WolfeHeart: de Wolfe Pack Generations, page 19
“Thank you both for coming to my aid,” she said. “May… may I speak with you privately, please? Outside on the landing, if you will.”
Atlas backed out of the chamber, followed by Markus. Amabella was the last one out, shutting the door softly behind her so her daughter would not hear.
“Atlas,” she said quietly. “I believe your father had documentation about all of the soldiers he kept here at Trastamara so that he could pay them regularly. You may want to go look for that, as it might help you determine just how many men he has and who might be loyal to him. There have always been two factions at Trastamara – one loyal to your grandfather, one loyal to Roget. What happened tonight has happened before, but not in many years.”
Atlas nodded quickly. “I will see if I can find the documents.”
“They should be kept with the financial documents of the castle. Can you remember seeing them at all?”
Atlas looked at Markus, who shook his head. “We’ve not come across them yet, but I will go now and see what I can find.”
As he began to descend the stairs, Markus moved to follow, but Amabella put a hand on his arm to stop him. When he looked at her, questioningly, she put her finger to her lips in a silencing gesture. Markus understood and he kept still. When Amabella was certain Atlas was out of earshot, she turned to Markus.
“What are you going to do about this?” she whispered. “Those men do not want my son in command of Trastamara. They mentioned Shand.”
“What did they say?”
“They told me that Shand was a fine commander and they did not want another one.”
Markus mulled that over before leaning against the wall behind him. His movements were slow with thought.
“As I said before, this rebellion was not unexpected,” he said. “But you should know that after Bexwell was exiled from Trastamara, his escort lost sight of him. They followed his path north again, but they do not know where he went.”
Amabella’s features tightened with concern at the news. That wasn’t something she had wanted to hear. After a moment, she lowered her gaze, her distress more evident by the moment.
“I did not think he would go so easily,” she muttered. “He went from trying to keep Roget’s death a secret to being ousted from the very castle he wanted so badly to keep for himself. Somehow, I knew he would not surrender so easily.”
Markus could see her fear, her apprehension. “We will formulate a plan this very night to keep him away from Trastamara and away from you,” he said. “If Bexwell thinks he can outsmart me, he is sorely mistaken.”
Amabella looked at him, then. “This has nothing to do with me,” she said. “I am not worried about me. I am worried about my son who has just assumed command of an important outpost. He is only seventeen years of age, Markus. Atlas is the one we should all worry over.”
Markus’ eyes glimmered at her. “I wondered if you remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“My name.”
She eyed him with confusion. “Of course I know your name,” she said. “You gave me permission to use it. Did I do wrongly just now?”
His lips twitched with a smile. “You did not,” he said. “But I have been here over a week and you have not called me by my name, not once. I thought you had forgotten.”
He was looking at her with that familiar warmth again, a pleasant and endearing warmth that she was coming to expect from him. Somehow, the focus of the conversation was shifting away from her concern for Atlas and to the fact that she had not yet called Markus by his name. It didn’t seem to be an appropriate shift in conversation, but in the same breath, she didn’t seem to care.
When Markus smiled at her, nothing else seemed to matter.
“I have not forgotten,” she said quietly. “But in my defense, you have continued to address me formally, also.”
He grinned. “In front of my men, I will show you all due respect,” he said. “But in private, as we are now, I will freely call you Amabella.”
Amabella smiled because he was. “Sometimes it is such a long name,” she said. “My father called me ‘Ama’ because he said it was too exhausting to speak my entire name.”
“Then your father was a lazy man.”
She broke down into laughter and he followed suit. “He was a practical man,” she said, her smile fading. “There was practicality in everything he did. That is why he agreed to a marriage contract with Roget, in fact. He saw practicality in it.”
“How did he know Roget?” Markus asked. “De Sauque is not a name I’ve ever heard here in the north, at least as a family name.”
“Roget was my father’s knight,” she said. “He came to serve my father when I was away to foster. When I returned, Roget had already been at Trastamara a couple of years. He was a decent knight, but once I returned from fostering, it seemed as if Roget drew quite close to my father. He became indispensable. When Roget asked for my hand, my father was quite happy to give his consent.”
Markus looked at her curiously. “And your father never had any doubts in how Roget showed respect to you?”
She smiled, but it was an ironic one. “Roget was a perfect gentleman while we were courting,” she said. “He was attentive and kind. He continued to be that way until my father passed away. Then… then, it was as if everything changed overnight. He became distant, cool, apathetic, and immoral. It was as if he had simply been playing a role until my father died and once the man was gone, Roget no longer had any reason to pretend.”
“Pretend what?”
“That he was a decent man. He wasn’t, you know. He was a beast.”
Markus took a good, long look at her. It seemed that all he ever did was look at her, but now… now, he was seeing something deeper than just the cursory impression he’d first had of the woman.
A lush, beautiful woman.
She was still lush and beautiful. There was no doubt about that. She was the kind of woman who made him feel glad that he was a man because something about her seduced him without even trying. A look, a smile, and he was putty in her hands. After having come to know her over the past week, he could also see that she was wise and compassionate and incredibly tolerant of the tribulations she’d been dealt in life. And her children… she was fiercely protective of her brood, something that reminded Markus of his own mother.
But that was where the comparison ended.
He didn’t want to bed his own mother, but he certainly wouldn’t mind bedding Amabella.
Aye, he could admit it to himself.
He didn’t care that she was older than he was. In fact, that was one of the things that made her so attractive. She’d had four children and she’d been married for twenty years, and as far as he was concerned, that made her more alluring and sensual than any woman he’d ever met. There was something very attractive about an experienced woman. It was true that he appreciated her good qualities, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the more he looked at the swell of her full bosom and the nip of her slender waist, the more he wanted to put his hands on her.
“Not all men are beasts, Amabella,” he said softly. “I hope… I hope that one day, you will allow a man to show you that.”
She looked at him. “Me?” she said. Then, she shook her head. “It is funny you should mention that because just this evening, Aleanor was asking me if I would marry again.”
“Would you?”
She chuckled. “I will tell you what I have told her,” she said. “My time for marriage is over. I am content in my widowhood and watching my children grow. Truly, I am not troubled by it.”
Markus was still leaning against the wall, still watching her, and trying desperately not to give away what he thought about her.
“Then you are depriving some man of an excellent wife,” he said. “You have beauty and wisdom. I cannot tell you what valuable commodities those are. I realize your marriage to Roget was unpleasant at best, but that does not mean all marriages are unpleasant. You should give yourself the opportunity to discover that for yourself.”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “I am not a valuable commodity,” she said. “I cannot bring anything to a marriage – no property, no wealth. All of that belongs to Atlas now. I have nothing to offer.”
“You have a great deal to offer.”
“To whom? A man so rich and titled that he does not care that he is getting a woman with nothing to offer?”
Markus shrugged. “For argument’s sake, let us say that I was a prospective husband,” he said. “I would take wisdom and beauty over money and property. I don’t need a woman’s money or property. I much prefer a woman who is a companion and a friend and a lover over a cold contract marriage.”
She smiled as she listened to him speak. “Then you are a rarity,” she said. “And you can command the finest wife in all of England, Markus. You have breeding, training and titles. You are your father’s heir, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Then you shall be an earl someday. And why is it you are not married yet? At your age, you should be.”
He eyed her. “How old do you think I am?”
She looked him up and down. “I would say you’ve seen no more than thirty-two summers.”
“I have seen thirty.”
“Then you are in the prime of your life.”
“So are you.”
She shook her head. “I am past my prime.”
“You cannot possibly be.”
“I am older than you.”
“It would be rude of me to ask how much older, wouldn’t it?”
She laughed softly. “It would, but I do not mind telling you,” she said. “I do not guard my age like some women do. I married Roget when I had seen twenty years. I was married to him for twenty years.”
He shook his head. “You look ten years younger than that,” he said. “You are ageless.”
Her smile turned genuine. “That is very kind of you to say so,” she said. “It has been a long time since I have heard such sweet lies.”
As she chuckled, he shook his head. “That was not a lie, I assure you,” he said. “I do not lie, not even for flattery. It was the truth, upon my oath.”
Her smile faded. “I did not mean to offend you, truly,” she said. “’Tis simply that it has been a long time since someone has been so kind to me. I have almost forgotten what it feels like.”
“If you allow, it will not be the last time I flatter you.”
She wasn’t catching on to what was a potentially flirtatious tone. “But you do not need to,” she said. “I can live contently for the rest of my life on what you have said to me. I will treasure it, and you, always.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
He pushed himself off the wall, standing tall and strong before her. “Good,” he said. Then, he reached out to take her hand, bringing it to his lips for an unexpected and tender kiss. “Because I intend to hold you to that. I intend to flatter you a great deal and, in time, mayhap more. You are not too old, Amabella Hemada Abril de Sauque. I think you are perfect. Now, I am going to help Atlas figure out what we need to do about Shand’s mysterious whereabouts and the faction loyal to Roget. I would suggest you and your daughter retire for the night. It has been an eventful evening.”
With that, he kissed her hand again, let it drop, and headed down the stairs.
Amabella stood there for the longest time, virtually in a state of shock. She wasn’t sure she’d heard right. In fact, she wasn’t entirely convinced that she hadn’t gone stark raving mad in the last few seconds. Surely she must have because a man like Markus de Wolfe did not speak of things like flattery and perfection to a woman like her.
She was old.
He was young and handsome and titled, and completely out of her grasp.
… wasn’t he?
Heart pounding in her ears, Amabella tried to walk back to her solar but she couldn’t seem to walk in a straight line. She ended up opening the door and leaning against the door jamb, gazing off into space, thinking on Markus’ words.
I think you are perfect.
Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. But she knew one thing – he most definitely was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was the folly of youth.
The next morning following the small revolt of Roget’s loyal soldiers, Atlas was on the road for Mordrington.
Alone.
But he’d planned it this way.
He’d spent a good portion of the night in conference with Markus, Damien, Cassius, and Kieran about the Trastamara properties. In addition to Mordrington and Kirkbank, there was another smaller manse closer to Berwick called Lamberton that was evidently lived in by an old man and his wife who were somehow related to Roget because their family name was de Sauque.
But Atlas didn’t have any idea who they were, and he didn’t care. He would deal with them later. At the moment, he was focused on Mordrington because he knew his father’s other family lived there.
Perhaps that was what had him so worked up.
He remembered when his mother told him about the births of his father’s two bastard sons, how jealous and inadequate he’d felt. He’d never admitted those feelings to anyone and, in truth, it was difficult for him to admit them to himself, but he’d been very jealous his father had other sons.
Brothers.
Brothers who took attention away from him, vying for the attention of a father who hardly gave anything to his legitimate children. They might even try to lay claim to anything Roget had, but now that Atlas was the Lord of Trastamara, that wasn’t going to happen. His jealousy had turned into rage; rage that his father had thought so little of his legitimate family that he should go and have a second one. He’d heard the knights of Castle Questing speaking of his father once and they used words like careless… foolish… filth.
Those words had stuck in Atlas’ head.
The knights of Castle Questing, and his master in particular, had never treated Atlas any differently just because of his father. They’d always treated Atlas like any other pledge, but Atlas suspected that, at times, they’d treated him with some sympathy because of who his father was.
But Roget de Sauque’s legacy wasn’t going to be his son’s.
Atlas would see to that.
Last night’s lengthy discussion with Markus had spurred his determination to finally do something about his father’s indiscretions. He’d hardly slept, tossing and turning, his mind whirling with the situation in general. It was clear that he was threatened; his father’s legacy seemed to breed resentment towards him, not loyalty. Shand’s removal had only aggravated it. Therefore, he had to clean out any remaining loyalists and he intended to start with Mordrington.
He was alone on the road, at the dawn of a cloudy day, heading towards the manse. That was his folly; he’d come by himself because he felt he needed to. Up until now, Markus had been by his side for every major issue, every problem, every victory. Atlas knew it was necessary and he appreciated that the House of de Wolfe was determined to help him in his new lordship, but that was the problem – Atlas felt as if they were doing too much. He was afraid of becoming dependent upon their strength and advice.
He wanted to do something by himself this time.
And that was Mordrington.
For all he knew, it was simply his father’s whore, her two sons, and just a few men. That was the assumption from the documents they’d examined last night. Strangely, there weren’t many records in his father’s solar of Mordrington other than an old list of inventory – sheep, foodstuffs, things like that. Markus thought it was rather odd, and suspicious, but Atlas, in his impetuous youthfulness, was convinced that meant there wasn’t much going on there. He thought he knew everything about it.
Unfortunately, he was wrong.
He began to realize that as he came within sight of the manse, her gray walls emerging from the misty morning, a fine piece of country living that Atlas remembered being quite bucolic in his youth. He remembered visiting with his mother and father as a small child, when Aleanor had been an infant. But, as he neared the manse, he began to smell something. Pigs, animals, filth… something.
It was a horrific smell.
He realized the morning breeze was coming from the east, blowing westerly, and it was blowing the smell from Mordrington right into him.
Then, he saw it.
Men in leine tunics, the kind that the Scots wore. They were emerging from the lowered drawbridge, carrying what looked like a body between them. As Atlas slowed his horse to watch, they threw the body right into the moat and it was sucked down into the putrid mud.
Shocked, Atlas threw himself off his horse and quickly pulled the animal into the trees. It was a cloudy morning, a fine fog hanging just above the treetops, and he was able to pull back into the shadows of the darkened forest that embraced the south side of the road. In stealth, he made his way along the road, just inside the trees, keeping his eyes on Mordrington.
Atlas may have been impulsive and young, but he wasn’t stupid. He could immediately see that something out of the ordinary was going on at the once-lovely manse. For one thing, the smell permeated everything. The moat had a least one body in it and from the stench that covered the land, he suspected there was more than one.
And there was the matter of Scots, everywhere.
Settling down on his haunches where he could watch the front of the place, Atlas watched the activity that seemed to be fairly busy so early in the morning. The drawbridge remained open, as if there were no concern for safety. Mordrington had an enclosed courtyard with battlements that encircled the manse and he could see men on the battlements who weren’t soldiers. If he could guess, he would say that they were not his father’s men. In fact, it appeared as if the Scots had taken over the place.
Clan Hume.
His mother told him that Fenella had come from Clan Hume and it occurred to Atlas that Clan Hume must have taken over Mordrington. Had his father known? Or had he even encouraged it? The Scots had tried to raze Trastamara many times since Atlas’ grandfather had built it, so was it possible that his father had given Mordrington to the Scots to keep them away from Trastamara? If that was the case, then Atlas would need help getting them out.
