Warenne, wishing it was his wife he was about to go and speak with, was more than happy to provide such help.
*
Seven days.
It had been seven days since Isobeau and Atticus had spoken to one another. Seven long and miserable days of angst, confusion, isolation, and sorrow, at least for Isobeau. They hadbeen some of the worst days of her life in a long line of terrible days that had seen her suffer through much heartache and sorrow for many different reasons. But this latest brush with anguish between her and Atticus was particularly sad. The hope she had built up for the marriage and future was in danger of being destroyed.
She had remained in her chamber as Atticus had ordered. She hadn’t moved from it. Therefore, it had become her prison as well as her refuge. She knew every line in the floorboards and every crack in the walls. She had packed and repacked her trunks several times. She had even taken to sweeping the floor and cleaning out the hearth simply to stave off boredom. The servants would bring word of the progress of the siege and it seemed that, for the past several days, things had been mostly calm with Norfolk’s army simply camping around Wolfe’s Lair and evidently rethinking their strategy. Atticus, she had been told, had rarely left the wall and had taken to sleeping in the gatehouse. The man was living and breathing the defenses of his ancestral home.
With the situation moderately calm, Isobeau’s frenzied pacing and frantic packing and re-packing her trunks had ceased. The swift, agitated movements had been in response to her great worry for the situation and, although she wouldn’t admit it, her fear for Atticus’ safety. His swift actions against Alrik du Reims seven days past seemed like a lifetime ago and she’d awoken for the past two mornings wondering if she’d merely dreamed it. It seemed surreal and distant, and all of the sorrow and rage and fear she’d felt towards Atticus because of it had faded from memory. All that was left was an empty, hollow shell.
She didn’t even know what her life was worth any longer or what it was meant to be. So much had happened since she’d been informed of Titus’ death on that cold day those weeks agothat it seemed as if she’d lived a hundred years in a very short amount of time. One thing she did know, however, was that she was alone and the incident with du Reims had more than likely ruined any hope of her and Atticus ever having a pleasant marriage. She was positive he hated her and she, in turn, wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about him. He was The Lion of the North, a knight who had gained a brutal reputation at a very early age. She’d seen evidence of that reputation quite clearly when he’d fought Norfolk’s two knights and then again when he’d saved her from du Reims. He was a man to be feared, a man of brutality.
He was also a man she was most fond of. God, she ached for him.
Miserable and confused, on this seventh day after the siege of Wolfe’s Lair had begun, she had arisen early to sweep her floor, make over her bed, and refold the scarves in one of her smaller capcases. The two serving women of Wolfe’s Lair had slept in her chamber also and they had been free to come and go, moving about their usual business and, as Isobeau had heard, helping with the wounded in the great hall. She’d also heard that Solomon de Wolfe had risen from his bed and was now making a nuisance out of himself as he tried to take command of the fortress from Atticus. In a sense, she was glad she was confined to her chambers so that she would not add to Atticus’ burden. Perhaps it was best that she had remained secluded and out of the way.
So she sat at her small table later in the day, having finished her monotonous chores, with the remnants of her meal around her, bits of cheese and a crust of bread. The oily-skinned serving wench had managed to find an egg beneath one of their frightened chickens and she had scrambled it for Isobeau, who had eaten it happily with bread that had been toasted. Her appetite was coming back after her brush with bad health andthere was color in her cheeks once again. She looked entirely beautiful and delicious as she sat at the table and used some of the precious thread her father had bought for her on a sleeve she was embroidering on one of her shifts. It was something more to pass the time, something more to try and help her forget her troubles.
Working on the form of a dragonfly with pale blue silk thread, she was deep into her project when there was a soft rap on the door. Since it wasn’t locked because the female servants were coming and going, she bade the caller enter.
Warenne stepped into the chamber, smiling weakly when he saw Isobeau’s shocked expression. The sewing in her hands froze.
“My lord,” she said, rising from her chair. “Is everything well? Is… nothing has happened, has it?”
Warenne’s smile grew at the sight of her; he was pleased to see that she was anxious at his appearance and he swore that she was going to ask about Atticus before shifting to a generic question. It was simply a feeling he had. Moreover, it was a pleasure to simply look upon her and he knew the sight would have softened Atticus’ stubborn heart if he were only to see her, just for a moment, dressed in a dusky blue shade, her woolen dress was snug and clinging, emphasizing her utterly divine figure. In fact, Warenne had to make a conscious effort not to look at the beautiful, full breasts that were in his line of sight. He kept his focus on her face.
“Nothing has happened, Lady de Wolfe,” he replied. “I have simply come to see how you are faring. Have you been well?”
Isobeau nodded, feeling a distinct amount of disappointment that the earl had come to see to her well-being and not Atticus. It was difficult to keep her disappointment off her face.
“I am quite well,” she said, lowering her gaze and reclaiming her seat. She pretended to be disinterested in his appearance now. “And my husband? Is he well?”
“He is quite well.”
“Did he throw that knight over the wall?”
“He did it many days ago. But you were already aware of that.”
Isobeau could see that Warenne would defend Atticus’ actions. She wasn’t surprised. “What of the siege?” she asked, moving away from the events of the past. “Is it over?”
Warenne shook his head. “It is not,” he replied. “Norfolk backed off for a few days but we expect a siege in earnest tonight beneath the full moon. It will be quite dangerous for us, in fact.”
As he’d hoped, that seemed to jolt Isobeau. She stood up again, looking at him with great concern. “Is this true?” she said fearfully. “What will you do? How will we protect ourselves?”
Warenne shrugged. “We will simply take cover until it is over,” he said. “You will remain here, of course. It is the safest place for you. But Atticus… well, as you know, he is directing the defenses of Wolfe’s Lair and doing a marvelous job. He will be in the most danger because of his constant need to assess the situation. I am worried for him, actually.”
Isobeau was quite clearly seized with fear for Atticus. She put her fingers over her lips in a gesture of great concern. “Sweet Jesus,” she muttered. “He must take great care.”
Warenne was trying not to smile at her reaction to Atticus being in danger because it was plainly obvious that she cared a great deal about it. She cared a great deal abouthim.
“I have tried to tell him but he will not listen to me,” Warenne said, completely manipulating her emotions. “Mayhap… mayhap ifyoutell him, my lady, he will listen.”
Isobeau seemed to back down somewhat. “He… he does not wish to hear it from me, I am sure,” she said, averting her gazeand moving over to the table that held her sewing kit. “We said quite enough to each other on the day du Reims was murdered. I am sure he does not wish to speak with me, but I thank you for coming to tell me of the situation. I will pray for everyone’s good health.”
Warenne would not be deterred. “We say many things in fear or anger that we do not mean,” he said, eyeing her. “I am sure that when you told him to go away and leave you that you did not mean it.”
She looked at him, then. “Did he tell you I said that?”
