While the knights were watching her, however, Isobeau was watching Atticus. The past several days of travel had been verygood for the two of them in spite of the seriousness of their journey, and Isobeau had come to know a man who was very funny, very bright, and very quick to move no matter what the reasons or situation. He was brave beyond measure, unafraid of anything, and she gained new appreciation for the man she had married. The trip south with his comrades-in-arms had been an experience for her, witnessing the bonding of brothers-at-arms in a way she’d never had the opportunity to know. They would die for each other but they weren’t beyond a vicious joke or two. She found that out fairly early on.
Traveling through the town of Morecambe, they had lodged for the night in an inn that had no separate sleeping chambers, only a big dormitory on the second floor. Atticus had been rather perturbed about that, not having a private room for his wife, so he sat and brooded about it for the majority of the evening whilst Alec, Maxim, and Kenton had gone in search of another inn that had more suitable arrangements. But there were none to be found, at least not locally, so the men had returned after their unsuccessful venture and throughout the course of the evening, the younger knights had proceeded to become fairly drunk. Especially Maxim.
The young knight was chasing serving wenches about in spite of Atticus admonishing the man, so when he jumped up yet again to go chase after a wench he’d been trying to snag most of the night, Atticus and Kenton took his chair, loosened one of the legs, and put the chair back where Maxim had originally left it. Maxim returned, drunk and upset at yet another unsuccessful hunt, sat down heavily, and the chair promptly collapsed.
Unfortunately, Maxim hit his head on the table behind them and knocked himself unconscious in the fall, and Kenton had hauled the man up and taken him to the dormitory where he slept off his drunkenness with great snoring choruses. Even though Atticus and Kenton had giggled about the broken chairleg, it would seem that Maxim had the last laugh when he snored heavily all night. Isobeau, wrapped snug in her bed next to her husband, had silently laughed at her husband for a joke that didn’t work out for him. When Atticus realized she was laughing at him, he’d tickled her until she screamed for reprieve. Snoring, tickling and all, it had been one of the better nights of her life.
The journey south had seen great bonding between Isobeau and Atticus, and even though their purpose in traveling south was a serious one, Isobeau was grateful for the time she was able to spend with Atticus, time that saw them draw closer. The only trouble was that he had not touched her in the husbandly sense because they hadn’t been given any real time alone.
The trip south had seen them either camp in the open or seek shelter in taverns where they’d always had to share a room with Kenton or another knight. They’d shared a few stolen moments of very heated and lusty kisses, moments away from the others, but it hadn’t been nearly enough for a husband to be intimate with a wife. It had been both a frustrating and titillating problem, something Isobeau knew was eating away at Atticus. Having been married before, she knew when a man was aroused and Atticus seemed to be aroused around her quite often. She giggled while he groaned miserably.
But she pushed those carnal thoughts aside, knowing that the time would come at some point when he would claim his husbandly rights and eagerly awaiting that day. But this trip, this journey south, was for a singular purpose and on the morning of the fifteenth day, she had awoken alone in the bed she had shared with Atticus.
Lifting her head to look about, she noticed that the pallet against the wall was also vacant where it had once held Kenton. Both men were gone but in their wake they had left her a bowl of lukewarm water and a great hunk of cream-colored bread with a hard brown crust.
Isobeau had wolfed down the bread, washed in the water, and prepared for the coming day. In a durable traveling dress of brown wool that was heavy and comfortable, she had ridden behind Atticus for most of the day, refraining from rubbing her bum, and that was where she currently found herself. She was so concerned with finding a comfortable position on the saddle that when a distant castle came into view and Adam and de Royans suddenly spurred their horses forward, she was nearly pitched off her mare when the animal danced about excitedly.
Wellesbourne Castle had been sighted.
Isobeau could see it now on the horizon, a white-stoned castle that rose above the gently rolling, green hills of Warwickshire. Nestled near the River Dene, Wellesbourne Castle was a very tall but somewhat compact structure. As they drew closer, Isobeau drank in the sight of the fortress with its soaring walls the color of pearl. Great blocks of nearly white granite comprised the walls and, once inside the curtain wall, also comprised the keep. There were stables and trades off to the left in a surprisingly roomy bailey, knight’s quarters and other apartments to the right as they were built against the wall, and in front of her was a keep in the shape of a quatrefoil at least four stories high. It was an impressive sight to say the least.
As Isobeau gawked at the sheer height of Wellesbourne Castle’s keep, Atticus dismounted his beast and made his way over to his wife. He lifted his arms to her but she didn’t see him, still gazing up at the top of the keep. Atticus grinned.
“I promise to take you to the very top so you can see the views of the countryside,” he said. “But you must get off your horse first. Surely your backside must be sore.”
Jolted from her observations, Isobeau smiled as she slid down into his warm, wonderful embrace.
“It is,” she said. “How did you know?”
“How do you think weallknew?”
He snorted as he said it and Isobeau flushed with embarrassment as she rubbed at her bum. “Well, ithurts.”
He stopped laughing and kissed her forehead. Even when her feet touched the muddy ground, Atticus kept her in his grasp. His gaze upon her was warm.
“Not to worry, sweetling, although you provided quite a titillating show for Maxim and Alec,” he said, watching her make a menacing face at him. He grinned. “It will be a relief to sleep in a chamber of our own tonight, away from those frisky young knights. As much as I love and respect my men, if I have to hear Maxim snore one more time or be woken up by Alec fighting unseen assassins in his sleep, the top of my head will surely blow off from sheer frustration.”
Isobeau laughed. “Kenton is the only one who does not make any noise when he sleeps,” she said. “Many times I thought he was dead asleep but if I so much as breathed, he was instantly awake and ready to do battle.”
Atticus was forced to agree. “Such are the instincts of a trained knight,” he said, turning for the big keep with its wide stone steps when he heard voices.
The first thing he saw was Andrew Wellesbourne, greeting Kenton loudly, and right behind him he saw Adam hugging his blond-haired wife with great care. The woman was quite pregnant and Adam was trying to be very careful with her in his zeal.
Maxim and Alec were standing with Jasper de Llion, the big Wellesbourne knight having opened the gates for the party to enter. Atticus knew all of the Wellesbourne knights, including de Llion, because he had fought many battles with them and he realized he was rather proud to introduce Isobeau to them. It was the first time in his life, he realized, that he would take pride in someone other than himself. Even though their visit toWellesbourne was grave, there were some joyous factors to it and Isobeau was one.
“Come, wife,” he said. “Let us greet our host. I have a great deal of gratitude to express.”
Isobeau took his arm as he led her between horses, heading for the keep where everyone was gathering. They could see Andrew and Juston in deep conversation. Isobeau leaned in to Atticus, speaking quietly.
“Those men, Atticus,” she said, grasping for words. She couldn’t even really bring herself to speak their names any longer. “Those men who killed Titus– now that we have finally arrived, will you see them this very moment? Or will you wait?”
Atticus had been asking himself that same question for fifteen days. Would he take immediately to his task? Or would he wait, planning his attack, making sure that when he faced them that he had a plan so that he was guaranteed ultimate victory? The truth was that he saw no reason to wait. The sooner he finished with what he must do, the sooner he and Isobeau would be able to move on with their lives. For Titus’ sake, he didn’t want to wait. Titus deserved justice and he wanted de la Londe and de Troiu dead before sunset, which was fast on the approach. Nay, he didn’t want to wait at all.
“I will greet Lord Andrew and then see to my task,” he told her. “You will retreat inside with Lady Wellesbourne. I will come to you when it is finished.”
Isobeau came to a halt and he along with her. When he turned to look at her, curious as to why she had stopped, he could see the unhappiness in her expression.
“Nay, Atticus,” she said firmly. “You said this would be vengeance for us both. I will be present when you administer justice to these men.”
