WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,32

stood there, she could feel raindrops falling inconsistently and thunder rolled in the distance. She glanced up into the sky, watching the pewter-colored clouds as they collected, and the wind was beginning to pick up.

It was going to be a good storm.

But it was nothing like the storm in her heart. The moment in the hall with her father was so typical of so many moments with him. It seemed to her that when her mother was alive, he had been far more congenial and sweet. She remembered the affection between her parents, something that had changed so drastically in what seemed to be such a short amount of time. She had such memories of her parents’ affection and then, suddenly, it was gone.

Even though her father had summoned her from London under the pretense of an illness, something that would indicate he wanted her with him, he still had no ability to behave towards her as a father should. Affectionately, kindly. It was as if he didn’t know how to behave with her at all and considering how much time she had spent with her mother in London, she was virtually a stranger to him.

And he was a stranger to her.

Isalyn had always wished that she had asked her mother what had happened between her and her father, but the woman had been so sick in the last few years of her life that Isalyn didn’t want to bring up the past. Her mother never spoke of Gilbert, as if he were dead to her somehow, but perhaps if she had asked about the situation, she might understand him a little better. As it was, she knew nothing.

He never even tried to get to know her, not even when she appeared a month ago at his summons. It was as if her coming had been enough for him, because there had been no grateful reunion or meaningful conversations.

But there had been some consternation on his part.

Isalyn wasn’t a calm, obedient girl. She had a mind of her own. Consequently, her behavior confused and upset him, but he never once tried to talk to her about it. The more she did as she pleased, the more he seemed to distance himself. Isalyn’s mother had given her so much freedom and so much encouragement to do what she wanted to do, and that was the way Isalyn lived her life. Her mother had known about the plays she had written and she had even read a couple of them until her illness consumed her. She had been proud of her daughter’s creativity and had never tried to discourage her, something that was rare for a parent to do with a female child.

The rain began to come down a little more steadily as Isalyn reflected on her relationship with her father. It had been embarrassing when he’d spoken so condescendingly to her in front of Tor, but rather than snapping back, she had kept her mouth shut. When every cell in her body was demanding she resist, there was a part of her that didn’t want Tor to see that. She had already impressed upon the man just how independent and strong she was, and she was certain that he was intimidated by that. Any man would have been. Being independent was one thing, but being sassy and disobedient was quite another.

She just didn’t want Tor to think badly of her.

Why on earth that should matter to her, she didn’t know. But it did.

In fact, even thinking about him made her smile. Perhaps it was the patience he had shown her since the very beginning of their association. She’d never seen a man with more patience. He had saved her life and how had she thanked him? She had been rude. And nasty. But she had apologized for it, bought him a meal, and he had forgiven her. Their conversation at the Crown and Sword had been one of the better ones she’d ever had.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the conversation as much as it was the company.

More rain began to come down and Isalyn could see Tor’s big, hairy warhorse standing over by the trough, burying his nose in the water and blowing bubbles. He was such a big horse, but with oddly short and thick legs. It seemed to her that he was just as big and strong as his master, so they seemed to fit well together.

Curious, she made her way across the courtyard, pelted by occasional fat raindrops and