WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,59

more wine. “I’ve never met the man, nor have I heard of his family, but he told me that his noble family lost their wealth and that is why he serves de Featherstone. He must make his fortune.”

Blayth looked thoughtful. “Le Kerque? From where?”

“Welton Castle,” he said. “The man trained with the de Winter war machine and they are very selective of who they train. That means he must have talent.”

Blayth nodded. “True enough,” he said. “Welton Castle… I believe that is in Lincolnshire. I seem to remember hearing about it, once.”

“You cannot remember shaving Uncle Alec’s head, but you can remember a castle from Lincolnshire?”

Tor was grinning as he said it and Blayth burst into soft laughter. “Such is the nature of my memory sometimes,” he said. “What about the daughter? What do you know of her?”

Tor thought on that question. He probably knew a lot more than anyone else who knew her did, as she had confided in him about many things. He realized that he was eager to see her again, hoping she and her father would come sooner rather than later. Or perhaps they wouldn’t come at all and she would forget about him altogether.

He didn’t like the thought of that.

He was more eager to see her than her father, but he didn’t want to let on.

“All I know is that she has lived most of her life in London with her mother,” he said casually. “She’s a beauty, though. An intelligent young woman.”

“Married?”

“Nay.”

“Mayhap a prospect for you, Tor?”

Tor lowered his gaze, chagrinned to realize that he was fighting off a blush. “Certainly not,” he said. “She is young and beautiful, and I am far too old. Besides, she called me provincial. Not exactly romantic talk.”

Blayth snorted. “You are provincial, but you are also the smartest man I have ever known and one of the best warriors I have ever seen,” he said. “That will count for something for the right young woman someday.”

“Do not worry about me, Uncle. I was married once. I will not marry again.”

Wisely, Blayth changed the subject. Speaking of Jane or marriage or even of Lioncross Abbey were taboo subjects with Tor, so the family avoided them for the most part. The brief topic of Isalyn de Featherstone was forgotten.

At least, by Tor and Blayth.

But there were others who had been listening.

Isabella had been one of them. She was seated opposite her father and Tor, listening to them talk as she ate a big slab of bread and butter. She wasn’t much interested in the conversation until they mentioned Gilbert de Featherstone’s daughter. The moment Tor said she was a beauty, Isabella found herself looking at Barbara, who hadn’t yet left the hall. She wasn’t close by, but she was close enough to hear what was being said.

Isabella remembered seeing that expression on her face somewhere before.

Around the same time Violet le Marr had fallen down those stairs.

If Isalyn de Featherstone came to visit as Tor said she would, Isabella just knew there was going to be trouble.

CHAPTER TEN

Featherstone Manse

“Where is my daughter now?”

Gilbert sounded exhausted even as he asked the question.

They were in his solar at Featherstone, a beautiful chamber that faced out over the front of the manse so he could watch all of the activity. One of those activities had been Fraser and Isalyn returning from Haltwhistle, with no indication as to the mayhem that had happened there that morning. The truth was that Fraser wasn’t sure how to bring it up in a way that wouldn’t send Gilbert spiraling out of control. The man had just lost his son. Fraser thought that perhaps the idea of his daughter in a knight fight might be too much for the man to take.

He cleared his throat softly.

“The last I saw, she was heading to her chamber,” he said evenly. “Tor de Wolfe found her, in fact. She told him that she had gone into town to… purchase something.”

Gilbert didn’t even ask what it was. As the daughter of a merchant, there was no reason for her to be purchasing anything he couldn’t give her for free. She had everything she could possibly want. He shook his head, exasperated, and returned to the missive he had been scribing.

“She is becoming more trouble than she is worth,” he grumbled, scratching out something on the vellum. “She has said repeatedly that she wishes to go home. I wish she would. It was a mistake to bring her here. I should have known