The Lion of the North by Kathryn Le Veque Read Free Book Online Page B

you please admit me?”
    There was no answer at first, but then the door flew open and Isobeau was standing in front of him, her lovely face pale and her cheeks wet with tears. Atticus gazed back at her, feeling the physical impact of her expression as strongly as if she had slapped him. There was terrific sadness there. Before Atticus could speak, however, Isobeau broke down.
    “What happened?” she demanded, half-sobbing and half-yelling. “What happened to my husband?”
    Atticus thought he had been braced well enough against the onslaught of her grief but evidently he wasn’t. He could feel himself starting to crack in the face of her crying.
    Crying for Titus .
    “He was killed, Lady de Wolfe,” he said as evenly as he could. “I am sorry you had to hear it from le Bec. I have come to speak of the circumstances if you wish to hear them.”
    She looked at him, open-mouthed, as if he had just said something outrageous. “Circumstances?” she repeated. “I suppose that it does not matter what the circumstances are. He is dead, is he not? You were there; why did you not protect him?”
    Now she was delivering verbal punches to his gut, firing the same questions he had been asking himself for six days. He struggled not to match her emotion and he certainly struggled not to show it. He felt as if he were defending himself to his brother’s new wife, a woman he barely knew. She barely knew him as well, otherwise, how else could she accuse him of neglect when it came to Titus? Anyone who knew him, and knew of his bond with Titus, would not have asked such a thing.
    “We were separated at the time his death came about,” he told her as calmly as he could, hoping an explanation might ease her. “My lady, I loved my brother deeply. I hope you know that if I had been given any control or knowledge of what was happening to him, I would have most certainly done everything I could to help him. I would have died if it meant saving him. Do not think for one moment you are the only one feeling pain over his death because, for certain, you are not.”
    There was a reprimand in his words, something bitter lashing out of him unexpectedly to push her back, just a bit. She had hurt him, accused him, and now he was striking back. Surely the woman could not accuse him of not being willing to help his brother; damn her for suggesting it.
    His rebuke worked. Feeling the verbal slap of his words, Isobeau’s anger eased but her sense of sorrow did not. She fixed on Atticus, her hand to her chest as if to keep her heart from shattering into a million slivers of anguish.
    “But he is dead,” she whispered, her gaze upon him imploring. “How could such a thing happen? You were there… other men were there… surely someone could have saved him?”
    Atticus’ expression tightened. “Had someone loyal been there, I’m sure they would have.”
    There was great regret in that statement but Isobeau was ignorant to it. She was only focused on her own pain and sorrow. But she labored to push aside her grief, coming to realize that she was all but accusing Titus’ brother of failing to prevent the man’s death. She was so muddled with distress that she didn’t know what she was saying. It all seemed jumbled up in her heart and mind, for she was unable to make any sense of it.
    “I…I am sorry,” she said after a moment, moving away from the door so the man could enter. “I know you would not have… I should not have said such a thing. Forgive me.”
    Atticus came into the room, hesitantly, as she moved away from the door and went to sit next to the hearth. She had a small, damp kerchief clutched in her fingers, holding it to her nose as she sniffled. Although Atticus closed the door behind him, he didn’t make any attempt to move further into the room. He simply stood by the door, eyeing his brother’s grieving wife and wondering what to say to her. She was displaying every emotion he was feeling but was too composed to let