“I swear that you shall be avenged,” he pledged. “As I live and breathe, I shall punish those who have done this to you. It will be my all for living, the force that drives me. I swear your death shall not be in vain. You will be well remembered, Titus. But those who did this to you will pay.”
With a final kiss to Titus’ cooling cheek, he lay his brother back down and very nearly ran from the tent. Only outside, in the freezing weather and the blanket of white across the ground, did he let the tears fall unashamedly.
For Titus, he finally wept.
CHAPTER TWO
Ionian scale in C– Lyrics to My Heart Awakens
As the sun will rise, my heart awakens.
Your voice is beauty to my ear, my soul cannot be contained.
As I watch the sun rise, it reflects my longing,
’Tis only you I dream of, the hope for love is restored.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
Alnwick Castle
April 04, 1461 A.D.
The weather hadbeen fickle, petulant, and quite mad.
At least, that is how she looked at it, but at the moment it was behaving itself. From the snows that had fallen at the end of March to the very spring-like weather they were currently experiencing, it was enough to make one’s head swim. The earth, now warmed by the weak sun that had decided to emerge from behind the veil of winter, was becoming alive with blooms and blossoms and little creatures that liked to dart about the fields. Even the bugs were celebrating, swarming and dancing upon the newly green earth. It was, in truth, delightful.
Lady de Wolfe, known personally as Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, was experiencing the first real freedom from heavy winter cloaks and scratchy woolen garments in months. The day was a bit cool but certainly nothing like it had been. She was dressed in a gown of linen, lavender in color, with long sleevesand a snug bodice. The shift underneath was the softest wool possible, giving her some warmth against the cool breezes, but for the most part she relished in the weak sunlight as she stood in a field northeast of Alnwick’s walls close to the River Aln, running her horse in circles with a lead and giving the big mare some exercise. Having been cooped up in a stall for weeks on end, the big, white mare was nearly as stir-crazy as her mistress was. As Isobeau held on to the lead and let the horse run in circles around her, she laughed as the animal literally kicked up her heels. The horse was happy, too. For the moment, all was well in the world.
Her husband had given her the horse as a wedding gift. She smiled as she thought of Titus, perhaps the most handsome and powerful knight in all the realm. He was very kind and very funny at times, and she was quite fond of him even though theirs had been a contract marriage.
Isobeau’s father, Calpurnius de Shera, had contracted with his friend Solomon de Wolfe many years ago when Titus had been fifteen years of age and Isobeau had been two. At the time, it had seemed like quite an age difference but when they were finally married when Isobeau turned twenty-one years (because her father could not stand to part with her any sooner), their difference in ages was nothing at all. Titus, who had been initially reluctant to the marriage, had forgotten any resistance when he’d set eyes upon his stunningly beautiful bride. He took back every nasty thing he’d ever said about his father, her father, and the union in general. He had been smitten with her from the start.
With pale blond hair and green eyes, Isobeau was all shades of lovely. He had also discovered that his new bride was also very sweet and rather animated, with a wicked sense of humor, but she was also very quick to temper. She didn’t have much of a calm demeanor, something blamed on her ancestor, the greatThunder Warrior Maximus de Shera. Family legend had it that he was quick to temper as well. But along with the ancestral temper, Isobeau also had the brilliant de Shera mind. She never forgot anything and she could read, write, and do math sums in her head. Those particular traits that would have shocked some men impressed him greatly.
Titus and Isobeau had spent the two weeks following their wedding coming to know one another, spending nearly every waking moment together, until the Earl of Northumberland mobilized his army and took it south, into Yorkshire, to intercept troops loyal to Edward. Isobeau didn’t pay much attention to war although, as a de Shera, she should have. She was much more interested in her horses, her cats, and in the songs she wrote. She loved music and would play her harp to accompany herself as she sang, a talent that had seriously enraptured Titus. But her husband’s departure with the earl’s army made her more aware of the battle for the English throne than she wanted to be. She hated to see him go.
So she focused on the things she loved in his absence and mostly on the music she liked to write. Since Isobeau had been a child, she had a great love of music and having been taught to write at a young age, she was able to put the words and music in her head down to parchment. Her father’s solar had been covered with pieces of parchment or vellum that she had scribbled songs upon. There was more of Isobeau’s writing in Calpurnius’ chamber than there was of his, but Calpurnius had loved it. His wife had died when his children, Tertius and Isobeau, were very young, so for a very long time it had only been the three of them. His children were his life until Isobeau’s marriage to Titus de Wolfe had changed that.
But not too terribly much. She was still her father’s daughter, now with a husband she had grown quite fond of. Her song writing had increased with the event of a new husband whohad soon departed after their wedding, and she learned to pass the days of his absence by creating music for Titus. They were sweet songs, perhaps a bit naïve and adoring, alluding to their life together and a future she was looking forward to. She was particularly fond of one calledThe Heart Awakensbecause it said everything that she was feeling. She couldn’t wait to sing her songs for Titus, accompanying herself on the harp her father had brought all the way from Italy, and she hoped that Titus would understand what had transpired in her heart during his absence. She hoped he felt the same. She also couldn’t wait to tell him of the child she was carrying.
Smiling at the thought of her baby, she put a hand to her still-flat belly. She was fairly certain of the pregnancy, as her menses had stopped, and Lady Percy’s personal physician had confirmed it.A son. She was positive that she was carrying a de Wolfe son, one who would be a great knight just as his father and his uncle, the man who was called The Lion of the North, were. Thoughts briefly shifted to Atticus de Wolfe, a new brother she’s barely said just a few words to because he was always so busy with Northumberland’s business, but she hoped the great knight would take the time to help train his new nephew. She was certain that with Titus’ request that he would. Therefore, her son would be trained by the finest.
Somewhere in her daydreams of Titus and their child, Isobeau had lain down upon the cool grass, gazing up at the bright blue sky as her mind wandered. Her horse’s lead was still in her hand but the horse had stopped running circles and was now grazing next to her. She finally sat up and looked around, wondering how she had ended up on the ground. Thoughts of her husband often did that. On days like this, with peace across the bucolic countryside, it was hard to believe there was a war going on. She was anxious for Titus’ safety and anxious for him to return so that they could get on with the rest of their lives.
“Isobeau!”
Isobeau turned in the direction of her shouted name, shading her eyes from the sun. She could see three girls approaching; the older girl carried a toddler in her arms while the third girl, her age somewhere between the other two, waved her arms wildly and ran in Isobeau’s direction.
“Is-o-BEAU!” the child shouted.
Isobeau grinned at the three Percy women, daughters of the earl and his wife, Eleanor. Margaret, the eldest at fifteen, had taken to Isobeau right away because she had recently lost her older sister to marriage. The next daughter, Eleanor, or Ella as they called her, was the blond six-year-old with a wild streak in her, whilst the baby, Elizabeth, was sweet and affectionate. How Isobeau loved tending Elizabeth; she hoped for a daughter such as her someday. After her mighty son, of course.
“Greetings, Ella!” she waved at the small child as the girl ran to her. Eleanor plopped in her lap and Isobeau hugged the child. “Where have you been?”
Eleanor wrapped her small arms around Isobeau’s neck and squeezed enthusiastically. “With Mam,” she said. “Mam says you must come inside, Is. She says to hurry.”
Eleanor always called her “Is”, but it came out of the child’s mouth sounding like “Eees”. By this time, Margaret was upon her, rocking baby Elizabeth on her hip. Isobeau looked to the older Percy girl curiously. “What is the matter?” she asked Margaret. “Why must I come inside the gates?”
