Lone Wolfe Read online

In her fitchet, she fingered the crisp parchment and recalled the passionate affirmations her husband-to-be wrote, along with heartfelt admissions regarding the death of his mother, and Desi longed to comfort him.

  “Titus laid to rest Lady Saint-Germain more than a sennight ago, and I am ashamed I did not go to him.” And she yearned to comfort her beau, as they were stronger together. “Wherefore didst ye not permit me to journey to Braewood Castle and pay my respects? We are, for all intents and purposes, family. The Saint-Germains and the De Mandeviels have long been friends and allies. Is this how we treat our kin? Prithee, explain thy actions that I might understand thy motives, else I owe Titus an apology.”

  “Thou dost owe him naught.” Flushed with unconcealed ire, in an uncharacteristic display of temper, her sire bared his teeth, and Desi retreated. “The Saint-Germains art history with the passing of Margreit, as she was the backbone of that once great house.”

  “What dost thou mean, ‘once great house?’” A chill of unease danced a merry jig down her spine, and Desi folded her arms. “Hath something happened, Papa?” For a scarce second, she entertained the possibility that Titus had changed his mind and no longer wished to wed her, but she quashed the foul thought just as fast as it formed. As she had always considered herself a rational sort, and her betrothed indicated he appreciated that trait, she inhaled a calming breath and rolled her shoulders. “Pray, sit down, and tell me what is wrong.”

  “Although I am not entirely privy to the circumstances, Titus Saint-Germain hath fallen from favor, and Hastings conspires behind the scenes.” Papa rubbed his chin and frowned. “Since Edward landed at Ravenspurn, the Yorkists have moved inland. I have it on good authority that Hastings intends to appropriate the Saint-Germain territories, along with Braewood, and he plans to install Idaios Staatsrat, a wealthy and powerful confidant of the King, at the command of a new garrison, to strengthen the Yorkist position.”

  “But—what of Titus?” The bitter pill of fear settled in her throat, and she pressed a clenched fist to her chest. While her father’s statement certainly snared her attention, she could not help but wonder what he had not said. “Thou dost speak as if he no longer exists.”

  “Canst thou not guess?” Papa met her stare, and a tremor of awareness shivered over her flesh. “Dost thou not see I am only trying to protect ye?”

  “They mean to kill him.” It was a statement, not a question. Struggling with the weight of the world, Desiderata fought fast-rising bile. Grievous circumstances necessitated grievous actions, and she had to renounce the steadfast obedience that defined her relationship with her sire.

  Somehow, she had to warn Titus, as she supposed from Papa’s amended plans that he had no intention of doing so. She had to inform Titus of the threat to his person, but she had to do so without Papa’s knowledge. For the first time in her life, one of the two most important men in her existence posited her greatest hazard, and she hated herself for that realization.

  “Little one, Staatsrat is to be made an earl, and he is a favorite at court. Thou wilt be rich and titled.” Papa furrowed his brow and cast the expression of determination she knew too well. “Thou wilt enjoy most propitious standing as his wife. Dost thou not recognize the advantages of such a union? The King, himself, will attend thy wedding, the archbishop shall officiate, and thy nuptials will be celebrated in the great hall at Westminster Palace. It will be the talk of London.”

  “But I have no desire to be the talk of London.” Biting her tongue, she checked her tone, and in silence she vowed not to break. Never given to tantrums, Desi mulled the situation and assessed the logical points in opposition to her father’s proposition. “What of the marriage contract?”

  “Thou cannot bargain with a corpse.” Unutterably lacking compassion, he snickered. When she glared at him, Papa flinched. “That was unnecessarily cruel, and I apologize, as I know thou art smitten with Saint-Germain. But thy loyalties must perforce yield to my judgment, as I am older, and thou art my property.”

  “I beg thy pardon?” At that she stood. “Art thou my father, as never hath he viewed me as chattel?”

  “I am sorry, Desi.” Papa speared his fingers through his hair and perched on the edge of his seat. “Hastings proposed the arrangement to solidify ties between our families.”

  “Yet thou hast an agreement with Titus.” She had to sway him. Had to make Papa understand that whatever Hastings promised, such guarantees exacted a heavy cost and could just as easily result in additional duplicity that could place her father’s neck in peril. “What of those ties?”

  “Wherefore should I honor such terms with someone who hath lost faith with Hastings and Gloucester?” Father slapped his thigh. “Wherefore should I expose our house to unwarranted risk?”

  “Because thou hast given thy word.” Assuming a confident stance, she inclined her head and suppressed the resulting panic, given his insouciant demeanor. She hated to be at odds with her father, as they had always been close since her mother died. Papa forever indulged her, but he seemed disinclined at the moment. “Is that not worth the risk?”

  “Desiderata, thou must face facts.” Leaning forward, he propped his elbows to his knees. “Though it pains me to admit it, it must be said, and thou must accept reality. Titus is not long for this earth, and I would ensure thou dost not meet a similar fate.” He compressed his lips. “Canst thou not see that it is because I love ye that I must act in thy best interests?” Papa grasped her hand in his. “I cannot lose thee, my only child, as I value thee more than my own life. Whilst thou art wise beyond thy years, thou art innocent of the treachery invested in the lust for power and privilege that infests our country, and I would pledge my soul to the devil, forsaking all chance of reuniting with thy mother in the hereafter, to save thee.”

  “Thou cannot barter thy integrity in exchange for monetary gain, political prestige, or physical comforts, whatever the cost. And what of thy soul?” Nay, she should not argue with him, as he remained oblivious to the dangers lurking in their midst, but she had to try. “Wilt thou truly sell thy redemption?”

  “Whatever the toll, I alone shall bear it, as the price is one I am willing to pay.” Papa nodded. “Pray, do not be angry with me, but thou art my heart, and thou wilt marry Staatsrat.”

  _________________

  CHAPTER TWO

  The road to Waelmore Castle always brought soothing warmth to his chest, when the crenellated towers came into view. Often a lone figure stood in the southwest lancet window, to welcome him as a beacon of hope for the future he cherished. Given he had not the time to send word of his arrival, Desiderata remained unaware of his impromptu sojourn, thus she waited not. Anxious for a sweet reunion, Titus heeled the flanks of his destrier, as he would not delay the overwhelming desire to visit his lady.

  On normal occasions, on the eve of battle, he road straight to the encampment, but recent revelations left him longing for a familiar face and comforting arms. And for some strange reason, Desi had ceased her written correspondence, to which he always looked forward, and he needed to assure himself of her safety and fine health, given the blight that infested every aspect of his world since his mother’s death.

  As he neared the gatehouse, Titus reined in and doffed his chain mail coif, that the De Mandeviel guards might recognize him. “Good eventide, my sirrahs. Is Gerner in residence?”

  “He is, Sir Titus.” The swordsman glanced at his second and frowned. “Lord de Mandeviel is not expecting guests, and I will notify him of thy unscheduled appearance, but I presume his lordship shall grant an audience. Give thy mount to the stable master in the courtyard.”

  “Thank ye.” Stunned by the formality that marked his welcome, as though he were naught more than a nettlesome stranger, Titus dipped his chin and steered his horse between the heavy wood panels. Inside the curtain wall, he navigated the barbican and halted just past the garrison. A company of archers flanked him, as an attendant rushed to the fore, and Titus surrendered his destrier, just
as Gerner de Mandeviel appeared in the bailey. Titus waved. “My friend, it has been too long since last we met.”

  “Sir Titus.” Gerner offered his hand, which Titus shook in companionable greeting even as he mustered vigilance. “This is a surprise, as we had no news of thy journey.”

  “I deviate from my usual habits in order to take my ease prior to the impending clash.” Together, they entered the great hall, and Titus searched for any sign of Desi, as she never failed to greet him. “And I am remiss in my duties and must pay my respects to my bride-to-be, else she will be vexed with me.”

  “Oh, of course.” Gerner chuckled, but something in his demeanor gave Titus pause for reflection. “But my daughter is unwell and unable to receive ye, Sir Titus.”

  “Is it serious? Is her life threatened?” His gut clenched, as he imagined his sweet Desi suffering from some unknown malady. At once, his priorities shifted, as Desi’s condition reigned supreme in his world. In light of the twists and turns in his existence, Desi was his center. She anchored his reality. Without her, thither was no future. “May I not see her, however brief? Thou hast my solemn vow, I will not disturb her.”

  “Nay.” Gerner shook his head. “I think it unwise to—”

  “Titus.” At that very instant, Desi all but ran into the chamber. “Papa did not tell me of thy presence.”

  “Lady Desiderata, it is remarkably gratifying to see ye.” As usual, she extended her hand, and he placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. Then he studied her complexion, highlighted by her saffron hair, and noted the charming blush of her cheeks. “Thou dost look quite well, and I give thanks and praise for thy apparent recovery.”

  “What recovery?” Desi blinked. “Of what dost thee speak?”

  “Thou hadst a fever, Desi.” When Gerner glared and sneered at his daughter, Titus came alert. “Mayhap the sickness hath confused ye, and thy mind is still not right.”

  “But, Papa, I am no such thing.” Then his lady grasped his wrist and led him to a table. “Wilt thou stay for dinner? We are having savory bruet sarcenes, buttered wortes, tasty mushroom pasties, and for dessert a delicious apple muse. Can I not tempt ye? Wilt thou not—”

  “Thither is not enough fare to accommodate Sir Titus, as he dispatched no notice of his visit.” To Titus’s surprise, Gerner stood. “And he is due to join forces with Clarence at Coventry and must depart, posthaste.”

  Now Titus realized the depth of the treachery about which his mother cautioned. Somehow, the villains had swayed Gerner, a former faithful advocate of the Saint-Germains, and Titus dreaded the thought that Desi might be involved in the scheme. For a minute, he held her gaze, searching for some sign of evil intent, but he spied only trepidation in her pale blue eyes.

  “That is regrettable, as I do so enjoy thy company.” She shifted, gave her back to her father, dipped her chin, and then cast a surreptitious glance. “And the sky is clear, so I expect a very fine sunset over the moor. It is a shame thou mayest miss such a glorious sight. So I wish ye safe travels and bid ye farewell.”

  “Ah, but that is a treat I shall never neglect.” Nay, his lady had not betrayed him, and Titus sighed in relief and smiled. “In beauty, it is second only to thee.”

  Her answering grin conveyed a wealth of significance and import that was not lost on him.

  “Well, then.” Gerner cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Permit me to escort thee to the door.”

  “That is not necessary, as I know the way.” Titus bowed. “I apologize for the intrusion, good sirrah, but I just received Gloucester’s summons, so I had no time to dispatch a messenger. Given our longstanding ties, and my imminent wedding to thy daughter, I had thought thou could forgive the breach in hospitality.”

  “Oh, of course, my son.” With a forced laugh, De Mandeviel slapped Titus’s shoulder. “Pardon my abruptness, but Desiderata hath ailed, and I am but a worried father.”

  Not for a second did Titus pay heed to the offhand remark, no doubt meant to smooth troubled waters and deflect supposition, but he suspected everyone capable of the worst enterprises. God help him if that included Desi. Again, he quashed the malicious inkling, as her heart remained true. It had to remain true, else naught worthwhile endured, and he was already dead. So he clung to the faith he invested in his lady, as he drowned in the mire of deception and double-dealing spun by her father.

  “Think naught of it, as I comprehend thy actions better than thou dost know.” And he would not drop his guard until he cleared the castle walls. After locating his destrier, Titus leaped into the saddle. In case of attack, he pulled his chain mail coif over his head and clutched the hilt of his sword, as he rode beyond the confines of hostile territory, more than a little saddened by the broken bonds of kinship upon which he always relied. Veering to the right, he heeled the flanks of his horse and soared into the woods, along a familiar path.

  Wending his way through the dense foliage, he ducked to avoid a decumbent bough. Soon, the trees thinned, and he cleared the copse of oaks. Waelmore Valley spread wide before him, affording a spectacular view of the lush countryside. With excitement and passion simmering in his veins, he dismounted, tied his horse to a sturdy branch, and waited.

  A gentle breeze rustled and thrummed in the recently unfurled leaves, as the season changed, and spring whispered in a tender awakening of the resplendent verdure. In the distance, the strident cry of some wild creature pierced the silence. So much of the land harkened familiar scenes of happier times, when he was but a carefree gadling with no worries. What would he do if she did not come to him? The distinct snap of a broken twig garnered his attention, and he turned, just as Desi threw herself into his arms.

  ~

  “Oh, Titus, my love.” Showering his face in kisses, Desiderata squealed as he lifted her in a warm embrace and twirled her about. But when their lips met, all trace of humor ceased. The fire of desire raged beneath her flesh, and a now-familiar hunger blossomed in her belly. How she reveled in his passion, as he darted his tongue at hers, and she moaned into his mouth. Slowly, the fear and anxiety, which marked the days since Papa commanded her to marry another, faded, and in its place remained naught but the soothing comfort of longstanding intimacy.

  “Desi, my angel, wherefore hast thou not written?” He nuzzled her neck and nipped at her ear. “Wherefore hast thou not answered my letters? I understand thou were so ill ye could not attend Mama’s funeral, but could thou not wield a quill?” He squeezed her bottom. “I ought to spank ye for worrying me so.”

  “If thou wilt be satisfied, I am thine to do with as ye will.” Yea, she spoke in bold terms, as he would never strike her, yet confusion muddled her thoughts. “But thou art mistaken, as I have faithfully dispatched correspondence, and it is ye who hath been negligent in thy duties, given I have heard naught from ye for more than a fortnight, and I would have an explanation, good sirrah.” When Titus attempted to release her, she held tight and refused to yield. “Nay, do not part from me, as I have longed for thy support and solace.”

  “But I must speak with ye in plain terms, and thou dost distract me.” Again, he attempted to set her down, and she steadfastly rebuffed his efforts. “Pray, Desi, grant me leave to secure a more agreeable position.”

  “All right.” With contrition, she released him. “But thou wilt regret it if thou dost disappoint me.”

  After he gave her a gentle nudge, she stepped clear, while he untied his horse and then leaped into the saddle. Then he reached for her. Without hesitation, she jumped, and he lifted her to his lap. At once, she hugged him about the waist and sighed.

  “What is it?” As the immense destrier shifted its weight, Titus pulled her closer. “What troubles ye? Wherefore doth thy father lie to me?”

  “Something dreadful hath happened, and I know not how to defend us.” She burrowed beneath his wool cloak and prepared to admit the horrible truth, as she would keep naught from her beau. “But Papa declared an intent to betroth me to another.”

 
“What?” His muscles tensed beneath her touch. “How is that possible, when thou art bound to me?” Shuffling her in his grasp, he cupped her chin and brought her stare to his. “When didst thy sire apprise ye of his plans?”

  “A sennight ago.” And it pained her to relive it. “Papa claims thou hast fallen from favor with Hastings, and he journeys to London to negotiate a pact with a man named Idaios Staatsrat. Given my unfailing composition of numerous messages, and thy pledge to the same, I suppose my father interferes with our notes, and I am so sorry.” Tears welled, and she swallowed a sob of lament. Her stomach lurched at the mere suggestion of wedding Staatsrat, much less permitting him to touch her. “Titus, thou art in danger, our union lies in the balance, and I am afraid. What are we to do, as I will take my own life before I surrender to another?”

  “My Desi.” At that second, Titus claimed her mouth in a searing affirmation of their devotion, and she speared her fingers in his hair and scored the nape of his neck. All too soon, he broke their kiss and rested his forehead to hers. “What am I to do with ye, as I would not have ye harm thyself to avenge me.”

  “Canst thou not see I have naught without ye?” She clutched fistfuls of his tunic and wrenched hard. “I would rather go to my grave than stand as that idiot’s wife.”

  “Thou dost refer to Idaios.” With a chuckle, Titus brushed her cheek and stole another kiss.

  “I know well his name, but therein lies the sum of our acquaintance, as I vow on my soul he will never reign as my lord and master.” The uncertainty of her nuptials presented more than she could bear, and she wept. “We are doomed.”

  “Nay, my girl.” Her brave lancer rocked in the saddle. “Do not cry, as thy sorrow slays me. And my mother possessed knowledge regarding my possible undoing and ruination, which she imparted just prior to her death. Yet I loathe confessing it, as I would not lose ye, but neither will I hold ye to a pact that mayest subject thee to ridicule and scorn, as thou art too precious to me.”