Chapter Ten
~ The New Beginning ~
Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to A Day of Dreams
A day of dreams is upon me still,
And I see your face in the sky.
My heart knows only that it misses you still,
Until the time goes by.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c
It was just after dawn.
Atticus had spent most of the night watching his new wife sleep, pondering the turn his life had taken and feeling the loss of Titus to his bones.
Yesterday had been a pivotal day for him, burying his brother and getting married all in the same stroke.
But in the same breath, he knew that he had to push his grief and heartache aside.
He had a task to accomplish, and a new wife to know, and he couldn’t do it with the constant sorrow of Titus’ death hanging over his head.
Today, his new life with Isobeau began and his determination to bring de la Londe and de Troiu to justice was stronger than it had ever been.
Something was screaming in his soul about it, demanding his brother be avenged louder than he’d ever heard it.
His thoughts had moved between his brother’s murderers and his new wife throughout the night and by the time the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, de la Londe and de Troiu had won over. He could think of little else.
After he and Isobeau had married yesterday morning, he’d escorted her back to the chamber that had been prepared for her, the chamber that had once belonged to his mother, where she had lain down to rest and ended up sleeping all day and all night.
Even now, as dawn broke, she was still asleep, her body recovering from the trials and tribulations it had been forced to endure.
Through it all, Isobeau had remained strong, at least as strong as she could.
She had never complained or lamented her situation, a manner that Atticus found admirable.
He’d seen that quiet resolve from the woman since the beginning but the sheer strength of character was coming to impress him.
Ever since that night in the stable at Rothsburg, he had seen the woman in a new light.
In spite of everything, he was glad he had married her.
But a new day was breaking and, much like him, Isobeau would be forced to face her new future.
There was something they had to do, a purpose to their lives.
They would need to move south, following Norfolk’s trail, in their search to locate de la Londe and de Troiu.
Atticus was, in fact, planning a meeting with Kenton and Warenne this morning to plan that very journey and for the past hour he had been trying to figure out how to discourage his father from joining them.
It was true that Solomon didn’t travel, and hadn’t for ten years, but these were extenuating circumstances.
It was possible the old man would try, which would only drag them down. That thought concerned him.
“Did you even sleep last night?”
It was a soft, female voice that spoke, interrupting his chaotic thoughts.
Atticus looked over to see that Isobeau was sleepily gazing at him.
When their eyes met, he smiled faintly, watching her lips bloom with a lovely smile.
It was a glorious thing so early in the morning, on this day that started their new life together.
As Atticus looked at her, any lingering grief he had for his brother slipped away.
If there was joy to be found in the darkness of his sorrow, he was looking at it.
“I may have,” he said quietly, a glimmer of humor in his eye. “I cannot recall.”
Isobeau stifled a yawn and lifted her head. “Surely you are weary,” she said. “I will rise and you may sleep in this bed for a time if you wish. I will sit outside of the door and make sure everyone is quiet.”
He laughed softly. “Although I appreciate the offer, it is unnecessary,” he said. “How are you feeling? You slept a long time.”
Isobeau couldn’t stifle the second yawn that caught her by surprise. “How long?”
“All day and all night.”
She sighed, thinking on the very long and restful sleep. The truth was that she felt much better than she had in quite a while. “Then it is little wonder that I am so famished,” she said. “Would it be possible to have some food brought to me?”
Atticus was on his feet already, moving for the chamber door. “I will have them bring a feast,” he said. “You slept through the meal last evening so I would imagine that you are quite hungry.”
Isobeau yawned one last time, her eyes lingering on the man she had married as he opened the door and sent the nearest servant running for the kitchen.
She reflected upon him the first time they’d spoken at Alnwick, when they had discussed Titus’ death and the man’s subsequent request for the two of them to marry.
Atticus, at that time, had been a hard and bitter man but those particular traits seemed to have left him as of late and she was thankful.
Ever since their discussion back in that cold, dark, livery stable, discussing their lives over Titus’ coffin, Atticus had seemed much different towards her.
Almost… kind. And sweet. Well, perhaps not exactly sweet, but there were times when she thought he might have a propensity towards that particular trait.
Like now; he had been quite kind and friendly as she awoke from a deep sleep. Almost as if he was glad to be there.
But no; Isobeau knew he was marrying her out of a sense of duty alone.
Still, if the man remained kind to her, she could grow used to such a thing and learn to accept it.
She could learn to accept him even though she truly had no choice in the matter.
She hoped they could at least have a pleasant association.
She didn’t expect it to be anything like her relationship with Titus so pleasant was the best she could hope for.
Anything more seemed impossible. Confusing, even. But… even the least bit attractive.
Do you transfer your affections so easily?
Solomon had asked her. Isobeau had never considered herself one to share her affections with anyone other than her husband, but Atticus was her husband now.
Perhaps in time, there might be affection.
She wondered if she would be an awful person for allowing that to happen.
Lost to her thoughts, she noticed when Atticus entered the chamber again and she sat up in the bed, immediately realizing she was in her clothing from the previous day. She brushed at the now-wrinkled dress.
“Sweet Jesus,” she muttered. “I am still in the garments I wore yesterday. You must think me a terribly slovenly person for sleeping in my finery.”
Atticus gave her a half-grin. “As I said, you were clearly exhausted,” he said. “It was a difficult day for you.”
“And for you.”
He shook his head, averting his gaze as if an inherent sense of guilt forced him to. Guilt for allowing Titus’ child to come to harm, guilt for his inability to protect Isobeau from forces beyond his control.
“I would say it was considerably worse for you,” he said quietly. Then, he eyed her. “Are you sure that you feel well?”
“I do.”
“I do not need to summon another physic or a midwife to tend to you?”
Isobeau knew what he meant and her heart hurt, just for a moment, thinking on the child she had lost. She sighed softly. “You do not,” she told him. “I feel well, indeed. Please do not worry so.”
Atticus wasn’t sure what to say to that; if the woman said she felt well then he would not be rude and press her.
So he simply nodded his head and changed the subject away from the unhappy occurrence of yesterday.
“I instructed the servant to bring you warmed water as well so that you may wash if you wish,” he said.
“Is there anything else you require to begin your day?”
Isobeau shook her head. “Nay,” she said quietly, her gaze lingering on him.
She, too, wanted to move the conversation away from the tragic event of her lost child, something neither one of them could do anything about now.
It was best not to dwell on it because there was so much to be hurt over as of late.
But she had cried her tears. At some point, they were going to have to move past the pain.
“I… I suppose this is a terrible way for a new bridegroom to spend the eve of his wedding, watching his bride as she passes out on the bed like a drunkard.”
He laughed softly. “It was not so terrible,” he said, his eyes rather warm. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.”
She snorted, smoothing at her mussed hair. “If that is true, I cannot think of one.”
“I can.”
She simply grinned, perhaps a bit embarrassed at his moderate flattery, and rose wearily from the bed.
It took her a moment to get her balance before she headed over to her capcases lined up against the wall.
She noticed that he was watching her and she paused as she opened the first case, looking to the man with some sincerity.
“I did not have much opportunity to speak with you yesterday on the event of our marriage,” she said, “but I would like to say that I will do my best to make this a pleasant association. I would say that it is for Titus’ sake, because it is he who wished for our marriage, but it really has nothing to do with Titus at all.
I say it because we are married now and will be together for the rest of our lives, and I should like for our association to be pleasant and peaceful. ”
Atticus pondered her statement for a moment. He realized that he wanted to say something more about it, as if he wanted it to be more than simply pleasant or peaceful, but he held his tongue. It was too soon to say such things, so he succumbed to the appropriate answer.
“As should I,” he said. “I told you once before that I would endeavor to make a good husband. I will hold to that vow.”