Andrew was puzzled by the statement but suspected it was just another lie in a long line of de la Londe lies. He was an old man and had seen much, and was suspicious of everything, especially knights who would try to turn him against his own son.
“We shall see,” he said after a moment. “When my son arrives, you are free to tell him why your lies about my son were not of your free will.”
“There is much more to the situation than merely your son.”
“I would like to hear that, as well.”
De la Londe fell silent, refusing to say any more. He would wait until Wellesbourne left before speaking to de Troiu, in the darkness, and pulling together their plan. Now that they knew Adam Wellesbourne and the knights of Northumberland would soon be upon Wellesbourne Castle, they had to pull together a common defense. They had to convince their former friends and allies that the bonds of loyalty between them were not broken and that their association with Norfolk had been at great personal peril. More lies, to be sure, but there was little alternative.
They had to save themselves.
In the darkness, they awaited the arrival of their fate.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ionian scale in C– Lyrics to Memories
My eyes create a memory for my heart:
My lips create a memory for my soul.
A love that was never meant to be is stronger
Thanks words can ever make it so.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
Wolfe’s Lair
“When is thelast time you spoke to her?”
The softly uttered words came from Warenne. Atticus, trying to fix a long-shafted spear tip that seemed to be coming loose, heard the question and knew exactly who Warenne was speaking of but, in truth, he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. Doing what he’d done as of late, he simply ignored the question.
“Who?” he asked, then deliberately moved to change the subject. “Can you please have someone bring me more strips of leather? The smithy should have some. These spears are old but they are still serviceable. If Norfolk charges tonight, which all indications seem to be that we will have a second wave of their assault, then these spears will come in handy. So barbaric, though. I feel like a wild man pitching sharp sticks at my enemy.”
Warenne was fully aware that Atticus didn’t wish to speak of his wife; he’d spent six days refusing to discuss or addressthe woman. Ever since Alrik du Reims’ lifeless body had been hurled over the massive stone walls, landing in a heap in front of his horrified comrades, Atticus had refused to even mention Isobeau’s name. If Warenne hadn’t known better, he would have sworn there was agony in Atticus’ eyes over the situation with his wife. Warenne knew that Lady de Wolfe had been distraught over Atticus’ killing of du Reims and he was fairly certain terrible words had been spoken between the two as a result, but so far, Atticus hadn’t said a word about it. He kept his mouth shut.
But his manner was growing increasingly bitter and snappish as the days went on. He was professional and cool as always, and he had directed the defenses against Norfolk brilliantly, but as the days wore on, he seemed to grow more and more sullen. Warenne suspected it was because Atticus was greatly distressed over his wife. When he thought no one was looking, Atticus would glance back at the structure of Wolfe’s Lair in the direction of his mother’s former chamber where his wife now resided. He thought no one had noticed but Warenne had. Considering he was in anguish over what was happening with his own wife, Warenne well understood Atticus’ pain.
But Atticus wouldn’t speak of it and Warenne didn’t press, not until this morning when Atticus had practically shoved his father aside when the old man got in his way. That was very unlike Atticus. Therefore, Warenne thought he’d better speak with Atticus and see if he could ease his mind, or at least help him reason through whatever he was feeling. For all of their sakes, it had to be done. The tension surrounding Atticus because of the siege, and because of issues with his wife, was growing to splitting proportions.
“I will have someone fetch the smithy,” Warenne replied belatedly to Atticus’ question. “He will bring the leather to you. Now, answer my question; when is the last time you spoke to your wife?”
Atticus didn’t look up from his task. “The day du Reims died.”
“Why have you not spoken to her since?”
“Because I have nothing to say.”
“Not even to check on her well-being?”
“The servants would tell me if anything was wrong.”
Warenne was becoming less understanding with Atticus and more irritated. Foolishness always upset him and at this moment, he was under the opinion that Atticus was either being extremely cold or extremely foolish. Reaching out, he stilled the man’s hands as they wrapped a strip of leather around the wobbling spear tip.
“Enough of this, Atticus,” he said, his voice low. “When I should be heading home to speak with my wife, whom I would move the sun and moon to be with, I am here, at Wolfe’s Lair, watching you ignore a woman you are clearly fond of. Do not give me that look; I’ve seen that cynicism before. I’ve seen that aloof manner before, too. I have watched you ignore Lady de Wolfe for the past six days and I am offended by it. I amdeeplyoffended by it. You have an opportunity to be with your wife, to resolve whatever issues are between you two, yet you have soundly ignored her. I would give anything to be in your position with my wife only a few steps away from me, but I am not. I must remain in this God-forsaken fortress and look at your ugly face all day long. I am sick of it, do you hear? Now, stop acting like a foolish squire and go talk to the woman you married!”
By the time he was finished, Warenne was rather animated, which was unusual for the usually-collected young earl. Had Atticus not been so surprised by his tirade he would have been offended by it. Or he would have laughed. As it was, he walked a fine line between defending himself and agreeing to Warenne’s demands.
