Atticus could see his point and it made him feel marginally better, but he was still wrestling with the inherent guilt that an attraction to his brother’s widow brought. But she was his wife now and that superseded everything, even the fact that she was Titus’ widow. He turned to his friend, forcing a smile.
“As always, you are the voice of reason,” he said. “But I cannot help the doubts that plague me. I hope they will go away in time, but at this moment, I am confused with what I feel and struggling to come to terms with it.”
Warenne patted him on the shoulder. “You will come to terms with it, of that I have no doubt,” he said. “But it is still too soon after Titus’ death for you to feel otherwise. Still, you will come to accept what you feel for her and the guilt will leave you. How doesshefeel? Have you even asked?”
Atticus shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “I would not know what to say to the woman. I am sure she views our marriage as a duty and nothing more. She is fulfilling Titus’ last request, as I am.”
Warenne knew women a bit better than Atticus did. Moreover, he had seen the way Lady Isobeau looked at her new husband. He knew there was something there, something buried deep in the woman’s heart, but he would not tell Atticus for the man would more than likely not believe him. He would have to discover it for himself.
“Mayhap someday you will ask her and she will be truthful,” he said rather generically. “Meanwhile, I have some serious issues of my own to deal with, issues that are consuming me.”
Atticus pulled his attention off of Isobeau and his feelings for her, looking to Warenne and seeing how saddened the man appeared. He felt for his friend.
“Whatever happens, Ren,” he said quietly, “if I must face you in battle at some point because you have sworn fealty to Edward… know that I consider you my closest friend. I will not lift a sword against you, no matter what. Loyalties and politics cannot destroy the bond between us.”
Warenne forced a brave smile but his eyes were moist. “This is a painful situation for me.”
“And for me. But do what you must and I will not love you less for it.”
Warenne patted him on the cheek and dropped his hand. “Nor I, you,” he muttered. “I must go home now and see if I can undo the damage done. I want my wife back. I want my family back. I am willing to do whatever is necessary to achieve that.”
Atticus nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Family above all. Were I in your shoes, I would more than likely do the same.”
Warenne nodded, reaching out to grasp Atticus’ hand one last time. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, a thousand silent words of brotherhood and friendship filling the air between them. There wasn’t much more either of them could say but Warenne made one last attempt.
“I am sorry I will be unable to see your vengeance through with de la Londe and de Troiu,” he confessed tightly. “But when you face them, Atticus… when you face them and you punish them… one of those sword thrusts to their bellies will have my name on it. For me, you will do this. Even if I am not with you there in body, I will be with you in spirit.”
Atticus nodded, feeling sad and emotional at Warenne’s departure. “I miss you already,” he whispered. “Safe travels, my friend. I hope you are able to bring your wife back.”
“As I am.”
“If you need me, send word. I will come.”
“I will.”
Atticus let go of Warenne, watching the man head down the steps and down into the inner ward where he would collect his horse and belongings and be along his way. His heart was heavy for Warenne, knowing what the man needed to face. He had always been so proud of his wife and children, and now this.
When the Earl of Thetford faded from view, Atticus turned back for the darkened corridor and resumed his path to Isobeau’s chamber. Still, his heart was heavy for his friend. Would he ever love his wife so much that he would do anything for her, too? At the moment, he couldn’t discount anything and he labored to shake off the sorrows of Warenne de Winter.
Isobeau’s door was shut and he rapped softly on it, calling her name. She didn’t answer immediately and he knocked again, louder this time. He had to knock two more times before he heard the latch lift from the other side and the door slowly creaked open.
Atticus found himself gazing into Isobeau’s oddly flushed face. She appeared very sleepy and his brow furrowed with concern as he stepped into the chamber.
“Are you feeling well?” he asked her. “Did I wake you?”
Isobeau stifled a yawn, covering her mouth. “I laid down to rest for a moment and fell asleep,” she said. “But I am packed. I am ready to depart.”
Atticus looked at her dubiously; he didn’t like her pallor. She simply didn’t look well. Reaching out, he put a hand to her forehead only to discover that she was quite warm. Seized with concern, he put his hand on her cheeks to realize that they were searing.
“Good Christ,” he hissed. “You are on fire.”
Confused, Isobeau put her hand to her own forehead even as Atticus was dragging her back over to the bed. “I am simply tired,” she said, refusing to admit that she had a fever. “I will be fine. We can leave whenever you wish.”
Atticus shook his head firmly and pushed her down onto the bed. “Lay down,” he commanded softly. “I am going to fetch the physic.”
Isobeau bolted to her feet. “Not your father’s physic,” she said, almost panicked. “I do not like that man.”
Atticus was trying to calm her. “I know you do not,” he said evenly. “But he is skilled. He will know what is the matter with you.”
