Fraser could see his point somewhat. “Sir Tor did not seem to think she was a wild animal,” he said. “At least, that is not the impression I got from the man. In fact, I heard him invite you and Lady Isalyn to feast with him before she returned to London. He made her promise to come soon.”
Gilbert looked at him, astonishment on his face. “He did?”
“I heard him myself.”
Something in Gilbert’s eyes seemed to light up at the very thought. “Perfect,” he said. “We can go to Blackpool and sup with him. De Wolfe is the greatest house in the north. Mayhap he has a nephew or a brother who would be a viable marital prospect for Isalyn.”
“Mayhap he himself would be.”
“Is he married?”
“I did not ask him, so I do not know. But if he is not married, he seemed to be attracted to Isalyn.”
That was what Gilbert wanted to hear. “Then that is what we shall do,” he said decisively. “We shall take him up on his invitation immediately and I will discover if he has a brother or nephew or cousin who would be a viable prospect… or if he is one himself.”
“He is a de Wolfe,” Fraser reminded him. “They are in great demand, my lord. I doubt there isn’t one male or female in that family already taken.”
Fraser pointed a finger at him. “But they owe me,” he said. “Steffan may have jilted a de Wolfe bride, but the de Wolfe pack killed him. They did not have to do it, but they did. Therefore, they owe me. They took away one de Wolfe marriage. They shall provide me with another – to Isalyn.”
Fraser could see that Gilbert was going to work the guilt angle. Already, he wasn’t entirely sure that was a good idea. When he had mentioned Tor de Wolfe’s invitation to sup, he hadn’t expected this turn in Gilbert’s perspective of the situation.
“I would be careful in how you negotiate that, my lord,” he said. “After all, Steffan was running from a de Wolfe bride. Mayhap you should simply try to negotiate a betrothal without trying to guilt them into agreeing. You may want to leave Steffan out of it entirely.”
Perhaps deep down, Gilbert knew that Fraser was right, but he wasn’t going to admit it. Not yet. He was still willing to use Steffan’s death as leverage.
“No promises,” he said, waving Fraser off. “Go and tell my daughter that we are departing for Blackpool tomorrow at dawn. Make sure that she, and the escort, are prepared.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And bring a wagon packed with gifts,” Gilbert said thoughtfully. “Capes, furs, anything a prospective de Wolfe husband might want. Isalyn comes with an enormous dowry. Let us give him a taste of it.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And, Fraser?”
“My lord?”
“You will not speak of this plan to Isalyn. Not a word.”
“Nay, my lord.”
Gilbert flicked a wrist at him, sending him off. As Fraser went to carry out his orders, Gilbert stood by the window, watching the activity in the bailey, wondering if he’d just found the solution to rid himself of the burden of his disobedient, willful daughter.
He was about to set a de Wolfe trap.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Blackpool Castle
Isalyn wondered if her father realized just how eager she was to come to Blackpool.
Strangely enough, he seemed quite eager as well. When Fraser came to tell her that they would be accepting Tor’s invitation to visit immediately, she had been thrilled to hear it. She had retreated to her chamber when they had returned from Haltwhistle, fully anticipating her father to verbally lash her for running off yet again, so Fraser’s good news from her father had been unexpected.
But most welcome.
In truth, given the fight she had caused in Haltwhistle, Isalyn wondered if Tor had reconsidered his invitation in the time they’d been apart. Once he reached home and realized she was a handful of trouble. Regardless, they were accepting the invitation so the sooner they went to Blackpool, the better. Perhaps there was some way she could prove to him that she wasn’t all mayhem, all the time.
But that was essentially what he’d seen from her.
She was eager to change that perception.
Still, that fight had opened her eyes in many ways. She had never seen a fight before, at least not a fight with a real battle-experienced knight in the middle of it. Having spent most of her time in London, the atmosphere there was different than it was up north. The people there were different, and although she saw knights frequently in the street, guarding lords or moving in packs as they headed to Westminster, it wasn’t like she saw them on a regular basis and she most certainly never saw them fight on a regular basis.
But here in the north, the land was wild and the people were wild, and the knights seemed to be stronger and tougher. Fighting, and life and death, seemed to be far more of a reality here than in London. Certainly, there was a comparable share of life and death in London, but it seemed to her that it was a different type of life and death. Life in London was hard-fought and death came easily with thieves and robbers and disease. But here in the north, death seemed to have a more brutal and unexpected flavor.
There was something abrupt about it.
It was strange, really. When she realized those soldiers meant to harm her, she hadn’t been given the time to be afraid. All she could think of was getting through the situation alive. She hadn’t known what she was getting into and, fortunately, she never had to experience what could have been a deadly end result because Tor had saved her life before it could get out of hand.
When she had seen him flying into the center of the fight like an avenging angel, it had been something to witness. He had been enormous and strong and skilled, and he had used his sword as if it weighed no more than a feather. She knew for a fact that sword was very heavy, and it was almost as tall as she was, so it was a heavy weapon meant for a skilled warrior.
And what a warrior he was.
Even when Tor had been battling three men, Isalyn had never felt true fear. There was something about him that just seemed immortal and invincible, and there had never been a doubt in her mind that he was going to emerge the victor. It had been fascinating to witness it and, in a sense, a privilege as well.
For someone who wrote plays and often watched them from the shadows, Isalyn knew when she saw talent. Of course, actors upon the stage for a different kind of talent, but Tor had shown her a talent that she never knew to exist and it was far more impressive than anything she had ever witnessed before. Like a well-choreographed dance, he’d slain the soldiers with grace and movements where there had been no wasted effort. Every action had a reaction. That kind of skill took years of training and hard work, and she admired that greatly.
Somehow, during that violent mix, Tor had become much more than a provincial knight.
He had become a hero.
Perhaps he didn’t live in London and didn’t give grand parties, nor did he have learned friends or immerse himself in culture and philosophy, but he had something else that was more impressive. Qualities in a man that she once thought were so important, like dramatic talent or a highly educated scholar, didn’t seem to be that important any longer.
Tor de Wolfe opened her eyes to a great many things.
Therefore, she was more than willing to accept his invitation – immediately – but she was surprised her father had been so eager, too. Gilbert had even brought a wagon that not only carried their trunks of clothing and personal possessions, but there were other trunks that he told her were gifts for Tor.
His reasoning was because the man had been helpful in finding Isalyn in Haltwhistle, but Isalyn thought it seemed like an excessive amount of gifts for simply hunting her down. Perhaps it was really just to ingratiate the family to Tor, and considering what Steffan had done, Isalyn couldn’t argue with the logic.
The de Featherstone siblings had been a trial to Tor from the start.
Loaded with gifts and good intentions, the journey from Featherstone to B
lackpool had mercifully taken less than four hours. They had departed at dawn when the land had been covered with a mist, as it usually was this time of year. It was cold and dank and damp, but the party from Featherstone had traveled swiftly northward on a road that was still surprisingly good, arriving at Blackpool by midmorning.
Emerging from the fog and rising above the misty fields like a mythical fortress, Blackpool came into focus just as the mist was burning off. In truth, Isalyn was shocked by the size and breadth of Blackpool Castle. Somehow in her mind, she had imagined it to be just another simple garrison when, in fact, it was one of the bigger border castles she had ever seen. She had been to Berwick many years ago and she had also seen Carlisle Castle, many times, and both of those castles were quite large. Blackpool Castle was on that grand scale, a vast and highly protected place.
In fact, it was quite a sight to see it dominating the landscape once the mist had cleared. The sun’s warming rays dried out the muddy roads fairly quickly, and it was spring, meaning the weather could be unpredictable at best, but the last half-hour of their journey to Blackpool had been in mild and pleasant weather.
As they drew closer, Isalyn found herself studying the fortress closely. Blackpool had two sets of walls from what she could see, enormous walls that stretched skyward. Whereas most concentric castles usually had the walls closer together, Blackpool’s walls seemed to be spread out in quite a distance, creating a giant outer bailey between them. Their party reached an ancient gatehouse on the outer wall first. Once they announced themselves and why they had come, they were admitted into the vast outer bailey.
They continued on towards the second set of walls and the second gatehouse, which were surrounded by a moat, passing the gaggles of geese that Tor had once talked about. The second gatehouse was larger, and Fraser announced them again. But this time, they had to wait quite some time before they were admitted through this gatehouse. As they waited, the geese began to move in their direction and Isalyn wondered if they were about to be attacked. But the noise from the big, iron double portcullises lifting chased the geese back towards the moat and the party passed through the gatehouse, emerging into the large inner bailey.
They were met in the yard by a knight who was young and handsome. He was also quite big and quite muscular, and Isalyn was starting to wonder if that just wasn’t how the men up north were bred. As big as Tor was, this knight was also quite large, so she was starting to think that perhaps that great size was simply a prerequisite to being a de Wolfe knight.
The knight was very polite, however, and well spoken. He called forth servants to help with the animals and the wagon before moving to Fraser and introducing himself.
“I am Christian Hage,” he said. “Tor told me to expect guests from Featherstone, although I did not think it would be so soon. Welcome to Blackpool.”
Fraser dismounted his expensive warmblood. “I am Fraser le Kerque,” he said, turning to Gilbert as the man dismounted and came around his horse. “This is Gilbert de Featherstone, Lord de Featherstone.”
Christian dipped his head politely. “My lord,” he said. “Welcome to Blackpool. We are honored by your visit.”
Gilbert was dressed in his finest – fine silks, a heavy robe with a fur lining, and gilded chains around his neck and waist. A heavy silk purse hung from his belt. He was looking around Blackpool as if inspecting it, as impressed by the sight as his daughter was. Behind him, a soldier helped Isalyn from her palfrey and she came to stand silently next to Fraser. When he caught a glimpse of her from the corners of his eyes, he indicated her.
“This is Lord de Featherstone’s daughter, Lady Isalyn.”
Isalyn smiled politely for the handsome, young knight. “My lord.”
Christian bobbed his head in greeting. “My lady,” he said. “Tor has been told of your arrival. In fact, I…”
He was cut off when Gilbert and Isalyn caught sight of something behind him. He turned in time to see Tor as the man emerged from the keep, heading in their direction. But he evidently didn’t seem to think he was moving fast enough because he picked up the pace and jogged the rest of the way.
“My lord,” he said as he came near, addressing Gilbert. “I see that your daughter told you of my invitation to feast. How good of you to come.”
Gilbert greeted him pleasantly. “It was Fraser who told me, in fact,” he said. “I was told you wished for us to come visit very soon, so here we are. I hope it is not too soon.”
Tor shook his head, his gaze moving to Isalyn. “Nay,” he said, smiling at her. “The timing is perfect. You are welcome whenever you choose to visit. I do not have many visitors, in fact, so your company is a pleasure.”
Isalyn had to bite her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. He didn’t sound like a man who had entertained second thoughts about extending the invitation to visit.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said since he was looking at her. “We are honored to dine with such an esteemed ally.”
Tor hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “I do hope you’ll stay long enough to enjoy other diversions and not simply my food,” he said. “I have some very fine horses and a falconry. My birds are some of the best in the north. Only my Uncle Blayth has birds as fine as mine; well, almost as fine as mine. Truthfully, mine are much better. In fact, my Uncle Blayth is also here at Blackpool with his daughter and son.”
“Ah,” Gilbert said, retaking the conversation from his daughter. “Another de Wolfe. I look forward to meeting him.”
Tor looked at the man, his smile fading. “It is his daughter who was betrothed to Steffan,” he said. “I have not yet told them of your arrival, but I thought you should be aware of who he is.”
Gilbert lost some of his pleasant expression. “I see,” he said. “Then mayhap this is not an opportune time. We can return home and come another day.”
Tor shook his head, reaching out to boldly take Isalyn’s hand and tuck it into the crook of his elbow. “Not at all,” he said. “Come into the hall with me. I am looking forward to coming to know a new ally under more pleasant circumstances than the one we experienced two days ago. And let my uncle come to know the father of the knight who deserted his daughter. You want him to think favorably of your family, do you not? Then show him you are an honorable man. Please stay.”
Gilbert had little choice because Tor was leading Isalyn away, but Fraser remained behind because of the extreme value of the contents of the wagon as he and Christian began to work on the logistics of where those treasures would reside when removed from the wagon.
With Fraser off with Christian and Gilbert trailing behind, Tor took a moment to study Isalyn. To say her appearance had been a surprise was an understatement. Tor had told her to visit soon, but he hadn’t expected her to come the very next day. Even so, he was happier to see her than he realized he would be. She sparked something within him, something he thought was long gone. A fire that had once burned in his heart, something passionate and deep and longing for a woman’s touch.
Something he thought had died with Jane.
But it hadn’t died. It was only waiting to be reborn. Isalyn was clad in a dark green damask gown with long strands of pearls around her neck and a cap made from tiny pearls and gold thread upon her head. Her hair was long, down her back to her buttocks, and she had tiny braids woven into it, catching the sunlight with the golden threads woven into them. It brought him pleasure simply to look at her.
He was becoming smitten even if he didn’t have the courage to admit it.
Yet.
“I told you to come soon,” he said after a moment. “You took me at my word, I see.”
Isalyn looked up at him, her dark blue eyes glittering like sapphires. “It was my father’s decision,” she said. “He was the one who wanted to come today.”
“And you are opposed to this?”
She smiled, looking away modestly. “Nay,” she said. “I agreed with him.”
Tor could see the faint mottle of a blush in h
er cheeks and he was enchanted. “Good,” he said. “You have just made my day a little brighter.”
She looked at him again. “Have I?”
“My hall has never been graced with a more beautiful woman.”
She blinked, surprised. “That is a kind thing to say.
“It is the truth.”
He smiled at her, a warm glimmer in his eyes, as they reached the entry to the hall. Since their arrival had only been announced within the hour, servants were scrambling to light the hearth and bring food and drink to the table. Lenore was there, but not Barbara, as Tor took Isalyn and her father to the dais, making sure they had the most comfortable chairs.
“Please, sit,” he told them. “You must have left Featherstone early. Surely you did not have the opportunity to break your fast yet.”
Isalyn shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “We left before dawn.”
Tor emitted a piercing whistle between his teeth and Lenore, at the end of the dais, came running.
“Aye, Tor?”
The warmth in Tor’s eyes faded as he looked at the woman, but he was polite when he introduced her.
“This is Lenore,” he said to Isalyn and Gilbert. “She is a de Wolfe ward. If you need anything, she will be honored to be of service. Lenore, this is Lord de Featherstone and his daughter, Lady Isalyn. Make sure they have chambers prepared immediately in the apartments. They will want to rest after their morning’s journey.”
Isalyn nodded politely at the flame-haired young woman. But the moment their eyes met, she sensed something more than curiosity.
She sensed scrutiny.
But Lenore lowered her gaze before Isalyn could figure out what, exactly, the woman was thinking. She dipped her head in greeting, as it was the polite and expected thing to do.
“Welcome to Blackpool, my lord and my lady,” Lenore said. “My sister is already seeing to your accommodations. I apologize they are not yet ready for you. We did not know you were coming.”
Her last sentence sounded like… an excuse? A rebuke? Tor interrupted her before anything more could be said.
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