Chapter Eleven #4
“What are you going to do about this?” she whispered. “Those men do not want my son in command of Trastamara. They mentioned Shand.”
“What did they say?”
“They told me that Shand was a fine commander and they did not want another one.”
Markus mulled that over before leaning against the wall behind him. His movements were slow with thought.
“As I said before, this rebellion was not unexpected,” he said. “But you should know that after Bexwell was exiled from Trastamara, his escort lost sight of him. They followed his path north again, but they do not know where he went.”
Amabella’s features tightened with concern at the news. That wasn’t something she had wanted to hear. After a moment, she lowered her gaze, her distress more evident by the moment.
“I did not think he would go so easily,” she muttered. “He went from trying to keep Roget’s death a secret to being ousted from the very castle he wanted so badly to keep for himself. Somehow, I knew he would not surrender so easily.”
Markus could see her fear, her apprehension. “We will formulate a plan this very night to keep him away from Trastamara and away from you,” he said. “If Bexwell thinks he can outsmart me, he is sorely mistaken.”
Amabella looked at him, then. “This has nothing to do with me,” she said. “I am not worried about me. I am worried about my son who has just assumed command of an important outpost. He is only seventeen years of age, Markus. Atlas is the one we should all worry over.”
Markus’ eyes glimmered at her. “I wondered if you remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“My name.”
She eyed him with confusion. “Of course I know your name,” she said. “You gave me permission to use it. Did I do wrongly just now?”
His lips twitched with a smile. “You did not,” he said. “But I have been here over a week and you have not called me by my name, not once. I thought you had forgotten.”
He was looking at her with that familiar warmth again, a pleasant and endearing warmth that she was coming to expect from him.
Somehow, the focus of the conversation was shifting away from her concern for Atlas and to the fact that she had not yet called Markus by his name.
It didn’t seem to be an appropriate shift in conversation, but in the same breath, she didn’t seem to care.
When Markus smiled at her, nothing else seemed to matter.
“I have not forgotten,” she said quietly. “But in my defense, you have continued to address me formally, also.”
He grinned. “In front of my men, I will show you all due respect,” he said. “But in private, as we are now, I will freely call you Amabella.”
Amabella smiled because he was. “Sometimes it is such a long name,” she said. “My father called me ‘Ama’ because he said it was too exhausting to speak my entire name.”
“Then your father was a lazy man.”
She broke down into laughter and he followed suit. “He was a practical man,” she said, her smile fading. “There was practicality in everything he did. That is why he agreed to a marriage contract with Roget, in fact. He saw practicality in it.”
“How did he know Roget?” Markus asked. “De Sauque is not a name I’ve ever heard here in the north, at least as a family name.”
“Roget was my father’s knight,” she said.
“He came to serve my father when I was away to foster. When I returned, Roget had already been at Trastamara a couple of years. He was a decent knight, but once I returned from fostering, it seemed as if Roget drew quite close to my father. He became indispensable. When Roget asked for my hand, my father was quite happy to give his consent.”
Markus looked at her curiously. “And your father never had any doubts in how Roget showed respect to you?”
She smiled, but it was an ironic one. “Roget was a perfect gentleman while we were courting,” she said.
“He was attentive and kind. He continued to be that way until my father passed away. Then… then, it was as if everything changed overnight. He became distant, cool, apathetic, and immoral. It was as if he had simply been playing a role until my father died and once the man was gone, Roget no longer had any reason to pretend.”
“Pretend what?”
“That he was a decent man. He wasn’t, you know. He was a beast.”
Markus took a good, long look at her. It seemed that all he ever did was look at her, but now… now, he was seeing something deeper than just the cursory impression he’d first had of the woman.
A lush, beautiful woman.
She was still lush and beautiful. There was no doubt about that.
She was the kind of woman who made him feel glad that he was a man because something about her seduced him without even trying.
A look, a smile, and he was putty in her hands.
After having come to know her over the past week, he could also see that she was wise and compassionate and incredibly tolerant of the tribulations she’d been dealt in life.
And her children… she was fiercely protective of her brood, something that reminded Markus of his own mother.
But that was where the comparison ended.
He didn’t want to bed his own mother, but he certainly wouldn’t mind bedding Amabella.
Aye, he could admit it to himself.
He didn’t care that she was older than he was.
In fact, that was one of the things that made her so attractive.
She’d had four children and she’d been married for twenty years, and as far as he was concerned, that made her more alluring and sensual than any woman he’d ever met.
There was something very attractive about an experienced woman.
It was true that he appreciated her good qualities, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the more he looked at the swell of her full bosom and the nip of her slender waist, the more he wanted to put his hands on her.
“Not all men are beasts, Amabella,” he said softly. “I hope… I hope that one day, you will allow a man to show you that.”
She looked at him. “Me?” she said. Then, she shook her head. “It is funny you should mention that because just this evening, Aleanor was asking me if I would marry again.”
“Would you?”
She chuckled. “I will tell you what I have told her,” she said. “My time for marriage is over. I am content in my widowhood and watching my children grow. Truly, I am not troubled by it.”
Markus was still leaning against the wall, still watching her, and trying desperately not to give away what he thought about her.
“Then you are depriving some man of an excellent wife,” he said.
“You have beauty and wisdom. I cannot tell you what valuable commodities those are. I realize your marriage to Roget was unpleasant at best, but that does not mean all marriages are unpleasant. You should give yourself the opportunity to discover that for yourself.”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “I am not a valuable commodity,” she said. “I cannot bring anything to a marriage – no property, no wealth. All of that belongs to Atlas now. I have nothing to offer.”
“You have a great deal to offer.”
“To whom? A man so rich and titled that he does not care that he is getting a woman with nothing to offer?”
Markus shrugged. “For argument’s sake, let us say that I was a prospective husband,” he said. “I would take wisdom and beauty over money and property. I don’t need a woman’s money or property. I much prefer a woman who is a companion and a friend and a lover over a cold contract marriage.”
She smiled as she listened to him speak. “Then you are a rarity,” she said. “And you can command the finest wife in all of England, Markus. You have breeding, training and titles. You are your father’s heir, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Then you shall be an earl someday. And why is it you are not married yet? At your age, you should be.”
He eyed her. “How old do you think I am?”
She looked him up and down. “I would say you’ve seen no more than thirty-two summers.”
“I have seen thirty.”
“Then you are in the prime of your life.”
“So are you.”
She shook her head. “I am past my prime.”
“You cannot possibly be.”
“I am older than you.”
“It would be rude of me to ask how much older, wouldn’t it?”
She laughed softly. “It would, but I do not mind telling you,” she said. “I do not guard my age like some women do. I married Roget when I had seen twenty years. I was married to him for twenty years.”
He shook his head. “You look ten years younger than that,” he said. “You are ageless.”
Her smile turned genuine. “That is very kind of you to say so,” she said. “It has been a long time since I have heard such sweet lies.”
As she chuckled, he shook his head. “That was not a lie, I assure you,” he said. “I do not lie, not even for flattery. It was the truth, upon my oath.”
Her smile faded. “I did not mean to offend you, truly,” she said. “’Tis simply that it has been a long time since someone has been so kind to me. I have almost forgotten what it feels like.”
“If you allow, it will not be the last time I flatter you.”
She wasn’t catching on to what was a potentially flirtatious tone. “But you do not need to,” she said. “I can live contently for the rest of my life on what you have said to me. I will treasure it, and you, always.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
He pushed himself off the wall, standing tall and strong before her.
“Good,” he said. Then, he reached out to take her hand, bringing it to his lips for an unexpected and tender kiss.
“Because I intend to hold you to that. I intend to flatter you a great deal and, in time, mayhap more. You are not too old, Amabella Hemada Abril de Sauque. I think you are perfect. Now, I am going to help Atlas figure out what we need to do about Shand’s mysterious whereabouts and the faction loyal to Roget.
I would suggest you and your daughter retire for the night. It has been an eventful evening.”
With that, he kissed her hand again, let it drop, and headed down the stairs.
Amabella stood there for the longest time, virtually in a state of shock.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard right. In fact, she wasn’t entirely convinced that she hadn’t gone stark raving mad in the last few seconds.
Surely she must have because a man like Markus de Wolfe did not speak of things like flattery and perfection to a woman like her.
She was old.
He was young and handsome and titled, and completely out of her grasp.
… wasn’t he?
Heart pounding in her ears, Amabella tried to walk back to her solar but she couldn’t seem to walk in a straight line. She ended up opening the door and leaning against the door jamb, gazing off into space, thinking on Markus’ words.
I think you are perfect.
Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. But she knew one thing – he most definitely was.