The Lion of the North by Kathryn Le Veque

been. More than that, he was very tall and very muscular – he was at least a head taller than Titus and had the broadest shoulders of any man she had ever seen. There was a good reason why Atticus was called The Lion of the North; he was, quite simply, fierce. He was a handsome and nearly beautiful man who bordered on myth. He was the stuff legends were made of.
    Aye, all of this was Atticus de Wolfe. She had noticed before, of course, but she’d never truly thought about it until this moment because her focus until that moment had been on a husband she clearly adored. Now, she found herself looking at the man she would be marrying next, the brother she barely knew. Just as Atticus seemed to be amending his attitude towards her, perhaps now she was allowing herself to see him just a little bit differently as well.
    “Lady de Wolfe is merciful, m’lord,” the soldier said, breaking into her thoughts. “I… I heard what happened to Sir Titus. I heard those bastards killed him.”
    The smile faded from Atticus’ face. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Isobeau to hear the circumstances of Titus’ death. Perhaps it was the polite man in her trying to spare the details or perhaps it was even that he didn’t want to hear them again. Any mention of the betrayal, the murder, made him feel as if he were hearing it again for the first time. He wasn’t strong enough to keep hearing it. With sorrow, he shook his head.
    “Those responsible will pay,” he said simply. “For now, let us speak on more pleasant things. You have been in Northumberland’s service for many years, have you not? I seem to remember that you were injured a few years ago in battle. This injury should not set you back much; you will recover.”
    The old soldier nodded although it was clear his thoughts were still on Titus. “It is a sorrowful thing to have lost the earl, too,” he said, evidently unwilling to discuss anything else. “At least he did not meet the same fate as Sir Titus; betrayed and murdered. What happened to the men who killed Sir Titus? Did you punish them, m’lord?”
    Before Atticus could reply, Isobeau turned to him. “Betrayed and murdered?” she repeated, perplexed. “What is he talking about? Who betrayed Titus?”
    Atticus glanced at the woman. “When we speak later, I will tell you the circumstances,” he said quietly. “Finish what you are doing now and we will speak later.”
    Isobeau set the cup down, facing him with building agitation. “You will tell me now,” she said. “What does he mean?”
    Atticus could see there was no way she was going to let the subject go. Undoubtedly, it was a distressing subject for all concerned and she was nearly the only person at Alnwick who didn’t know the circumstances behind Titus’ death. It wasn’t fair to her but the truth was that Atticus simply hadn’t been given the opportunity to tell her. Now, however, the opportunity had arisen.
    Reaching out, he took her by the arm and guided her towards the entrance of the great, smelly hall.
    “Outside,” he said quietly.
    Isobeau allowed him to lead her out of the hall and into the evening beyond. The smell of roasting meat was floating about the compound but due to the wounded in the hall, no formal meal was served. Men were gathered in groups throughout the inner ward, sitting against the walls as they slurped down their supper, and men upon the battlements were not eating as they vigilantly watched the countryside for any sign of threats. As soon as they were clear of the hall, Isobeau pulled her arm from Atticus’ grasp and turned to him.
    “Now,” she said firmly, “what is all of this about betrayal and murder? Will you please tell me?”
    She wasn’t being belligerent but she was being firm. Atticus had been trying to formulate a reply that didn’t sound too harsh, or too horrific, but he couldn’t seem to do it. The circumstances surrounding Titus’ death had been nothing short of harsh and