The interior of the stall was very crowded. Tor had been to Carlisle, many times, but he’d never stopped at de Featherstone’s stall, so both the size and the content was of some surprise to him. Everything seemed to be in organized sections – items for women, fabric, combs, and things of that nature, and even items for men – but there was so much of it that it was overwhelming. It wasn’t so much a single merchant’s stall as it was a great bazaar.
But Tor knew what he wanted so it was simply a matter of having Gilbert point him in the right direction. At this hour of the morning, the stall was already full of women shopping. Most of what Gilbert had seemed to be for women and when Tor question him about it, he stated that women were the ones that usually controlled the purse strings in a family, so everything he carried was designed to catch their attention.
And that included the pre-made dresses.
One entire wall was full of such garments. There was a rope strung from one end of the wall to the other with a few posts in the middle to help support the weight of all of the garments that were hanging on the rope. Gilbert had invented a type of hanging frame for these garments that filled them out so women could see them as they were meant to be. It looked like a square made out of wood that hung from a rope.
It was quite inventive and Tor went to the hanging dresses to look for one that he liked. He could have had Isalyn select the dress but as he had told her, he wanted to do it. He wanted to select it and he wanted to pay for it because it was a gift to his wife on their wedding day, and he didn’t want any help in selecting it.
He wanted it to be special.
There were quite a few dresses strung up on the rope and there were a few women looking at them. Isalyn was still attached to his arm but he pulled her hand from his elbow and clutched her fingers tightly as he walked from one end of the display to the other.
As he walked, he visually inspected every garment. Some of them were quite spectacular, while others were simple and durable. They were loosely basted, with no hem on the bottom, so they were essentially an unfinished product. He swept the line of dresses twice and was considering a pale blue silk when Gilbert suddenly appeared with his majordomo, both of them carrying garments from the rear of the stall.
“I have been saving this one for someone who could afford it,” Gilbert said, holding up the dress. “This is a fine and expensive dress, all the way from Venice. The fabric is called nacrè. It is made from two different colors of silk, in this case blue and pink, to give the fabric an iridescent look, like a butterfly’s wing.”
When Tor heard Isalyn gasp at the sight, he knew he’d found the dress. It was a truly spectacular piece – figure-hugging, with embroidered seed pearls along the neckline and down the sleeves, which were split from mid-arm and trailed well past the hands. The combination of the two colors gave the fabric a lavender color, truly something spectacular to behold.
The majordomo had the matching shift, which he held up for Tor’s inspection. It was white, made from silk, and both sleeves were covered with the same seed pearls that were around the neck. When worn with the dress, the shift sleeves would peek out from the split silk sleeves of the gown.
It was a dress made for a queen.
“How much is it?” Tor asked.
Gilbert looked at the dress. “For a garment this rare?” he said. “Very expensive. One hundred and twenty pounds.”
“I will take it,” Tor said without missing a beat. “She will need slippers to match. Do you have them?”
“Of course,” Gilbert said. “I will send her with my majordomo to select everything she needs.”
“Good,” Tor said. “But first, let me look at your rings.”
Gilbert was motioning them to follow and Tor still had Isalyn tightly by the hand because, at this point, she was content to be led around. Tor was the man with a plan and she was happy to let him carry it out. As they followed Gilbert to the rear of the stall, Tor turned to look at her, receiving a sweet smile for his effort. There was something in the air between them, now more powerful than ever before. He smiled in return just as Gilbert reached his destination.
It looked like an enormous wardrobe, but when he opened it, it was full of treasures. In fact, there was an armed guard standing in the shadows nearby, positioned to protect the contents. Gilbert didn’t even let Tor look through his stock because he had something in mind right away.
“There is something here I want you to see,” he said, looking through the boxes. “Unless it has been sold, but I do not think so. It is rather unique and… here it is!”
He pulled forth a big, teardrop-shaped garnet set in dark yellow gold and handed it to Tor, who studied it carefully. Isalyn was looking over his shoulder, thinking that it was quite lovely but also quite big. She had never envisioned herself wearing a boulder-sized gem on her finger, but she didn’t want to spoil Tor’s fun. If he wanted her to have it, then she would wear it happily.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Gilbert pulled out another ring and held it up to the light.
“I am glad we’ve not sold this one, either,” he said. “The color of the gold is similar to the garnet’s setting, but this ring is very, very old. I got it from a man in Brampton whose family has owned their lands for centuries. The story I was told was that the man’s great-grandfather, many times over, had found this in the remains of an old Roman house on their property, and the man brought it to me to trade for some goods he needed. It is solid gold and there is an inscription on the inside of the ring.”
Tor took it from him, peering closely at it. It was a thin, dark gold band. There wasn’t anything spectacular about it, but he could see the faint outlines of flowers etched into the surface. The more he looked at it, the more he saw a delicate woman’s ring. When Gilbert mentioned the inscription, he looked on the inside, barely making out the faded Roman letters.
“Libet te,” he said softly. “I choose thee.”
“Exactly,” Gilbert said, beaming. “I thought you might like to give it to my daughter, since you did choose her.”
Tor gave him a half-grin, looking at Isalyn to see that she was utterly enchanted by the ring and the inscription. Lifting her hand, he slid it over the third finger on her left hand.
It fit perfectly.
“The Romans believed that a wedding ring should be worn on the third finger of the left hand because there is a vein that goes directly to the heart,” Tor said softly. “Whether or not that is true, I do not know, but I remember reading that long ago. This is where it belongs.”
Isalyn held up the beautiful ring, watching it gleam in the light. She, too, could see the worn etching, but instead of an old ring with faded flowers, she saw something strong and timeless and romantic.
“I wonder who this belonged to,” she said softly. “Whoever it was, her husband must have loved her very much.”
Tor was smiling at her expression. That bold, reckless woman he’d first met was a poet and a romantic at heart. He should have known, given the fact that she wrote dramas, but he could see it written with naked abandon all over her face.
“I am certain of it,” he said quietly. “Do you like it?”
She nodded eagerly. “I love it.”
“And the garnet.”
She looked at it, still in Tor’s fingers. “I would rather have this simple ring than all the jewels in the world,” she said. “This ring has lasted for centuries, and now it is to be upon my hand. It has endured, as marriage should. As love should. If you are agreeable, I’ll have this one.”
Tor could see that she meant it. Lifting her hand, he kissed the ring upon it before turning to Gilbert and handing him back the garnet.
“Just this one,” he said. “The lady has spoken.”
Gilbert shrugged and put it back in the box, but he immediately dug into another box and pulled forth a delicate necklace of small, perfect pearls.
“This is a gift from me to my daughter,” he said. “It goes well with the dress.”
They weren’t even finished shopping yet.
With the ring still on her finger, Isalyn went about gathering the rest of the things she needed for her wedding dress even as Gilbert tried to talk Tor into purchasing half his stall. Combs, hose, slippers made in The Levant, hair pins… Gilbert walked Tor through all of them, insisting that a lady needed such things, while Tor kept an eye on Isalyn halfway across the stall. Every once in a while, he’d see her roll her eyes at her father’s sales pitch.
That only made Tor grin.
A pleasant trip into town that morning turned into a long and expensive day, and Tor couldn’t have been happier about it, for one very good reason –
I choose thee.
He had chosen her, indeed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Her father wanted to leave today.
That was the entire reason that Isabella was not allowed to go into Carlisle with Tor and Isalyn. Blayth wanted to return home today, or at least start home, and he didn’t want to have to wait for Isabella to return from Carlisle.
It was a two-day ride back to Roxburgh Castle and at least another day to Castle Questing, so Blayth wanted to get started. His business here was finished, but he was thrilled at his nephew’s betrothal and had spent most of the night sitting up with Tor, celebrating the event and trying to keep the man from reflecting too much on Jane.
Isabella had gone to bed long before her father and Ronan had. Ronan had told Isabella this morning that Tor had become drunk enough to the point where he was starting to lament Jane’s passing again, nearly seventeen years after the woman had died.
Although he had not expressed his lament to Gilbert, he had expressed it to Blayth and Ronan. It wasn’t that the man had any regrets, nor was he sorry that he was moving on with his life, but it was more a gentle reflection on what could have been. Since Tor’s father wasn’t there to help his son, Blayth was more than happy to fill that role with his gentle, firm guidance.
This morning, her father and brother were still in bed even as Tor and the rest of the party rode out for Carlisle. Isabella was awake because she had slept all night long, but given that she had seen Barbara and Lenore moving about freely last night, she was not particularly eager to leave her chamber.
She had stayed to her room.
Tor had assured her that Barbara and Lenore were on their best behavior and that they would be of no threat to her, but Isabella was sorry to say that she did not believe him. She had known the pair for far too long and knew what they were capable of, and she knew that they would not forgive her for bearing witness against them. Therefore, she thought it wise to stay out of their way until she left Blackpool.
But that meant a very lonely morning. Fraser had gone into Carlisle with Tor and Isalyn but, in his case, it was because he was Gilbert’s knight and he was paid to protect his lord and to go wherever Gilbert did. Isabella understood that, but she wished she had been able to go along simply to be near him.
She was becoming quite enamored with the man.
Fraser was kind and intelligent and wildly handsome, and she had spent a good deal of the feast the previous night speaking to him. He was very proper with her, which was quite a change from her last suitor, who went out of his way to steal kisses or pat her on the bottom. Steffan’s behavior had been quite scandalous and she was certain her father did not know the extent of it, but that was for the best. Steffan’s actions were hollow and she realized that now. At the time, however, she had felt flattered by his interest.
But Fraser was showing her how an honorable knight really behaved.
He didn’t try to steal kisses and he did not try to get her alone. Everything he did was in full view of her father who, somewhere during feast, began to realize that Fraser and Isabella were engaged in a rather long and somewhat flirtatious conversation. At least, Isabella was flirting.
Fraser was simply smiling.
Isabella had a feeling she was going to have to do some explaining to her father once he awoke, but his chamber was next to hers and she could still hear his heavy snoring. Her father was usually a night owl, even at home, so it wasn’t unusual for him to be up all night and then sleep until midday.
Ronan was still in his chamber as well, but she could hear nothing coming from his room. Ronan was like their father and had been known to sleep quite a long time if given the opportunity. Isabella could remember the times when her mother would take a bowl of water and throw it on him simply to wake him up. It was something of a running joke with the family, how much Ronan liked his sleep. The older knights were convinced that would end on his first battle march.
There was no sleeping on the battle march.
Therefore, Isabella had no one to talk to and no one to entertain her as she waited for her father and brother to rise. The windows of her chamber faced the inner wall and part of the yew tree, so she didn’t even have a good view. By late morning, she was becoming quite restless, restless enough to dare to leave her chamber just so she could walk around and stretch her legs. She had to do something to stave off the bone-numbing boredom. She figured if she saw Barbara and Lenore, she could simply walk the other way.
Quickly.
Boredom was forcing her to take the risk.
Slipping from the chamber, she made her way outside into the cloudy morning. It had rained the night before so the ground was muddy in parts, but she avoided the puddles as she made her way to the great hall. She had a servant bring her some food early that morning, but she was hungry now and she wanted to see if there was food available in the hall.
There was a fairly good chance that she would see Barbara and Lenore there but, somehow, she just wasn’t worried about it any longer. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wasn’t going to let those two women make her a prisoner in her cousin’s home.
As she walked, she looked around the bailey and could see Christian over by the inner gatehouse. He hadn’t gone to Carlisle that morning, but had remained behind in command. He waved to her and she waved back. She was starting to feel better, more confident and happy. She was about to step into the hall when she heard a voice from behind.
“Good morn to you, Isabella.”
Unfortunately, she knew the voice. Startled, she turned to see Barbara standing behind her. What upset her the most was that she never saw or heard the woman coming and, suddenly, she was there.
Isabella’s happy mood plummeted.
“Good morn,” she said shortly. “I was told you were tending a sick man.”
“I am,” Barbara said steadily, but her dark eyes were glittering. “He will recover.”
“That is good,” Isabella said. “I… I was just going to get something to eat. Please excuse me.”
She turned around to leave but a word from Barbara stopped her.
“Wait,” she said. “Please. I wanted to speak with you.”
Isabella stiffened. “Barbara, there is nothing we have to say to one another,” she said. “I do not need to hear anything you wish to say to me.”
She tried to turn away again but Barbara followed her. “Isabella, we have known each other a very long time,” she said. “I thought we were friends. I do not know what Lenore and I ever did that should make you hate us so.”
Isabella was becoming impatient. “I do not hate you, but you know that everything I said was true,” she said. “You did put the oil on the floor of Heather d’Umfraville’s chamber and you did push Violet le Marr down the stairs. Now that I think on it, there was that lass from Helmsley Castle who awoke one morning with her hair tangled up in the bedframe. Half of her hair had to be cut off and, somehow, I do
not think that was an accident because I know you and Lenore were around her that night. You tried to befriend her.”
Barbara sighed faintly, averting her gaze when she realized that Isabella had known far more than she had let on. There was no use in denying it.
“You would not understand,” she said quietly.
Isabella rolled her eyes. “Understand what?” she said, annoyed. “Understand that you would hurt any woman who would so much as look at Tor? The entire family knows what you and Lenore are capable of. Do you know what they call you? The Vipers. They all say that poor Tor lives with vipers. So if I were you, I would be very careful from now on. One more offense and you will provoke the wrath of Warenton. That is something you would not survive and you know it.”
Barbara looked at her in horror. “How can they say such things about us?”
“Because it is true, Barbara,” Isabella said. “You and Lenore have dark hearts, although I do not know why. You were raised with people who tried to love you. You had the best education, the best of everything. No one knows why you and your sister turned out the way you have.”
Barbara, who was usually so emotionless, began to appear hurt. With that hurt came a weakened composure.
“You do not understand,” she said, her voice trembling. “It did not matter that the House of de Wolfe tried to love us. We were only wards. We were not part of the de Wolfe family. We had lost everything and the only thing we had left was my sister’s husband. You have never lost a sister, Isabella. You do not know what it is like to preserve the memory of a loved one.”
Isabella looked at her as if she had gone mad. “I thought my father was dead at a young age,” she said. “Even though he returned to us, still, I did not try to prevent my mother from remarrying simply to preserve his memory. Life goes on, Barbara. You cannot live in the past and you cannot hurt people to manipulate the future.”
“Life should not go on,” Barbara snapped. “Don’t you understand? Tor is all we have to remember our sister. He is her husband. He belongs to her!”
WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2) Page 25