Chapter Nineteen
“He shall recover,” Markus said quietly, trying to pull Amabella out of the chamber because Atlas was passed out, asleep, on his bed. “You have tended him quite well, my lady. Leave him to sleep now. He needs it.”
Amabella was still standing over her son.
He was snoring softly, boiled linen bandages wound over his chest and around his right knee.
She’d cleaned the wounds, doused them with wine, and wrapped them up tightly to heal, but still, she felt as if she hadn’t done enough.
She still wasn’t over the shock of seeing her bloodied, beaten son and hearing the story behind it.
“He looks like my little boy upon those linens,” she whispered. “He is my little boy. Markus, when I think of what would have happened to him had you not intervened…”
She trailed off, tears filling her eyes, and Markus finally went to her, took her by the hand, and pulled her to the door. There, he wrapped her up in his big embrace, holding her tightly as she struggled not to weep openly.
“He shall recover,” he whispered into the top of her head. “Shand is no longer a threat and Atlas shall go on to rule Trastamara with honor. You said he has a great future ahead of him; I can assure you that he does. And so do we.”
Amabella held him fiercely, her head against his chest. “I would wish so with all my heart,” she said softly, finally releasing him long enough to look into his eyes. “But… how? We have only just… how can we make plans for the future?”
Markus pulled her out of the chamber, closing the door softly. It was Roget’s former chamber, and Alonzo Abril’s former chamber, now belonging to Atlas. They stood in the landing as he put his big hands on her arms, forcing her to look at him.
“That is what I need to speak with you about,” he said. “Before I brought Atlas into the keep, I was informed that an army is approaching from the south.”
She looked concerned. “An army? Whose army?”
“It is my father and King Edward,” he said calmly. “In fact, they should be here any moment and I must go down to the bailey to greet them, but before I do, I must ask you something.”
Amabella was looking at him with fear in her eyes. Nay, more than fear… it was disappointment of the greatest magnitude. Disappointment that these few days of joy and pleasure were ending, or at the very least, changing.
He could see her entire body tensing up.
“You said that Edward was coming north,” she said. “He is here to take you into Scotland with him.”
He looked at her pointedly. “Did you hear me? I have a question to ask you.”
“Of course you may ask.”
“Will you be my wife?”
Amabella’s eyes widened. “You… you wish to marry me?”
“If you will consent.”
As he watched, her eyes filled with tears. “Markus, I would love nothing better in this world,” she said. “You honor me greatly. But I cannot leave my children and they would not be able to come with us into Scotland.”
He smiled gently. “Silly wench,” he said softly.
“I will not go with Edward. The title of Viscount Ravensdowne comes with the Cheswick Castle. It sits right on the coast, watching the sea, between Berwick and Bamburgh. It’s the oldest castle in the north and has fended off many a Northman raid.
I would take you and the children there.
We would be very happy there, I promise, and Atlas can make his life here as the Lord of Trastamara.
He can have his own family here, someday. ”
As she realized what he was saying, she gripped him by the arms. “Then you do not intend to go with Edward?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “The title Lord Protector… it is only a title, after all. It is not my destiny. Being the husband of Lady de Wolfe is and I can think of no finer calling.”
Amabella studied him to see if she saw any hint of regret in his features, any suggestion that this decision had him torn. But she saw nothing. He seemed confident and determined. Reaching up, she cupped his face between her two soft hands.
“Are you certain?” she asked quietly.
“Never more certain of anything in my life,” he said. “If you will have me, of course.”
“If you will have me.”
He grinned. “I knew the first day I saw you that I would have you,” he said. “I just had to convince you that I was not too young for you. You seem to have a problem with a younger man.”
She broke down into giggles. “Never,” she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek softly. “You are my angel, Markus.”
“Then tell me that you’ll love me the rest of your life,” he whispered. “Because I will love you for the rest of mine.”
She smiled sweetly at him as she heard the words he’d uttered before. “I will love you for the rest of my life and beyond,” she murmured.
He kissed her deeply, then, pulling her against him and feeling that familiar fire fill his veins.
But there wasn’t any time to do what his natural instincts dictated.
His father and the king were approaching and he had to deal with them first. He had to let them both in on a life-changing decision and hope they took it well.
Kissing Amabella’s hand, he left her with her injured son and headed down to the bailey.
It seemed that they had ridden into a war zone.
Patrick and Edward, King of England, exchanged concerned glances as they approached Trastamara Castle. There had clearly been a battle here that had only recently ended because there were bodies and debris scattered everywhere. The castle, however, didn’t seem damaged.
Still, the army was cautious. The king’s men, fully armed, spread out to protect the monarch and the Earl of Berwick as they closed the gap to the gatehouse.
Patrick had several of his own knights, including Hermes, Titus de Wolfe, and Anson.
They charged on ahead into the bailey as Edward and Patrick followed.
The bulk of the king’s army remained outside the walls, in a protective group in front of the open gatehouse so that no one could enter now that the king was inside.
But it was clear that whatever happened here had only happened outside because the bailey was business as usual.
The first thing Edward and Patrick saw was Markus and Cassius, approaching them from the keep.
Patrick called a halt to their group. As he and the king dismounted, Patrick and Cassius closed the gap between them.
“Welcome to Trastamara, your grace,” Markus said to Edward. “You arrived on a most… interesting day.”
Edward faced perhaps the finest knight England had seen since William de Wolfe and further back still, the likes of William Marshal and Christopher de Lohr.
At sixty years of age, Edward had seen more than his share of good knights, death, doom, battle, and politics.
He was still tall at his age, still vital, but that head of fair hair had turned white over the years.
He eyed the biggest, strongest de Wolfe knight.
“I would believe that,” he said, turning to peer through the open gatehouse. “What happened?”
Markus followed the king’s focus. “A good deal, actually, but I believe it is under control,” he said. “Did my father tell of the death of the Roget de Sauque, Lord of Trastamara? That is why I am here.”
Edward nodded, fixing on him once more. “He told me,” he said. “He also told me that the new Lord of Trastamara is a seventeen-year-old squire who used to serve the House of de Wolfe.”
“That is correct, your grace,” Markus said.
“But what you see now has nothing to do with the youth of the new lord. It is the result of greed. When Roget died, his captain tried to commandeer Trastamara. What you see is the result of the captain making a final push to wrest Trastamara from Atlas de Sauque, the rightful heir.”
“I take it that he did not succeed?”
“He did not, your grace.”
“Who is this captain?”
“His name is Shand Bexwell, your grace.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
That was enough for Edward. Squabbles between lesser barons didn’t concern him much, but Patrick had something to say about it. Considering he was here when the entire situation started, he was somewhat astonished to see the results of Bexwell’s return.
“Shand came back?” he asked his son, surprised. “We saw dead Scots outside the walls. Did he bring them?”
Markus nodded. “He did,” he said. “They belong to the brother of Roget’s mistress. It’s a long and complicated story. Let us retreat into the hall and I will explain everything over some food and drink.”
Patrick started to move, but Edward shook his head.
“I cannot,” he said. “Markus, I am only here to collect you. We have a date with your Uncle Scott for this evening and I do not want to delay. I have waited a long time to have a de Wolfe at my side, so this is a momentous occasion for me. It is time.”
He was smiling wearily and Markus knew he could not delay the inevitable.
He’d hoped to tell Edward of his decision over a pitcher of wine, to fully explain his reasons, but it looked as if that was not to be.
They were expecting him to depart with the king, and Markus could see his father smiling proudly at him.
He had known this moment was going to be difficult, but the more he looked at his father’s smiling face, the more difficult it became.
But not difficult when he thought on why he’d made this decision.
Amabella.
“My lord, I cannot go,” he said, looking Edward in the eyes.
“Though I am greatly honored by the appointment, I am afraid that I must decline. Every man has that moment in his life when he sees something greater than himself. I have had that moment, here at Trastamara. With the sincerest apologies to you, it is my intention to remain in the north, marry the woman of my choosing, and serve my father.”
Edward looked at him in surprise while Patrick looked at him in utter shock. “Marry?” Patrick repeated. “Since when? Have you been back to Bamburgh and Emmalina de Vesci?”