“In the missive he sent me, he told me to go to Wigmore Castle,” Tate replied. “I would assume he has taken her there.”
Isabella was pale with shock, her mind focused on her lover and the fact that he had Tate’s wife in his company. It did not sit well with her. She rubbed her chin in thought, her gloved hand drifting over her cheeks as she pondered the situation. Then her hazel eyes fixed on him.
“So why have you come to me?” she asked, somewhat suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”
Tate cocked an eyebrow at her. “You will do everything in your power to have my wife returned to me immediately,” he told her in a tone she had rarely heard from him. “I will not tell you how you must achieve this. I believe you can figure it out.”
Isabella looked uncomfortable, fiddling with her gloves. “He may not listen to me,” she said softly. “He has a very strong will.”
Tate would not be put off by a weak woman. He gazed steadily at her. “I have eight thousand men converging on Wigmore Castle as we speak,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “If you do not convince Roger to release my wife, then I will lay siege to the castle and destroy it. And when it is breached, I will destroy Roger. Have no doubt that I can do this. And if my wife is harmed in any way, I will make sure that Roger’s family suffers the consequences because my vengeance will know no limits. Is this in any way unclear? I am giving you the chance to save the man who saved you from your husband. If you fail, I will destroy him.”
She looked at Tate with naked fear. “Please do not harm him. He may be foolish at times but he is not evil.”
God, the woman is blind, Tate thought. “He is inherently evil, Iz,” he said, more gently. “This man has been trying to kill your son for two years and you have done nothing to stop him. Why do you think I took the king with me? To protect him. We have been running from Roger for two long years but I will notrun any longer. Roger has crossed the line and I will kill him if he does not release my wife unharmed.”
Isabella’s eyes were filling with tears. “Where is my son?”
Tate would not be shifted of the subject. “He is still with me, strong and healthy and alive,” he put his hands on her upper arms, gripping her tightly. “Listen to me and listen well; when I leave here, I ride for Wigmore. You may ride with me to talk some sense into Mortimer when we arrive. If you do not ride with me, then know that I ride to kill him. The choice is yours.”
She sniffled delicately into a lace handkerchief. “Is that why you have come? To threaten me?”
“I have come to seek your help in the release of my wife. That is all I care about.”
She wept quietly into her hand for a few moments. Tate stood there and watched her, not at all sorry he had made her cry. The situation with her son was a perfect example of the fact that she lived in her own world of denial and he was not going to allow her to do it this time. He wanted her help and he was going to get it. More than the might of an army, Isabella would be the one to sway Mortimer. He would listen to her.
“Will you help me, Iz?” he asked softly, adding leadingly: “My wife is very beautiful. There is no telling how she has caught Mortimer’s eye.”
Isabella looked at him with her watery eyes, shocked. “Why do you say such things?”
“Because you know him as well as I do. He cannot control himself around a beautiful woman and neither you nor I would want to deal with the consequences of that.”
She sobbed louder, muffled in her hand. “He would not do that to me.”
“Aye, he would,” Tate shook her gently. “Please help me, Iz. I want my wife back. I love her. Please help me.”
She sniffled and sobbed a few moments longer before looking at him again with her red-rimmed eyes.
“All right, Tate,” she whispered. “You win. But I want something as well.”
“What is it?
“You must allow me to see my son.”
Tate sighed heavily; she was shrewd when she wanted to be. Tate had kept Edward from her for two years because he was afraid any contact with his mother would lead to Mortimer getting ahold of the boy. This time, however, Tate would have to relent. At least for now.
“Agreed,” he granted softly. “Get your women together and your escort. We leave for the Marches by noon.”
He took Isabella back to the castle, handed her off to her women, and collected his charger. As he rode back to his base camp through the softly falling snow, all he could feel was a tremendous sense of anxiety. He wanted Toby back more desperately with each passing moment and was having a difficult time controlling his impatience. He knew that Roger would not harm her but he also knew the man was an opportunist and had an eye for beautiful women. And Toby was certainly beautiful. As he thought of Mortimer trying to seduce Toby, he began to grind his jaw. He trusted his wife but he also protected what was his. The more he thought of it, the more tightly he clenched his teeth. Eventually, he bit his tongue.
When he reached base camp, Stephen thought he had been in a fight for all of the blood that was coming out of his mouth.
*
Wigmore Castle, Herefordshire
It was ashockingly clear day in February. The snow was heavy on the ground, several feet deep in some places, but the skywas blue and the sun shone weakly. The fair weather was all Roger needed to force everyone outside for some sport. He had selected archery as the game of choice and had the field north of Wigmore transformed into an archery range. Half the castle had turned outside to watch.
Toby had been forced outside as well; having been given access to Roger’s wife’s wardrobe upon her arrival to Wigmore, she was glorious this day in a heavy blue brocade with gray fox lining that was a little too snug for her. Roger’s wife, Joan, was a tiny woman and Toby was a bit taller and a bit heavier, which made the gowns and shifts strain against her. Adding to this situation was the fact that all Toby had done for weeks was continuously eat, giving her a deliciously curvy figure. The woman was mouthwatering to look at with curvy hips and full breasts. Roger went into a pant every time he was around her.
