WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “See to their food,” he said, decidedly colder. “And hurry about it.”

  Lenore scurried off, heading towards the servant’s entrance to the hall. Gilbert was in the process of settling down when he suddenly stood up again.

  “The garderobe, if you please,” he said. “I’d better before I sit down. It has been a long ride.”

  Tor whistled for another servant, who escorted Gilbert from the hall to show him to the garderobe built into the wall turret to the east of the hall. As Gilbert vacated the hall, Tor turned to Isalyn, sitting at the big, scrubbed table.

  Finally, they were alone.

  “Well,” he said, smiling. “It seems as if I have you all to myself, at least until your father returns. How was your journey?”

  Isalyn couldn’t adequately describe how she felt when she looked at Tor. As she knew, something had changed yesterday when he’d charged in to save her from the soldiers, something that made her feel giddy and warm in his presence.

  “It was quite pleasant, thank you,” she said. Then, she lowered her voice. “Before my father returns, you should know that he does not know about the fight in Haltwhistle. Fraser has not told him and I certainly have not, so…”

  His grin broadened. “So you do not want me to mention it.”

  “I would appreciate it.”

  “Your secret is safe.”

  Isalyn smiled in return, flushing simply from the way he was looking at her. “If I did not thank you adequately for your assistance, allow me to do so,” she said. “That is twice you have come to my aid. I really do wish you would have let me gift you with the dog’s head dagger. I very much wanted to.”

  He shook his head, sitting opposite her just so he could look at her unimpeded. “I told you that it was not necessary,” he said. “It was my honor to help you.”

  “You are gracious,” she said. “I feel as if I have been nothing but trouble since we have met.”

  He snorted softly. “You have certainly kept me alert,” he said. “But please do me a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do not leave Blackpool unescorted,” he said. “Please. As a personal favor to me. I want to be able to sleep tonight and I will not be able to unless you promise me.”

  Isalyn shrugged. “Where would I go? Back to Haltwhistle?”

  “That was not a promise.”

  “Then I promise,” she said, watching his smile return. “But if your food is lacking, I shall run all the way back to the Crown and Sword. I am very hungry.”

  He laughed. “It may not be as fine as you are used to, but it will be tasty and plentiful,” he said. “But if it is not to your liking, I will take you to the Crown and Sword myself. I will not subject you to food you are not happy with.”

  It was a sweet thing to say, a chivalrous declaration that seemed so natural coming from him. “I promise I will eat whatever is put in front of me,” she said. “I was only jesting.”

  “I was not.”

  She giggled. “You needn’t worry over me so. I know it seems as if I take quite a bit of attention, but I assure you that I do not.”

  He was watching her, his gaze drifting over her face. “Tell me something.”

  “What?”

  “When you are in London, what do you do every day?” he asked. “Do you go to your dramas every day? How do you spend your time?”

  It was a change in subject, but one she was more than willing to speak of. “I live with my mother’s sister,” she said. “It is a house owned by my mother’s family.”

  “Where is it?”

  “On Watling Street near Bow Street,” she said. “My mother’s family was from the north, much like my father’s family, only my mother’s father was a St. John, a warlord. The St. John home in London has been there for one hundred years. I had a great-great-grandfather who built it with permission of King Richard.”

  He cocked his head curiously. “The St. Johns of Winding Cross Castle?”

  “Aye,” she said. “Do you know them?”

  He nodded. “They are allied with my father,” he said. “Eden Castle is also part of their property. In fact, it is not too terribly far from here.”

  “That is my mother’s family,” she confirmed. “My grandfather was head of the family, but he only had two daughters – my mother and my aunt. My grandfather’s cousin is now head of the family.”

  It was interesting information, yet another facet to this woman he found so fascinating. If her mother was a St. John, then war was in Isalyn’s blood. The House of St. John was notorious for their passionate knights and warring ways. It was starting to make some sense to him as to why Isalyn was so fearless in everything she did.

  She came from warrior stock.

  His respect for her grew.

  Before he could speak, however, Lenore appeared with a pitcher of wine and cups. She was followed by servants with trays, each tray bearing something different. There was bread, cheese, stewed apples and cherries, hard boiled eggs that had been rolled in salt and herbs, and another tray that carried what looked like little pies. All of this was set down between Tor and Isalyn, and Lenore seemed to make sure she was still between them even when the other servants dropped their load and moved away.

  In fact, it began to get odd. She was fussing with a plate of bread on the table between them, seemingly making the presentation perfect but all she was doing was brushing away crumbs. Tor finally moved the platter out of her reach.

  “That will do, Lenore,” he said. “I would like my guests to have more hot food, so please see to it.”

  Lenore looked at him, almost wounded, but she swiftly moved away. When Tor looked back to Isalyn, he could see that her attention was on the young woman. Curiously. When their eyes met once more, she smiled weakly.

  “A relative?” she asked. “You introduced her as a ward. She seems very… attentive.”

  Tor picked up the pitcher of wine and collected two cups. “She and her sister are my wife’s younger sisters,” he said as he poured. “My wife died almost seventeen years ago and her sisters became my responsibility. They are my chatelaines here at Blackpool.”

  Realizing he had been married, once, brought Isalyn pause. He was a widower. She was inherently curious about it but sensed, simply by his manner, that it wasn’t an open subject, so she refrained from asking about it. The fact that he had been married, however, didn’t surprise her. He was quite a bit older than her twenty years. With the silver in his hair, he could have been twice her age for all she knew, but he didn’t seem old. In fact, he seemed to be a man in his prime to her, but if he had been married seventeen years ago, that was near the time Isalyn had been born, well, within three years. He must have married at a very young age.

  Curious, indeed.

  “I am sorry to hear about your wife,” she said after a moment. “How lovely of you to accept responsibility for her sisters. That speaks so very well of your honor.”

  He handed her a cup, full to the rim with wine. “What else was I to do?” he said. “They had nowhere to go, so they came to live with me. But let us not speak of them. We were speaking of you. I want to know what you do in London when you are not writing plays and attending dramas.”

  Gilbert picked that moment to return to the hall and Isalyn eyed him. “My father does not know that,” she whispered, flicking her eyes towards the entry to let Tor know that Gilbert was returning. “I would be grateful if you did not speak of such things so openly.”

  Properly rebuked, Tor nodded quickly. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies.”

  She smiled at him, sipping at the sweet red wine. “No harm,” she said. “But in answer to your question, I have a good many friends in London. We do many things.”

  “Such as?”

  She shrugged. “We play games sometimes,” she said. “My aunt has a lovely home and my friends often gather there.”

  “What types of games?”

  “Cards, Fox and Hounds. Do you play games?”
>
  Tor thought on that. “Not since I was very young,” he said. “Unfortunately, in my vocation, there is not a good deal of time for trivial pursuits.”

  By that time, Gilbert had joined the table and he sat heavily, accepting a cup of wine from Tor and drinking down half the cup before he stopped to take a breath. He smacked his lips.

  “Excellent drink,” he said. “Where do you get it?”

  “From a merchant in Carlisle,” Tor said. “It comes from the Bordeaux region of France. It is my grandmother’s favorite wine.”

  Gilbert eyed the red liquid with approval. “Now it is mine.”

  As her father and Tor begin to toss around a variety of subjects, Isalyn sat back and watched. With Tor occupied by her father, she had the privilege of watching him unobstructed. She had very much wished her father had not interrupted their conversation because it was just starting to get interesting and from the way he was acting, she suspected that her father was going to monopolize all of Tor’s time from this point forward, which was disappointing.

  She was very much hoping that she could monopolize his time.

  But that was not to be.

  So, she ate the eggs, some bread and cheese, and had more wine as her father and Tor rattled on about different subjects. In truth, it was her father doing the rattling and Tor doing most of the listening. Then she realized that in her past conversations with Tor, she had also done most of the speaking and he had done most of the listening. He was most definitely the strong, silent type, only speaking when he had something he considered important to say. He was not a man of inconsequential conversation.

  That was something more to appreciate about him.

  And the morning marched on. They had been in the hall perhaps an hour or less when they were joined buy more people. Isalyn tore her gaze from Tor long enough to notice an enormous man entering the hall along with another young man and a lovely young woman.

  As they drew closer, she could see that the man in the lead was older, with blond hair, a gray beard, and the entire left side of his head badly scarred. He was missing almost all of his left ear. His face was handsome enough, but he looked as if he’d been through a horrible battle and barely made it out alive.

  But the gaze in his razor-sharp eyes was fixed plainly on Gilbert.

  Tor, whose back had been to the entry, realized the man was nearly upon them when Gilbert stood up. Tor quickly rose to his feet, facing the battle-scarred warrior.

  “Ah,” he said. “Uncle Blayth, I am glad you have joined us. This is Gilbert de Featherstone and his daughter, Lady Isalyn. At my invitation, Lord de Featherstone has come to put to rest your poor opinion of his family. Lord de Featherstone, this is my uncle, Blayth de Wolfe, Lord Sydenham. He is the fourth son of William de Wolfe, Earl of Warenton. A greater warrior you will never meet.”

  Blayth hadn’t taken his eyes off of Gilbert and the tension in the air was obvious.

  “I was not aware you would be here today,” Blayth finally said. “I was just told of your arrival.”

  Gilbert was the least bit intimidated by the enormous warrior. He almost couldn’t blame Steffan for running from him. Almost. But since he knew his son had been in the wrong, and Blayth had every right to be angry, he did the only thing he could do under the circumstances.

  He groveled.

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lord,” he said. “I am also glad that you are fortuitously here today. It gives me the opportunity to apologize to you in person for my son’s actions. Please believe me when I say I was completely unaware of the betrothal. What Steffan did was inexcusable and it is my greatest hope that you will accept my apology.”

  His polite pleading took some the wind out of Blayth’s sails. He had just been informed by Christian that Steffan de Featherstone’s father had unexpectedly arrived and given that his anger on the matter was still fresh, he was fully prepared to berate Gilbert de Featherstone for raising such a dishonorable son.

  But Gilbert didn’t give him that opportunity. Although the man was clearly appalled by his son’s actions, Blayth’s anger still wasn’t appeased.

  “It is well within my rights to demand compensation,” Blayth said. “Your son abandoned my daughter. I have every right to demand a pound of flesh.”

  Gilbert nodded. “I realize that, my lord,” he said. “And I heartily endorse your right of compensation. I have brought all manner of gifts with me. I would consider it a personal favor if you would accept them as a token of my deepest apologies. If that is not enough, I would willingly give more.”

  The gifts meant for Tor would now have a new and perhaps more important purpose. Gilbert had met Blayth’s anger with more groveling and now there was nothing more Blayth could say, to be truthful. It was clear that Gilbert’s apologizing knew no limits.

  The man was all but pleading.

  Blayth looked at Tor, who shrugged faintly. Blayth sensed that he was somehow siding with Gilbert. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

  “Sit down, de Featherstone,” he said gruffly. As both Gilbert and Tor reclaimed their seats, Blayth pointed to his daughter. “This is Isabella, whom your son shunned. Look at that face. She is as sweet as she is beautiful. Your son has hurt her deeply.”

  Gilbert looked at Isabella, who was a bit wide-eyed at her father’s dramatics. “My lady,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “My son was a fool. He had no right to treat you so poorly. He has paid for this foolishness with his life. I pray you can forgive, with time. Steffan was a good lad when he was younger, but as he got older… I do not know why he did what he did. I wish I could give you a reason, but I have not seen my son in some time. Men change. Clearly, he changed and I am sorry you bore the brunt of that.”

  Isabella looked to her father with some uncertainty before returning her focus to Gilbert. “Your apology is appreciated, my lord,” she said. “I… I am sorry that Steffan is dead. I did not wish that upon him.”

  “I did,” Blayth muttered, sitting at the table. “He deserved what he got, de Featherstone. He tried to kill Tor’s half-brother and Tor had every right to run him through. I’m sure he has told you that by now.”

  Tor grunted softly, looking to his blabber-mouth uncle. “I have not yet had the opportunity,” he said deliberately. “Thank you for being the bearer of that particular bit if news.”

  Across the table, Gilbert stiffened. “You?” he said to Tor. “You killed him? Why did you not tell me that?”

  Tor shook his head. “As I said, I have not yet had the opportunity,” he said, but there was no remorse in his manner. “Your son tried to kill my half-brother. I was perfectly within my rights to protect Alexander. The cost, unfortunately, was Steffan’s life. But that is the price he paid for attacking my half-brother.”

  He said it firmly. Gilbert looked at him with some exasperation before finally shaking his head and returning to his cup. He drained the contents and moved to pour himself more.

  “I am not disputing you,” he muttered. “I understand. Then it was your half-brother who was the squire?”

  “Alexander is only seventeen years of age.”

  Gilbert rolled his eyes. “My son not only ran away from a beautiful bride, but he tried to kill a child.” He waved his hand at them. “Oh, I know that your half-brother is a man. But seventeen years… so young. I simply do not understand what was in Steffan’s mind. I do not understand how and where he got the idea that attacking a squire was the honorable thing to do. I always thought the House of de Royans stood for honor and courage, but where else could he have learned it? What are they teaching their men at Netherghyll Castle?”

  No one had an answer for him. As the men began to drink and mull over the situation at Netherghyll, thankfully resolving what could have been a terrible situation between Blayth and Gilbert, Isabella took a seat across the table from Isalyn. She smiled timidly at the woman, who returned her smile without hesitation.

  “I know most of the young women from the famil
ies in this area,” Isabella said. “I cannot believe I have never been acquainted with you in all this time. But I suppose you do not travel easterly towards Castle Questing much, do you?”

  Isalyn shook her head. “Nay, my lady,” she said. “And… and may I say that I, too, am sorry for my brother’s behavior? It was a terrible thing he did to you and I am very sorry.”

  Isabella smiled, but it was without warmth. It was a rather sorrowful smile. “Thank you,” she said. “May I say that I am sorry he is dead? This whole situation has been… unpleasant and sad.”

  Isalyn was relieved to see that Isabella wasn’t crushed by what her brother had done. Depressed, of course, but she didn’t seem too terribly grieved.

  “I am sure it has been,” she said. Unsure what more to say on the matter, she sought to change the subject. “You mentioned that you knew most of the young women in this area, but I do not live in this area. I live in London. I am only here visiting my father.”

  Isabella’s eyes lit up as thoughts of Steffan were forgotten. “London,” she breathed as if it were the most beautiful word in the entire world. “How fortunate you are. My brother, Edward, has a manse outside of London, near Windsor Castle. I have visited him on occasion. I find the excitement of the city quite agreeable.”

  In spite of the odd situation that had brought them together, Isalyn could feel herself warming to Isabella, who seemed kind and friendly. She was also quite lovely, with dark hair and flashing green eyes. Isalyn could hardly believe her brother had taken advantage of such a sweet-seeming soul.

  “As do I,” she said. “I miss it. I was planning on returning shortly, but Tor invited us to visit Blackpool and we were happy to come. It is a very nice fortress.”

  Isabella looked around the elaborate and well-built hall and shrugged. “I suppose,” she said. “I have been in halls like this my entire life, so they hold no fascination for me. But London – that is of great interest to me. So many interesting people. The last time I visited Uncle Edward, he took me into the city to show me the sights and we saw people from other countries. There was a man dressed in silks and he had servants following him with a matching silk canopy to shield him from the sun. Uncle Edward told me that the man was from Constantinople.”