WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,66
be as fine as you are used to, but it will be tasty and plentiful,” he said. “But if it is not to your liking, I will take you to the Crown and Sword myself. I will not subject you to food you are not happy with.”
It was a sweet thing to say, a chivalrous declaration that seemed so natural coming from him. “I promise I will eat whatever is put in front of me,” she said. “I was only jesting.”
“I was not.”
She giggled. “You needn’t worry over me so. I know it seems as if I take quite a bit of attention, but I assure you that I do not.”
He was watching her, his gaze drifting over her face. “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“When you are in London, what do you do every day?” he asked. “Do you go to your dramas every day? How do you spend your time?”
It was a change in subject, but one she was more than willing to speak of. “I live with my mother’s sister,” she said. “It is a house owned by my mother’s family.”
“Where is it?”
“On Watling Street near Bow Street,” she said. “My mother’s family was from the north, much like my father’s family, only my mother’s father was a St. John, a warlord. The St. John home in London has been there for one hundred years. I had a great-great-grandfather who built it with permission of King Richard.”
He cocked his head curiously. “The St. Johns of Winding Cross Castle?”
“Aye,” she said. “Do you know them?”
He nodded. “They are allied with my father,” he said. “Eden Castle is also part of their property. In fact, it is not too terribly far from here.”
“That is my mother’s family,” she confirmed. “My grandfather was head of the family, but he only had two daughters – my mother and my aunt. My grandfather’s cousin is now head of the family.”
It was interesting information, yet another facet to this woman he found so fascinating. If her mother was a St. John, then war was in Isalyn’s blood. The House of St. John was notorious for their passionate knights and warring ways. It was starting to make some sense to him as to why Isalyn was so fearless in everything she did.
She came from warrior stock.
His respect for her grew.
Before he could speak, however, Lenore appeared with a pitcher of wine and cups. She was followed by servants with trays, each tray bearing something different. There was bread, cheese, stewed apples and cherries, hard boiled eggs that had been rolled in salt and herbs, and another tray that carried what looked like little pies. All of this was set down between Tor and Isalyn, and Lenore seemed to make sure she was still between them even when the other servants dropped their load and moved away.
In fact, it began to get odd. She was fussing with a plate of bread on the table between them, seemingly making the presentation perfect but all she was doing was brushing away crumbs. Tor finally moved the platter out of her reach.
“That will do, Lenore,” he said. “I would like my guests to have more hot food, so please see to it.”
Lenore looked at him, almost wounded, but she swiftly moved away. When Tor looked back to Isalyn, he could see that her attention was on the young woman. Curiously. When their eyes met once more, she smiled weakly.
“A relative?” she asked. “You introduced her as a ward. She seems very… attentive.”
Tor picked up the pitcher of wine and collected two cups. “She and her sister are my wife’s younger sisters,” he said as he poured. “My wife died almost seventeen years ago and her sisters became my responsibility. They are my chatelaines here at Blackpool.”
Realizing he had been married, once, brought Isalyn pause. He was a widower. She was inherently curious about it but sensed, simply by his manner, that it wasn’t an open subject, so she refrained from asking about it. The fact that he had been married, however, didn’t surprise her. He was quite a bit older than her twenty years. With the silver in his hair, he could have been twice her age for all she knew, but he didn’t seem old. In fact, he seemed to be a man in his prime to her, but if he had been married seventeen years ago, that was near the time Isalyn had been born, well, within three years. He must have married at a very young age.