Chapter Fourteen #5
Atticus’ expression remained emotionless, following her as she attempted to crawl up the steps to get away from him. “I will not leave you alone,” he said. “Do you not understand what happened in there, Isobeau? I saved your life.”
She was climbing up the stairs on all fours, struggling to get away from him.
She was nearly hysterical at that point, laboring to control her breathing.
She simply couldn’t wipe the image of the dead knight from her memory, a man who had spoken so lovingly of his children.
It was heartbreaking in more ways than one.
“Catrina,” she gasped. “His wife’s name is Catrina. He has three daughters – Charlotte, Cassandra, and Annabelle. Annabelle is crippled. You did to them what de la Londe and de Troiu did to me. You took their husband and father away, and you did not have to do it. You murdered him!”
She was shouting at him by the time she was finished and Atticus’ emotionless fa?ade was starting to crack.
He was starting to understand what had her so upset, the taking of a man from his wife and children.
She put it in context that both of them could understand; you did to them what de la Londe and de Troiu did to me!
Aye, he understood that very well. But she didn’t see the other side of it, the warring side, the side of honor where a man threatening another man’s wife would guarantee that man’s death.
She understood none of what was in Atticus’ heart.
“I was protecting you,” he said, struggling not to let the emotion she was exhibiting bleed out onto him. Infect him. “Du Reims had nothing to lose; he was going to kill you. I had a choice to make between sparing his life and saving yours. Did you truly think I would let the man kill you?”
Halfway up the steps to the upper level, Isobeau came to a halt. She dry heaved as nothing was coming up. She refused to look at Atticus, standing on the step below her.
“He would not have killed me,” she breathed, feeling ill and overwhelmed.
“He was frightened, Atticus. All he wanted to do was see his wife and children again and you took him away from them. Now they will face the same grief that you and I have faced over Titus’ death but mayhap that means nothing to you.
Mayhap life in general means nothing to you.
Is that the kind of man you are? Do you treat all life so callously? ”
Atticus simply stood there, trying not to feel wounded by her words.
Each one of them was like a dagger, impaling him, drawing blood.
His heart began to hurt in a way he never knew it could ache.
All of it was swirling around him, causing him pain and turmoil.
He didn’t know what to say because, God help him, she made some sense. He didn’t like that she made sense.
“Go to your chamber and bolt it,” he told her, his voice oddly hollow and raspy. “You will not come out until I tell you to, not even to help the wounded. Is that clear?”
Isobeau pushed herself off the stair, rising unsteadily to her feet. “But your men are suffering,” she said, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. “I can help them. Even if you are cruel and unfeeling, I am not.”
He was deeply hurt by her words when they should not have bothered him at all. He’d heard worse. But coming from her lovely lips, her words stung. He wasn’t used to being stung by someone he cared for and lashed out at her.
“Your desire to help men and disobey my orders is what got another man killed,” he snapped, watching her turn sharply to him, utter distress on her face.
God, he couldn’t look at her. Her distress was eating away at him.
He turned away and headed down the steps.
“If there is anyone to blame, then blame yourself. Now, go to your chamber and stay there. If I have to tell you again, I will lock you in the vault until all of this is over.”
Isobeau didn’t say anything more, watching the man as he headed down the steps and into the muddy, bloody bailey.
He was heading for the wall, back to his warring ways.
Isobeau watched him as he walked, realizing he wasn’t stalking as he usually did.
His movements seemed to be labored, as if he were exhausted or as if…
as if there were things on his mind. Perhaps guilt at killing a man he didn’t need to kill.
She wondered.
What kind of man have I married?
Someone who killed for her without hesitation.
Although she was still devastated by du Reims’ death, shaken by the brutality of it, there was a part of her that was glad Atticus was willing to kill for her.
Without hesitation, knowing she was in danger, he had done precisely that.
He was following his instincts, instincts that had him protecting her above all else.
His wife. Perhaps she shouldn’t have become so angry with him.
He was only doing what he had been trained to do.
With a heavy heart, she headed up the stairs and made way to her chamber.
The siege continued into the night and on into the next day.