Chapter Seven #4
They had reached the third floor and it took Atticus a moment to realize that Kenton had not responded. He turned to look at the man only to notice that Kenton seemed lost in thought. When Kenton saw that Atticus was looking at him, he merely shrugged.
“If it is your wish that she accompany us, then she shall,” he said.
Atticus came to a halt, peering at the man strangely. “You do not think she should go with us, do you?”
Kenton averted his gaze. “It does not matter what I think,” he said. “You have deemed that she should go and she shall.”
Atticus still wasn’t moving forward, shifting the weight of the cases on his broad shoulders. “That is not an answer to my question,” he said. “Why do you think she should not go?”
Kenton grunted. He didn’t want to give his opinion because Atticus had enough opinions with Thetford criticizing his every move.
At least, that’s what Kenton thought. He’d seen Warenne and how he’d given Atticus his opinion on the situation at every turn.
Kenton respected Thetford a great deal but he’d seen how the man had tried to order Atticus about even on personal decisions and Kenton didn’t like that in the least. He scratched his head.
“I am not entirely sure it is relevant,” he said. “Can we get moving? This case is getting heavy.”
Atticus blocked the corridor and wouldn’t move.
“That is your misfortune for picking the heaviest case,” he said.
“You will tell me what you think of all of this, Kenton. You and I have known each other a long time and you were particularly close with Titus. I cannot imagine any of this is easy on you, either.”
“It does not matter.”
“It matters a great deal to me. Speak.”
Up until that point, Kenton had kept his gaze averted but when Atticus commanded him to spill forth his opinion, he looked the man squarely in the face.
“Do you really want to know what I think about all of this?” he asked, his eyes alight with emotion.
“I was with Titus right before de Troiu and de la Londe approached him. Titus and I had been discussing positioning the right flank and I remember seeing de Troiu and de la Londe in the distance, heading in our direction. But I moved on to carry out Titus’ orders.
Had I stayed, then those two bastards would not have done what they did to him.
I blame myself that I was not there to help Titus fend them off.
Therefore, I have personal stake in all of this, too.
You are entitled to vengeance for your brother’s sake because he was, in fact, your brother; mayhap Lady de Wolfe is entitled to vengeance, too, because he was her husband.
But I am entitled also because I was the last one to see him whole and healthy.
This guilt that I feel has been eating away at me since the day Titus died. ”
Atticus sighed heavily. “Kenton, it was not your fault,” he said. “There was no way you could have known their intentions.”
Kenton was struggling to remain stoic and stone-faced.
“I realize that,” he said. “But the fact remains that had I stayed, I could have prevented this. Therefore, when you face de Troiu and de la Londe, it will be with me by your side. Do not ask me to remain with Lady de Wolfe and protect her; I want revenge, too, Atticus. That is why I am here, why I did not remain behind at Alnwick to command the troops. I came for the same reason you came – to seek vengeance.”
Atticus gazed into the eyes of the man he felt a closeness to.
If there was a third de Wolfe brother, then it was Kenton.
Beastly big, handsome, intelligent, and loyal to a fault.
Atticus understood the man’s position very well.
He understood the guilt because he had that particular guilt, too.
I should have been there to help Titus. Aye, he understood all too well.
Patting the man on the side of the head, Atticus shifted the weight of his cases once again and continued down the corridor with Kenton in tow.
Now that things were finally spoken, there was an understanding between them.
This vendetta Atticus harbored was not one of single-minded necessity; it would seem there was yet one more person determined to obtain justice for Titus.
More people wanted a hand in punishing de la Londe and de Troiu and Atticus realized that he was pleased at Kenton’s attitude.
One more person to share the bond of revenge with, in righting a terrible wrong done against Titus.
Aye, Atticus wasn’t displeased in the least. He was coming to understand that Titus hadn’t only touched his life; the man had touched many lives. Many felt pain at his passing.
They neared the north side of the fortress where there were four chambers, including Solomon’s master chamber.
The corridor was low-ceilinged and dark, and Atticus threw open the first door he came to only to be met with a dark and cold chamber.
Continuing on, he came to the next door in succession and opened that one, too, but no Lady de Wolfe.
Moving further down the corridor, they came to the chamber that was next to his father’s chamber, a chamber that had once belonged to Atticus’ mother.
Knocking softly on the door, he waited for a response.
There was no voice that bade him to enter but he did hear something fall over, perhaps furniture of some kind. It sounded like wood falling. He rapped again.
“Lady de Wolfe?” he called. “Isobeau? May we enter? We have your cases.”
Still, no distinctive reply. But then he heard a gasp, and perhaps even a groan. Puzzled, Atticus lifted the latch and pushed the door open.
Isobeau was standing beside a small table in the room next to a toppled chair.
Her fur cloak was across the table and she was clad in the pale blue traveling dress she had worn since leaving Alnwick.
But Atticus immediately noticed that she had blood-stained hands and he dropped her two cases just inside the door, rushing to her side.
“What happened?” he demanded with concern. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Isobeau looked up at him, extremely pale and distressed. “I… I am not sure,” she said. “There is blood.”
He could see her hands but he didn’t see any blood on her body other than the hands. “Where?” he asked, growing increasingly apprehensive. “Where did the blood come from?”
It was then that she turned around and he saw it on the back of her dress. There was a big, dark, red stain right on her bottom and smears against the fabric where she had tried to pull her dress around to look at the mess. Atticus’ heart sank.
“Good Christ,” he hissed, putting his hands on her because she seemed to be weaving about unsteadily. He turned to Kenton, who was standing back by the door. “Find a physic immediately. Lady de Wolfe has injured herself badly.”
Kenton fled. He hadn’t really seen what Atticus had seen but it didn’t matter.
What concerned him was that Atticus’ voice seemed to be tinged with fear Kenton had never heard from the man.
It was alarming. As the big knight dashed off, Atticus began bellowing for servants.
There was still no bed, and no food, or anything else of comfort, and Atticus snarled at the elderly servant who appeared, demanding a mattress for Lady de Wolfe.
The old man explained that they were stuffing a fresh one for Lady de Wolfe, per Thetford’s orders, but Atticus bellowed at them to produce one immediately.
When the fearful servant made it clear he could not comply, Atticus swung Isobeau into his arms and charged out of the chamber, straight into his father’s room next door.
Solomon’s chamber was a smelly, dirty mess, but at least it had a bed she could lay upon.
Atticus ordered the elderly servant to strip his father’s bed and find something clean to lay atop it so Lady de Wolfe could have a relatively unsoiled surface upon which to lie.
The only thing that was even remotely clean in Solomon’s pigsty of a chamber was an oiled cloak used to guard against the rain.
It was a very big cloak, relatively clean, and the old servant laid it over the lumpy old mattress used by Solomon as Atticus deposited Isobeau gently atop it.
Isobeau’s eyes were closed, her face ghostly pale, as Atticus stood over her.
He needed to at least make an attempt to stop the bleeding but he knew, in his heart of hearts, that there was nothing to be done.
He suspected the bleeding was coming from her womb because of the location of the stain and he further suspected he was witnessing the death of his brother’s child. Horrendous, horrific guilt swept him.
“My lady?” he leaned over her, whispering. “Are you in pain?”
Isobeau’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him with her great eyes, dark as a hot summer sky. They seemed oddly bright within her ashen face.
“I am not any longer,” she said softly. “I was, but it went away.”
Atticus was feeling increasingly terrible about the circumstances, realizing the woman had been in great discomfort but had not mentioned it to him.
Perhaps she didn’t think she should. For whatever reason, she had kept her agony to herself and hadn’t complained.
He hadn’t noticed anything odd about her because he had been too preoccupied with his own troubles.
He sighed heavily, distress on his features.
“How long were you in pain, Isobeau?” he asked her, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice. “Why did you not tell me?”