Atticus was still lingering on de la Londe and de Troiu. “Of course I will select a man worthy of her,” he assured him. “You do not even have to ask, Brother. I will make sure she is well taken care of by someone who will treat her with respect and kindness.”
“I meant you, Atticus.”
Atticus’ eyebrows lifted in surprise and astonishment. “Me?” he repeated. “You want me to marry your wife?”
Titus squeezed his hand, although the gesture was weaker than it had been only moments earlier. It was clear his life was fading. “You are the only man I trust,” he whispered. “Atticus, she is all to me. These past two months that she has been my wife have been the two most wonderful months of my life. I know you will be kind to her and that you will respect her. It is most important that you marry her, Atticus. I… I could not bear it if another man were to have her.”
Atticus tried to keep the look of horror off his face. “Titus, I… I cannot marry,” he said. “Not her, not anyone. You know this.You know my mind and future is not focused on a wife. There is the battle in support of Henry, now more important than ever as Edward takes the throne.”
Titus would not be put off. “Youmustmarry her.”
“And you would have her widowed twice if anything happens?” Atticus hissed. “I will not stop fighting if I marry her, Titus. She will be secondary to my vocation.”
Titus looked at him;reallylooked at him. Tears began to stream from his eyes and down his temples. “Please,” he begged, a tight whisper. “Isobeau is the most important thing in the world to me. Please marry her and be kind to her. I will trust you, Atticus. You must do this for me.”
Titus’ tears poked holes in Atticus’ resistance. In fact, it destroyed his resistance altogether. He was shocked to see the tears, the emotion, coming from Titus, who had perhaps been one of the strongest and most emotionless people he knew. But in this brief conversation, he could see one thing clearly; Titus’ new wife was much more entrenched in her husband’s heart than Atticus could have ever guessed. He was, frankly, astonished. He never suspected Titus capable of such emotion. Squeezing his brother’s fingers again, he placed a big hand on the man’s forehead.
“As you wish,” he said, giving in without another word of argument. “I will… marry her and take care of her. You needn’t worry. Isobeau will be well tended.”
Titus closed his eyes, emitting a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered sincerely. “I can die in peace knowing she is taken care of. Bless you, Atticus. And for the years of being my brother and sharing a bond with me that few men know, I thank you. I love you very much.”
Now, the tears were returning to Atticus’ eyes, but this time he could not stop them.Is this really the end?He thought.Is this really the last time I will ever speak with my brother?
“And I love you,” he whispered tightly for the lump in his throat. “You are my older brother, Titus. I have always worshiped you. I am not sure how I am going to go on without your guidance and your wisdom.”
Titus opened his eyes, although it was a struggle. The peculiar numbness in his legs had now reached his chest. It was difficult to breathe.
“But you will,” he ordered. “You will go on and you will do great things. You are The Lion of the North, a man so fierce that your reputation borders on myth. You are the greatest de Wolfe of all. Know that I am proud, Atticus… so very proud that you are my brother. It… it has been an honor….”
He faded off. Atticus didn’t try to stop the tears now; they streamed down his cheeks as he bent over his brother. “Titus?” he asked hoarsely. “Titus, can you hear me?”
There was no response. Northumberland’s personal surgeon, who had been standing behind Atticus during the exchange, moved around Atticus and put his fingers on Titus’ neck. After a moment, he lifted both eyelids and peered into the glazed eyes. Then, he looked at Atticus and shook his head.
“He is gone, my lord,” he said quietly.
Atticus released his grip on Titus, his hands flying to his head as if to hold back the explosion of grief that was building.
“Nay,” he breathed. “He is not gone. Not yet.”
The surgeon nodded his head again, glancing over at Warenne, who had also been watching the exchange. There was great concern on Warenne’s features as Atticus went into denial.
“I am afraid he is,” the surgeon said, putting himself between Atticus and his dead brother. “I will make sure your brother is properly cleaned and prepared for the return home. I will take care of him, my lord, I swear it. Mayhap you should go with Thetford now. Go with him, Sir Atticus. There is nothing more you can do for your brother.”
Atticus stared at the man, his hands still on his head, as if hardly understanding what he was being told. His gaze moved back to Titus, who was pale and still upon the pallet. In fact, he seemed rather peaceful. Atticus pushed the surgeon aside and put his hands on his brother.
“But he is still warm,” he insisted.
He knew it was a stupid thing to say even as he said it. The surgeon shook his head again, motioning to Warenne, who quickly came forward.
“He is dead, my lord,” the surgeon said again, removing Atticus’ hand and gently pushing the knight towards Warenne. “Please go with the earl now. I will take good care of your brother.”
Atticus’ first instinct was to resist, to deny what he had been told, but he knew deep in his heart that the surgeon was correct. Titus was truly dead. Atticus had seen far too much death in his lifetime and should have been conditioned to it, but he found when it came to Titus that he was not. He wasn’t conditioned at all. Still, he had to maintain control. He couldn’t let others see him in an emotional state. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he steeled himself against the reality of Titus’ demise. The truth was that he was numb.
Quickly, he wiped any remaining tears from his face and stood up even as the earl came to him and tried to help him. Atticus shook the man off, though not unkindly.
“I will take him back to the Lair,” he said, sounding hollow and matter-of-fact. Grief had him reeling. “He will be buried there with our mother.”
Warenne was watching Atticus closely, with great regret. He could see that the man was off-balance, stunned. “Of course, Atticus,” he agreed softly. “Shall I send a messenger to Wolfe’s Lair to inform Solomon de Wolfe of his son’s passing?”
