WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,45

with all his might. The metalworker and his son wisely cleared the stall, running over to stand with Isalyn as she stood there and watched Tor with awe.

She’d never seen a fight in her life.

Now, she was getting an eyeful.

The remaining soldier was a big man and he wasn’t going down as easily as the other two had. The metalworker’s stall was completely destroyed at this point, with product and broken tables littering the ground. The soldier was fending off Tor more than he was actually waging an offensive against him because, at this point, he was just trying to stay alive. However, the ground littered around him was impeding his ability to keep solid footing. He kept tripping over daggers and combs and other things that had fallen from the broken tables.

But Tor wasn’t showing the man any mercy. He was swinging that sword with great skill and tremendous power, and it was only a matter of time before he gained the upper hand. The soldier took a misstep and Tor was on top of him, using that big sword to slice into the soldier’s right arm, severing tendons and muscle. The soldier had the presence of mind to grab his sword with his good arm, taking a swipe at Tor, but he was too slow. Tor kicked him in the belly, sending him onto his backside. Before the soldier could pick himself up, Tor gored him right in the chest.

The battle was over.

It had been a skill level and a fight not usually seen in these parts. Tor de Wolfe was a man with the kind of talent that was used to fight for kings, so as much as the fight had been terrifying in many ways, it had also been a feast for the eyes. It had truly been something to watch.

Even for Isalyn.

She stood there a moment, mouth hanging open in shock, watching Tor kick his opponent to make sure he was dead, before wiping his sword off on the dead man’s tunic. Then, he went to the other two men he’d cut down to make sure they were dead, too. Only when he was sure they were not going to rise up against him did he look over to Isalyn.

Their eyes met and, for a moment, they simply stared at one another. Then he made his way over to her, that deadly broadsword still in-hand. As he came near, he reached out and touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

“They hurt you,” he said simply.

Isalyn had no idea what he was talking about. Her hand flew to her lips, coming away with smears of blood. Then she remembered being hit in the face by Scar-Face when he fell.

“Not intentionally,” she said. “It was an accident. Tor… what are you doing here?”

He sighed heavily and sheathed his sword before speaking. “To find you,” he said. “You ran off before dawn, so your father sent Fraser and me out to find you. I was heading home, so the stop in Haltwhistle was along my way. What in the hell happened? Why were you fighting these soldiers?”

He was being calm and collected, not at all like the beast she’d just seen slay three men. She had expected shouting at the very least, but there was none. That left her feeling somewhat disoriented and she endeavored to answer his question.

“I do not know, really,” she said. “I was looking at the metalworker’s wares and those three would not leave me alone. They were quite… aggressive.”

“Did they touch you?”

Before she could answer, the metalworker spoke up. He and his son were still standing there, still with those beautiful broadswords in-hand.

“They boxed her in and tried tae assault her,” he said. “When I tried tae stop them, they thought tae fight me. That is when ye came in, Sir Knight. Ye were a welcome sight.”

Tor looked at the man, and his son, and then turned to look at the shambles of their stall. “From the look of your place of business, somehow I doubt that,” he said. “But you understand I could not let them threaten the lady. She was in distress.”

“Ye saved her,” the metalworker said. “The rest, I can fix. I’ll have it rebuilt in a couple of hours. But tae see ye fight like that… ’twas impressive, Sassenach.”

He said it with a smile so that Tor knew he wasn’t trying to offend him with the Scots term for English, which they usually meant as an insult.