She laid her cheek on his arm affectionately. “Nay, I am not,” she said as they continued down the road. “Now, would you care to tell me why you have come if it is not a social visit?”
He nodded, putting his thoughts together. Although he had been over and over this conversation in his mind, still, he did not want to come across as too harsh at first. Yet it was difficult, especially with the subject matter.
“I have come with a problem that you can help me solve,” he said softly.
“Problem? What problem?”
Tate paused as they came to a crossroads in the avenue that led from the castle; it was right at the edge of the village. He faced her as the snow fell between them.
“I was married a few weeks ago,” he told her.
Isabella’s eyes opened wide. “Married?” she gasped. Then she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Tate, that is marvelous. I am so happy to hear this.”
“Thank you,” he replied as he hugged her and then let her go. “I am also very happy. Happier than I have ever been in my life. But my happiness came to a brutal halt when Mortimer abducted my bride.”
Isabella stared at him. Then, her eyes bugged again and she staggered as if hit. Her hand flew to her chest.
“Roger,” she breathed. “What do you mean? What happened?”
Tate told her the entire story, from the time he visited Cartingdon until that very moment. He omitted the information about the armies of Henry of Lancaster and the Lords of de Lara for the moment, but for the most part, he told her the truth. He watched Isabella ride a wild sea of emotion; she was up, she was down, she was weeping, she was furious. She was also extremely insecure and extremely jealous. Tate knew this, which he was planning on using to his advantage. A jealous woman would be of tremendous help. He hoped it would be enough.
“My God,” she gasped with the story was concluded. “Do you know where he has taken her?”
“In the missive he sent me, he told me to go to Wigmore Castle,” Tate replied. “I would assume he has taken her there.”
Isabella was pale with shock, her mind focused on her lover and the fact that he had Tate’s wife in his company. It did not sit well with her. She rubbed her chin in thought, her gloved hand drifting over her cheeks as she pondered the situation. Then her hazel eyes fixed on him.
“So why have you come to me?” she asked, somewhat suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”
Tate cocked an eyebrow at her. “You will do everything in your power to have my wife returned to me immediately,” he told her in a tone she had rarely heard from him. “I will not tell you how you must achieve this. I believe you can figure it out.”
Isabella looked uncomfortable, fiddling with her gloves. “He may not listen to me,” she said softly. “He has a very strong will.”
Tate would not be put off by a weak woman. He gazed steadily at her. “I have eight thousand men converging on Wigmore Castle as we speak,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “If you do not convince Roger to release my wife, then I will lay siege to the castle and destroy it. And when it is breached, I will destroy Roger. Have no doubt that I can do this. And if my wife is harmed in any way, I will make sure that Roger’s family suffers the consequences because my vengeance will know no limits. Is this in any way unclear? I am giving you the chance to save the man who saved you from your husband. If you fail, I will destroy him.”
She looked at Tate with naked fear. “Please do not harm him. He may be foolish at times but he is not evil.”
God, the woman is blind, Tate thought. “He is inherently evil, Iz,” he said, more gently. “This man has been trying to kill your son for two years and you have done nothing to stop him. Why do you think I took the king with me? To protect him. We have been running from Roger for two long years but I will notrun any longer. Roger has crossed the line and I will kill him if he does not release my wife unharmed.”
Isabella’s eyes were filling with tears. “Where is my son?”
Tate would not be shifted of the subject. “He is still with me, strong and healthy and alive,” he put his hands on her upper arms, gripping her tightly. “Listen to me and listen well; when I leave here, I ride for Wigmore. You may ride with me to talk some sense into Mortimer when we arrive. If you do not ride with me, then know that I ride to kill him. The choice is yours.”
She sniffled delicately into a lace handkerchief. “Is that why you have come? To threaten me?”
“I have come to seek your help in the release of my wife. That is all I care about.”
She wept quietly into her hand for a few moments. Tate stood there and watched her, not at all sorry he had made her cry. The situation with her son was a perfect example of the fact that she lived in her own world of denial and he was not going to allow her to do it this time. He wanted her help and he was going to get it. More than the might of an army, Isabella would be the one to sway Mortimer. He would listen to her.
“Will you help me, Iz?” he asked softly, adding leadingly: “My wife is very beautiful. There is no telling how she has caught Mortimer’s eye.”
Isabella looked at him with her watery eyes, shocked. “Why do you say such things?”
“Because you know him as well as I do. He cannot control himself around a beautiful woman and neither you nor I would want to deal with the consequences of that.”
She sobbed louder, muffled in her hand. “He would not do that to me.”
“Aye, he would,” Tate shook her gently. “Please help me, Iz. I want my wife back. I love her. Please help me.”
