but I felt compelled to….”
Atticus put up a hand, cutting her off. “You need not explain,” he said quietly.
“I am not angry. In fact, it seems as if I owe you a wide measure of apology, my lady. It occurred to me when you felt compelled to steal away to come and see my brother that I have not been very kind to you. For you to have to feel as if the only way to see Titus was to escape me, I have been a terrible man indeed.”
Isobeau blinked, surprised by his reaction.
“I… I simply wanted a few minutes alone with him,” she said.
“When you gave me the opportunity to see him back at Alnwick, I fainted. I have not spoken to my husband at all and I wanted to tell him of the child. And of other things. I think I told him everything that has happened at Alnwick since he left. I thought he would want to know.”
She was tearing up by the time she finished, lowering her head and sniffling so he could not see her watery eyes.
But Atticus knew she was weeping; he was coming to feel worse and worse about the way he’d treated her, especially after hearing what she had told Titus.
There had been such joy in her words at first, and finally such sorrow.
Was he really such a monster? Warenne had warned him of his behavior and now the words from Isobeau had suggested the same thing.
Maybe he had been as selfish as they’d accused him of being.
With a heavy sigh, he scratched his scalp wearily and sat on the edge of the wagon bed.
“He would want to know,” he agreed with her, having difficulty looking the woman in the eye.
“My lady, if I have been selfish and rude and terrible, then I apologize. I begged your forgiveness once but it seems as if I have not amended my ways. That will end, now. You do, indeed, have the right to grieve my brother and you do, indeed, have a right to your own sense of vengeance towards those who caused his death. I promised my brother I would marry you and I shall, and I hope to make as excellent a husband as Titus did. I shall endeavor to do so. I pray that you will accept my proposal of marriage and know that the man you have seen over the past two days is not indicative of the man I am. Grief can do odd things to one’s soul. I am sorry you bore the brunt of it.”
By this time, Isobeau was listening to him quite seriously, wiping tears from her eyes. “I do not know what to say, in truth,” she said. “I told you that I do not want another husband. Titus should not have expected, nor have asked, us to wed.”
Atticus grunted, leaning forward on the wagon.
“I thought so, too,” he said. “But then I tried to look at it from Titus’ perspective.
Actually, someone else made me look at it from Titus’ perspective – if I had a wife I loved very much, it would be my first priority to ensure she was well taken care of.
If the roles had been reversed, I am sure I would have begged Titus the same thing. ”
Isobeau regarded him carefully. There was some indecision in her expression now, as if she hadn’t thought on Titus’ standpoint until this moment. After a pause of deliberation, of reflection, her gaze moved to the coffin she was leaning against.
“He should not have asked you such things,” she said quietly.
“Sir Atticus, I release you from your vow to Titus. I know you do not wish to marry me and I do not wish to have another husband, so it is my intention to commit myself to a convent near to the place where Titus is buried. That way, I can visit him sometimes.”
Atticus already knew of her plan considering he had overheard her earlier, so he had already planned out his reply. He was careful yet truthful.
“My lady, if you commit yourself to a convent, it would not be in your best interest or in the child’s best interest,” he said.
“As soon as the baby is born, it will be taken away from you and turned over to a family to foster. Did you think you would be able to keep your son with you? They will not allow it in the convent.”
She frowned. “Surely they would not separate a mother from her child.”
He shrugged. “You would not be a mother,” he said. “You would be a bride of Christ. Brides do not have babies.”
Evidently, the thought of being separated from her child had not occurred to her and she was visibly distressed. “I will not let them take my child,” she said flatly. “I would kill them if they tried.”
He looked at her; she had such a delicate face with a little upturned nose, wide eyes, and beautifully arched brows.
More than that, she had lips that were ripe and lush, inviting a man’s lust. She was quite a ravishing creature, as he’d always noticed, but perhaps now he was noticing just a little more.
She was an invariably strong woman, unafraid to stand up to him and unafraid to speak her mind.
So many pieces of a puzzle were coming together as he looked at her, disjointed pieces of the Isobeau puzzle that had been orbiting in his mind, things he realized about her but had never pulled together as a whole picture.
He remembered the first time he ever saw her, telling his brother what a fortunate man he was to have such a beautiful bride.
But after the wedding, he hadn’t spent any amount of time around Isobeau because Titus occupied all of her time, as he should have.
But in the past two days, they had been thrown together in unpleasant circumstances that would have destroyed a lesser woman.
Isobeau had stood strong through it all.
As a result, Atticus was coming to think she was fairly extraordinary.
Come to know what Titus liked so well about the woman, Warenne had said. More and more, Atticus could see it. He was finally coming to understand her, one piece at a time.
“As would I, my lady,” he said quietly. “No one would take your child from you, my brother’s child, and live to tell the tale, so it is my suggestion that you forget about the convent and marry me instead.
If you do not, I fear I am in for something quite terrible.
You would actually be doing me quite a favor. ”
Isobeau was still frowning as thoughts of baby-stealing nuns filled her mind. “Why?” she asked. “Whatever is the matter?”
Atticus averted his gaze, leaning against his brother’s coffin and picking at the imperfections of the wood.