WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,29

of England,” he said. “In my travels, I have purchased many pieces for my collection. Call it a hobby, I suppose, but all of those shields are from every province I have ever visited. Do you see the one on the very top?”

“The white and red?”

“Aye,” Gilbert said. “That belongs to the Duke of Vilnius. I was his guest for a night.”

Tor was impressed. “That is at the ends of the earth, some would say,” he said. “You are a well-traveled man.”

Gilbert shrugged. “More than most,” he said. “My father was also well-traveled and knew many people in many places. But you did not come here to speak of travel, I am sure. You said you had business with me. How may I be of service, de Wolfe?”

The moment was upon them. Tor wanted to be concise and to the point, but that was before Isalyn appeared. He was preparing to speak when she joined them at the table, bringing expensive pewter cups with her and setting them down in front of her father and in front of the guests. But instead of leaving, she lingered to listen to what was about to be said and Tor hesitated.

Although it should not have mattered to him, he didn’t want her to hear what he had to say. Perhaps he was trying to protect her, or perhaps he just didn’t want her thinking poorly of him. He wasn’t certain. As he fumbled for the right words, suitable for a lady’s ear, Gilbert turned to his daughter and frowned.

“This does not concern you,” he said. “Go to the kitchens or to your chamber. I will summon you when I want you.”

Given all that Tor had heard from Isalyn at the Crown and Sword and also on their journey south, he knew that kind of demand would not sit well with her and he was right. Her face turned red and her jaw flexed but, to her credit, she didn’t snap back. Tor watched her as she quit the hall, embarrassed by the way her father had treated her. He had to admit that he felt rather badly for her.

Once she was gone, Gilbert returned his attention to Tor.

“You were saying?” he said.

Tor sat forward, his arms resting on the table and his hands folded, feeling infinitely more comfortable now that Isalyn was out of the chamber. Something about her presence was distracting, but not entirely in a bad way. Quite the opposite.

“I have come about your son, my lord,” he said.

Gilbert sighed heavily. “What has he done now?”

“Did you know that he entered into a betrothal with Isabella de Wolfe, daughter of my uncle, Blayth?”

Gilbert’s features rippled with confusion. “A betrothal?” he repeated with surprise. “I knew nothing of this. When did this happen?”

Tor looked at Nat. Given that he was the jilted bride’s uncle, he might know more, so he silently encouraged the man to answer.

Nat complied.

“Six months ago,” he said. “The wedding was to be held last week, but your son ran out on Isabella after compromising her.”

Gilbert visibly blanched. He tried to keep the expression of horror off his face, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. “Oh… God,” he muttered, wiping a hand over his face. “I… I do not know what to say. Has he gone back to de Royans? I shall send for him immediately. This will not go unpunished, I assure you.”

“He did not go back to de Royans,” Tor said. “We tracked him to Newcastle and found him in a tavern with several other de Royans knights. My lord, I will be to the point – when we confronted your son, he fought. He refused to return to Isabella and he tried to kill my half-brother, a son of the Earl of Warenton. He did not survive this attempt, my lord. Your son was killed while resisting men who were there to force him to keep his word.”

Gilbert’s mouth popped open and his eyes widened, the news of his son’s death sinking in. When it seemed to hit him, all at once, he moaned a little and slumped back in his chair, gripping the arms until his fingers turned white.

“He… he’s dead?” he finally said in an oddly strangled voice. “Steffan is dead?”

Tor nodded. “It was his choice, my lord,” he said. “He could have gone quietly and fulfilled his vow. Instead, he chose to fight.”

Gilbert stared at him a moment before lowering his gaze. The white-knuckled hand moved to his heart as if