Sniffling into her wadded kerchief, Isobeau shook her head. “It does not matter who told me,” she said, sobbing quietly. “The end result is the same. I have been informed of my husband’s death.”
Atticus watched her a moment; his guard had been up upon entering the room but he could feel himself easing as he came to understand that Isobeau was mourning Titus just as he was. Whether or not he was openly sobbing like she was, they still had that grief in common. That horrific bond of anguish connected them. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure what to say to her so he just started talking. Unfortunately, he gave forth all of thewarmth one would when discussing the weather or planning a battle. He came across as unfeeling, cold, and without tact.
“I was with Titus before he died,” he told her. “His last words were of you, my lady. He asked that I marry you because he said he could not stand it if another man became your husband, so I agreed to his request. We will be taking Titus back to Wolfe’s Lair for burial next to my mother and as soon as he is buried, I will marry you because I do not feel comfortable doing it whilst he is still above ground. There is something inherently disrespectful about that.”
By this time, Isobeau was looking at him with shock. She had stopped sobbing, now staring open-mouthed at Atticus.
“He… he asked you to marry me?” she repeated, aghast. “But… this is of no offense towards you, Sir Atticus, but I do not wish to marry you. I have just lost my husband and already I must consider remarriage? I will not!”
Atticus was actually offended although he tried not to be. He should have been relieved, for it would have made an easy excuse not to marry the woman. She didn’t want him and he didn’t want her. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he had expected from her, but a straight denial hadn’t been a possibility. A man of considerable pride, her refusal was enough to put a nick in the wall of his composure, enough of a nick to weaken him. His jaw ticked as his stinging reply was formed.
“What you want is of no concern,” he said, his voice hard. “You will do as Titus asked and so will I, regardless of my personal feelings. My brother asked me to take care of you and I promised him I would. Why should this bother you so much? You act as if you have been married to my brother for years rather than months. Two months ago, you did not even know the man so I find your tears at his passing insulting to say the very least. I have been with my brother for all thirty-three years of my life and if anyone has a right to tears, it is I, so spare meyour fabricated grief. You did not know my brother as I did and therefore have no right to act as if your grief is stronger than mine.”
He spouted nasty words, words that shocked and upset Isobeau so much that she visibly flinched when he was finished. Still seated in the chair by the hearth, she could see that he was truly serious. He meant what he said. Isobeau had barely had a few words with the man prior to this moment so to see his bitterness, his pure hardness, was truly something to behold. But in that bitterness she saw the depths of his grief; something flickering in the green eyes told her that he was feeling much more than his stiff demeanor let on. But that feeling did not excuse his rudeness.
“Mayhap I only knew him for a few weeks at most, but in those weeks, I became quite fond of him,” she said, her voice trembling from anger and hurt. “He was kind and he was affectionate. I mourn for a wonderful life cut short with a man I was quite fond of and I will not let you take that away from me. How dare you even try, Atticus de Wolfe! How dare you try to diminish what I am feeling! How would you even know? You do not know me at all!”
Atticus remained cool. “I am not attempting to take anything away from you,” he said. “I am stating quite clearly that you have no right to mourn someone you only knew a matter of days before he left for war.”
Isobeau couldn’t believe what she was hearing from the man’s mouth. Was it possible he was so cold? His words were devastating. But was it even possible that he was correct? Did she even have a right to mourn a man she had barely known before he left her to go to war? Not only had he upset her, but now he confused her. Agitated, overwhelmed, she growled at him.
“Get out of this room and leave me alone,” she said.
With that, she turned her back on him, facing the hearth that was smoldering gently. She didn’t want to speak with him anymore, nasty man that he was. She wanted him away from her so that she could clear her mind and mourn her husband in private. She was trying not to hate Titus’ brother at the moment and found his presence agitating. She kept waiting for him to leave, hoping he would, but he simply stood there and didn’t make a sound. Now, his refusal to leave was coming to infuriate her.
“I said get out,” she told him. “I will not tell you again.”
She heard his joints pop as he shifted position on those big, muscular legs. “And if I do not?”
“If you linger any longer, you will find out.”
Isobeau heard him snort and she jerked her head around, startled at the sound, to see that he was smiling. It was a thin and ironic smile, but he was smiling nonetheless. Her eyes narrowed dangerously but before she could explode at him, Atticus turned and put his hand on the door latch.
“I believe you,” he said, lifting the latch. “But know this; this will be the one and only time I will allow you to give me orders. This is your chamber, therefore, I will obey. But I will be back so you had better prepare yourself for that event.”
Isobeau glared him for a long, tense moment before turning away. “I am not sure why you would,” she said. “I do not want to see you.”
Atticus lifted a dark eyebrow. “Be that as it may, you have no choice,” he said. “I would assume you want to see your husband and I would assume you want to accompany him back to Wolfe’s Lair for burial. Unfortunately for both of us, we will be seeing a good deal of each other. You may as well resign yourself to it.”
Isobeau didn’t want to resign herself to anything that had to do with this man. “I would assume my husband’s body is here at Alnwick,” she said, her tone cold. “Where is he?”
“He is safe.”
“That was not the question.”
Atticus’ piercing eyes lingered on the woman who was not afraid of his manner, his attitude, or of him in general.She is strong, this one. He sensed strength in her. Odd he’d never noticed before but, then again, he’d spent little time around her. “It is the only answer I can give you, as I do not know where my men have put him.”
“You will take me to him when you know.”
Atticus nodded slowly. “I will.”
Isobeau didn’t answer him, mostly because there was nothing more to say. Their encounter had been harsh and painful, making a bad situation worse. Without replying, she returned her attention to the hearth, hoping he would take the hint and simply leave. This time, he did.
When she was positive he had left, the tears returned with a vengeance.
CHAPTER THREE
Ionian scale in Bb– Lyrics to The Sorrow Within
