Chapter Twelve
Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to The Deepest Dream
I seem to awaken,
As if from the deepest dream.
But in this world of confusion,
Nothing is as it seems.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
It had been an odd sensation, truly.
Atticus had never had to think of anyone other than himself and after he’d left Isobeau in her chambers to finish packing, he’d headed down to the stables to inspect the mare she had mentioned.
He didn’t know why he should do such a thing, or even care, because the horse had brought her from Alnwick to Wolfe’s Lair with no problems, but she had seemed concerned about the endurance of the animal which spurred his sense of concern as well.
Atticus had never had to consider anyone else before – their safety or their comfort.
He was a selfish man but that selfishness had kept him alive and safe all of these years.
Therefore, inspecting the somewhat skittish mare with the strange look to her eye, he decided that he didn’t want Isobeau riding the beast for the long journey south.
He went on the hunt for a sturdy, less-skittish animal and came across a very big, very shaggy gelding that his father used.
The animal was so calm that he had to slap it a couple of times, affectionately, to make sure it was even breathing.
He was certain his father would not mind if they borrowed the animal and Atticus would feel much better with Isobeau on such a calm beast. His wife.
He didn’t want to have to worry about her safety on an already-perilous journey.
But there was another reason as well, something he didn’t want to admit to himself because it sounded incredibly cruel and self-centered.
He knew that Titus had given Isobeau the lovely mare and somehow, he didn’t want that reminder of his brother around.
Titus had asked him to marry Isobeau and he had done that.
But he was coming to realize that he had to make a life with her; nay, he wanted to make a life with her, and a constant reminder of Titus would make that difficult.
Perhaps it was selfish or perhaps it was understandable; in any case, he didn’t want her riding the mare.
He hoped that Titus, wherever the man was, would understand.
He had Kenton take charge of the great, hairy beast to prepare it for the journey as he checked on his own horse and completed other small duties that centered around their departure.
As he was crossing the inner ward on his way back to Isobeau’s chamber, he remembered about Norfolk’s injured knight, a man who was now his hostage.
Taking a detour, he headed into the great hall, the last place he had seen the man.
He wanted to see the knight and to make his position, and the position of the hostage, abundantly clear.
That was simply good manners in the complex and ruthless world of knights.
The great hall of Wolfe’s Lair was a long, slender room that could easily house a hundred men at any given time.
It had a sharply pitched roof and a great fire pit in the center of the hall, with small holes in the ceiling for the smoke to escape.
The fire was burning low in the big pit and a haze of blue smoke hung up towards the ceiling, ribbons of smoke filtering out through the vents.
The hall, usually so cold and dark, was fairly warm and well lit.
As Atticus made his way deeper into the hall, he could see Norfolk’s knight positioned against the wall nearest to the pit.
The man was tucked back in the shadows a bit and as Atticus came upon him, he saw his father’s physic from Hawick and an older male servant tending the man. The knight noticed Atticus right away and their gazes met through the haze of smoke. Emotionlessly, Atticus was the first to speak.
“How do your injuries fare?” he asked as casually as one would ask about the weather.
Alrik du Reims was as emotionless as Atticus was. A big knight with black eyes and shoulder-length hair, he glanced at the physic as the man wrapped his left ankle tightly.
“The right leg is not as bad as the left,” he told him. “The right one was only partially severed but the left one has been badly cut. The physic is attempting to straighten out the tendon by stitching it together with catgut. He is not entirely sure I will ever be able to walk properly.”
Atticus felt absolutely no guilt even though he had been the one to inflict life-changing injuries upon the man. His gaze lingered on the physic as he man wrapped up the leg before his attention drifted to the room, the roof, the chamber in general.
“Since you cannot run off, I will have you moved to a more private and comfortable chamber,” he said. Then, his focus returned to du Reims. “You understand that you are my hostage, insurance against anything Norfolk may attempt.”
Du Reims nodded his head, resigned. “I understand,” he said. “But I can tell you that my presence at Wolfe’s Lair will not hold off Norfolk. We have our specific orders to gain your fealty or lay siege if you refuse. Summerlin will see these orders through.”
“Then you will die.”
“That is always a risk in this vocation.”
Atticus had to admit that he was mildly impressed with du Reims’ logical assessment of his situation.
There was no fear there, no pleading, only acceptance.
That respect opened the door for a measure of guilt at what he’d done to the man, or rather what he’d had to do to the man, but Atticus fought it off.
There was no room for guilt in his profession.
Without responding or reacting, he turned away from du Reims and quit the hall, heading for Isobeau’s chamber to see if she was ready to travel as she said she would be.
Thoughts of du Reims were pushed aside as he crossed the cold bailey, now illuminated with the soft strains of morning, as his mind began to turn towards thoughts of Isobeau.
It seemed as if his mind was always very quick to think of Isobeau, no matter what situation he was in.
As he mounted the steps to the upper floor, he couldn’t help but think of his reaction to her when he touched her earlier.
Her hand in his had been exhilarating beyond words, flames of passion and lust licking at him like he’d never experienced.
Even to think on it now made his heart race and he was eager to see her again, to perhaps touch her hand again, or even more.
Was it wrong that he wanted to kiss her, to taste this woman he had married?
He was nearly to the top of the steps on the third level, wrapped up in thoughts of Isobeau, when Warenne suddenly appeared.
“Good Christ,” Atticus hissed, putting his hand over his heart as he fell back against the door jamb. “You startled me.”
Warenne smiled weakly. “That is not a statement you make often.”
Atticus shook his head. “Not at all,” he said.
Gazing into Warenne’s drawn expression, he sobered.
“I am sorry for what I had to do to Summerlin earlier, Ren. I know that he is your wife’s brother but the man all but threatened Wolfe’s Lair and I had to assert my dominance. I hope you understand that.”
Warenne waved him off. “Of course I understand,” he said. “But Shaun’s appearance meant much more to me than it did to you.”
Atticus nodded, seeing the distress in Warenne’s eyes. “I realize that,” he said. “What did he say to you, Ren? Is there anything I can do?”
Warenne shook his head. “You know that I am related to Norfolk, of course,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his dark hair.
“He is a distant cousin on my father’s side.
My wife’s family, the House of Summerlin, is sworn to him now.
That was not the case only a year ago, but according to Shaun, it is the case now.
He told me that my wife has left Thetford and returned to the home of her father to live under his roof. ”
Concerned, Atticus put his hand on Warenne’s shoulder. “I am sorry to hear that, my friend,” he said sincerely. “What will you do?”
Warenne lifted his eyebrows in resignation.
“I must return home immediately,” he said.
“I… I have been thinking, Atticus. Mayhap I have not been a good husband, after all. I have spent my time fighting wars for Henry when mayhap the real war I should have been fighting is the one at home. I should have fought to keep my wife. If what Shaun said is true, and I have no reason to doubt him, then Madeleine is back with her father who is now a supporter of Edward. I am not entirely sure how to get her back.”
Atticus’ brow furrowed. “She is your wife,” he said firmly. “She must come back to you. It is her duty.”
Warenne smiled weakly. “You do not understand women, do you?” he asked.
“Do you think it will make her happy to return to a husband who is at odds with her family? She will be miserable returning to me, knowing that I will be going to battle against her brother and father. I do not want my wife miserable, Atticus.”
Atticus could see where the conversation was heading. He had a horrifying suspicion of exactly what Warenne was driving at. “Then what?” he asked, torn between disgust and sorrow. “Do you swear fealty to Edward?”
Warenne sighed heavily. “It may be my only choice.”
Atticus dropped his hand from the man’s shoulder. “So you compromise your beliefs to make your wife happy?”
Warenne gave him a pointed look. “You have a wife now,” he said. “Ask yourself that same question when you become fond of the woman. Judge me not, my friend, for you will find the same answer that I have.”