Isobeau blinked, surprised by his reaction. “I… I simply wanted a few minutes alone with him,” she said. “When you gave me the opportunity to see him back at Alnwick, I fainted. I have not spoken to my husband at all and I wanted to tell him of the child. And of other things. I think I told him everything that has happened at Alnwick since he left. I thought he would want to know.”
She was tearing up by the time she finished, lowering her head and sniffling so he could not see her watery eyes. But Atticus knew she was weeping; he was coming to feel worse and worse about the way he’d treated her, especially after hearing what she had told Titus. There had been such joy in her wordsat first, and finally such sorrow. Was he really such a monster? Warenne had warned him of his behavior and now the words from Isobeau had suggested the same thing. Maybe he had been as selfish as they’d accused him of being. With a heavy sigh, he scratched his scalp wearily and sat on the edge of the wagon bed.
“He would want to know,” he agreed with her, having difficulty looking the woman in the eye. “My lady, if I have been selfish and rude and terrible, then I apologize. I begged your forgiveness once but it seems as if I have not amended my ways. That will end, now. You do, indeed, have the right to grieve my brother and you do, indeed, have a right to your own sense of vengeance towards those who caused his death. I promised my brother I would marry you and I shall, and I hope to make as excellent a husband as Titus did. I shall endeavor to do so. I pray that you will accept my proposal of marriage and know that the man you have seen over the past two days is not indicative of the man I am. Grief can do odd things to one’s soul. I am sorry you bore the brunt of it.”
By this time, Isobeau was listening to him quite seriously, wiping tears from her eyes. “I do not know what to say, in truth,” she said. “I told you that I do not want another husband. Titus should not have expected, nor have asked, us to wed.”
Atticus grunted, leaning forward on the wagon. “I thought so, too,” he said. “But then I tried to look at it from Titus’ perspective. Actually, someone else made me look at it from Titus’ perspective– if I had a wife I loved very much, it would be my first priority to ensure she was well taken care of. If the roles had been reversed, I am sure I would have begged Titus the same thing.”
Isobeau regarded him carefully. There was some indecision in her expression now, as if she hadn’t thought on Titus’ standpoint until this moment. After a pause of deliberation, of reflection, her gaze moved to the coffin she was leaning against.
“He should not have asked you such things,” she said quietly. “Sir Atticus, I release you from your vow to Titus. I know you do not wish to marry me and I do not wish to have another husband, so it is my intention to commit myself to a convent near to the place where Titus is buried. That way, I can visit him sometimes.”
Atticus already knew of her plan considering he had overheard her earlier, so he had already planned out his reply. He was careful yet truthful.
“My lady, if you commit yourself to a convent, it would not be in your best interest or in the child’s best interest,” he said. “As soon as the baby is born, it will be taken away from you and turned over to a family to foster. Did you think you would be able to keep your son with you? They will not allow it in the convent.”
She frowned. “Surely they would not separate a mother from her child.”
He shrugged. “You would not be a mother,” he said. “You would be a bride of Christ. Brides do not have babies.”
Evidently, the thought of being separated from her child had not occurred to her and she was visibly distressed. “I willnotlet them take my child,” she said flatly. “I would kill them if they tried.”
He looked at her; she had such a delicate face with a little upturned nose, wide eyes, and beautifully arched brows. More than that, she had lips that were ripe and lush, inviting a man’s lust. She was quite a ravishing creature, as he’d always noticed, but perhaps now he was noticing just a little more. She was an invariably strong woman, unafraid to stand up to him and unafraid to speak her mind.
So many pieces of a puzzle were coming together as he looked at her, disjointed pieces of the Isobeau puzzle that had been orbiting in his mind, things he realized about her but had never pulled together as a whole picture. He remembered thefirst time he ever saw her, telling his brother what a fortunate man he was to have such a beautiful bride. But after the wedding, he hadn’t spent any amount of time around Isobeau because Titus occupied all of her time, as he should have. But in the past two days, they had been thrown together in unpleasant circumstances that would have destroyed a lesser woman. Isobeau had stood strong through it all. As a result, Atticus was coming to think she was fairly extraordinary.
Come to know what Titus liked so well about the woman,Warenne had said. More and more, Atticus could see it. He was finally coming to understand her, one piece at a time.
“As would I, my lady,” he said quietly. “No one would take your child from you, my brother’s child, and live to tell the tale, so it is my suggestion that you forget about the convent and marry me instead. If you do not, I fear I am in for something quite terrible. You would actually be doing me quite a favor.”
Isobeau was still frowning as thoughts of baby-stealing nuns filled her mind. “Why?” she asked. “Whatever is the matter?”
Atticus averted his gaze, leaning against his brother’s coffin and picking at the imperfections of the wood.
“I have… well, it is quite embarrassing to admit it, but I have women that follow me about,” he said seriously, although he wasn’t serious in the least. “Do you have any idea what a prize I would be to any woman? Not only am I a de Wolfe, but I have earned a reputation for myself as a warrior above men. I have some wealth, of course, but every father with an eligible daughter from Newcastle to Hastings is clamoring after me, demanding I wed their daughters. Andwhatdaughters! Fat, short, skinny, tall, in all varieties and shapes. The Earl of Dorcester, for instance, hastwodaughters and has demanded I pick one. The man has promised me half of Dorset if I do but in order to obtain such wealth, I have to choose between a womanwith a mustache and her sister with no neck and a bald spot on her head. What am I to do?”
Isobeau forgot about baby-stealing nuns and was grinning at Atticus’ distress. He was, in fact, pretending to be quite upset, but Isobeau sensed that he was mostly acting for her benefit. It was quite humorous, actually, because she had no idea that the man had such a personality. She had only seen him serious or angry, or both, so this comical side was unexpected. It was also attractive. She clucked sadly.
“That is truly a shame, Sir Atticus,” she said with feigned concern. “I would think in such a case, you may want to take the woman with the mustache. She can always shave it off. Mayhap she would not be so bad if she did.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, leaning his head against Titus’ coffin in mock misery. He hoped his brother was hearing him because they had shared many a laugh over the same subjects, mostly Titus teasing him about the women that really did follow him around. With his striking dark looks and chiseled features, Atticus had more than his share of female admirers.
“Mayhap,” he said, his voice muffled because he was leaning against his arm. “She is not unattractive in a way. If only her eyes focused in the same direction, she would be nearly pleasant to look at.”
Isobeau put a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. “She is cross-eyed?”
“That is putting it kindly.”
Isobeau couldn’t help the laughter now. She put a hand on the coffin lid and leaned into it. “Titus?” she asked. “Do you hear your brother? He is attempting to coerce me into marriage with tales of cross-eyed maids!”
Atticus’ grin broke through and he put his mouth against the coffin lid. “You will confirm whatever I tell her, do you hear?” he told his brother. “Tell her it is true! Tell her of thedaughter of the Lord Mayor of Manchester and how the woman sent me gifts for three solid months. Tell her how I had to hide when the woman and her father showed up at Alnwick seeking to negotiate a marriage contract. Tell her how Percy had to entertain them for the night and then he tried to beat me afterwards because they were both terrible creatures with terrible manners. He blamed me for them setting foot in his beloved Alnwick.”
Isobeau was giggling uncontrollably. “Lord Henry didnotbeat you.”
Atticus nodded firmly. “He most certainly tried,” he said. “He even threw a chicken bone at me. He was furious that I had brought those obnoxious people down upon him.”
Isobeau was laughing so much that she was struggling to catch her breath. “It was not your fault,” she said. “It was not as if you invited them.”
