WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Tor realized that it was a runaway animal, a very dangerous situation in the midst of a busy village, and his knightly instincts kicked in. He was sworn to protect the weak and save the innocent. At the moment, it appeared to him that the woman on the horse very much needed saving.

  As the horse charged in his direction, he swung both legs over his saddle. He was still sitting on Enbarr, waiting for just the right moment. As the white horse went sprinting past, he launched himself at the woman and they both went over the side of the white horse, crashing onto the street below.

  It had all happened very quickly but Tor had been conscious of the position of his big body as they’d fallen. He thought he could land on his feet, but momentum had taken him sideways. Therefore, he purposely turned so he would hit the ground and she would fall on top of him.

  She did, heavily.

  But there was a fly in the ointment. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one looked at the situation, he had ended up planting his face right in her breasts when he’d grabbed her. Literally, his mouth was on her tit.

  But that wasn’t the worst – or best – of it. She had been wearing a cloak or a cape that had come up over them, entangling them both in the garment. He ended up laying on it, pinning it down and making it virtually impossible to move because of the way they were both laying.

  Once they hit the ground, Tor lay there for a moment because the wind was knocked out of him. He shook off the stars, realizing there was the swell of a lovely white breast against his face.

  “My lady?” he said. “Are you…?”

  When the woman felt his hot breath and mouth against her bosom, she shrieked and began frantically pushing him away even as she tried to move. “You may release me,” she said, cutting him off. “I am not injured. Do you hear? Release me!”

  He wanted to, but the cape had them tangled. He unwound his arms and in her panic to separate herself from him, she put her hand on his face and used it as leverage to push herself up.

  Tor grunted in pain as she smashed his nose, but the cape began to come unraveled as she stood up. He could see that she’d managed to put both feet on the ground and she gave a good yank on the cape, pulling it off of his head but catching his left ear.

  With a hand on his stinging ear and the other one on his smashed nose, Tor looked up at the woman he’d just saved from certain death. Instead of gratitude, all he saw was indignation.

  “Although I am sure you thought you were doing me a great favor, I did not require your assistance with the horse,” she said, straightening up the cape that was part of her fine, and very expensive, dress. “Your heroism was unnecessary, my lord. In fact, it was presumptuous.”

  Tor was sitting in the gutter, his enormous arms draped over his bent-up knees as he found himself looking at what was inarguably the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes upon.

  She was petite in size, but curvy and big-busted. This was no fragile, slender female. Her hair was blonde, long and soft and wavy, and she had several small braids decorating her hair, all of them woven with strings of pearls or ribbons that matched her red damask dress. But her face… that’s what had his attention. She had delicately arched brows over dark blue eyes, a pert little nose, and full lips. But those eyes were blazing at him and he brushed himself off, rising to his feet.

  “My apologies,” he said.

  And that was all he said. He wasn’t going to stand there and argue with her, ungrateful wench. He didn’t care how beautiful she was because she had the manners of a boar. It wasn’t as if he’d expected her to fall at his feet with thanks, but a little gratitude might have been nice.

  Maybe there was just a little wounded pride there.

  Without another glance, he crossed the street where Nat was mounted, holding on to Enbarr.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Nat asked. “That was a hard fall.”

  Tor grunted. “I am not injured,” he said, swinging himself onto Enbarr’s back. “Let us get on with this.”

  He gathered his reins and prepared to move forward but a shout stopped him. Pausing, he turned to see the blonde in the magnificent red dress crossing the road towards him. She had something in her hand, lifting it up to him.

  “Here,” she said, though it was forced. “I am sure you thought you were helping me, so please take this for your trouble.”

  He could see that she had coins in her hand and, for some reason, that enraged him. Well, as much as anything could. He’d never been truly furious in his life, but the fact that she thought she was doing him a favor by rewarding him tweaked his already damaged pride. He leaned over, fixing her in the eyes.

  “Keep your money,” he said. “And keep off horses you cannot control. What I did was not to save you. It was to save all of those people you were preparing to trample with that wild animal. The next time a man risks his life to save yours and so many others, it would be the well-mannered thing to thank him rather than lie to him and tell you that you did not need any help at all.”

  She was red in the face by the time he finished with her. Lowering her hand with the coins in it, it was obvious that her prideful manner had taken a hit.

  “I did not ask you to risk yourself,” she said.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “That is true, you did not,” he said. “Nor did the townsfolk who were under threat from your unruly mount. But I am a trained knight and when there is trouble, I cannot stand by and not do anything about it. Had I known how rude and ungrateful you were, however, I might have changed my mind.”

  With that, he directed Enbarr out onto the road and began to move away. Nat was already several paces ahead of him, uninterested in the lecture Tor was giving the lovely young woman. Tor could see Nat up ahead and he directed Enbarr through the villagers and farmers who had resumed their business now that the wild horse had been corralled. He wasn’t moving very quickly, but he did have the road south in his sights. He was looking up ahead when he heard a voice beside him.

  “I am sorry that I was rude.” The woman in the red dress was suddenly walking beside him. She’d caught up to him and he never even noticed. “It’s just that my father will probably never let me ride a horse again if he has any sense that I nearly got myself killed. There were people standing around who might know him, as he is well-known in town, and word might get back to him. I had to pretend I had some semblance of control.”

  He looked down at her, willing to accept her apology with shocking speed. Usually, he was a man to hold a grudge and he’d been known to hold them for quite a long time. But looking down at that sweet face, he was willing to forget the whole thing.

  “Your father is popular in town, is he?”

  “Well-known, anyway.”

  “It must make it difficult for you to be anything less than perfect.”

  “Exactly.”

  “My name is Tor.”

  She looked up at him, the dark blue eyes studying him. “I am Isalyn.”

  He dipped his head. “My lady,” he said. “’Tis an honor to meet you.”

  “And you. For what you did… you probably did save my life. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  She forced a smile, just a little one, but it was the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. “If you will not take my coins, will you at least let me purchase a meal for the man who saved me from breaking my neck? It would be very bad manners of me not to thank you in some way.”

  Tor had his day mapped out. Go to Featherstone, return de Featherstone’s body to his father, and depart for home. If he moved swiftly enough, he might even be able to sleep in his own bed tonight. Blackpool was about twenty miles to the north, so if he moved swiftly, he could make it home that night.

  All of those things were going through his mind.

  But he realized as he looked at her that he might not make it home tonight at all.

  Tor wasn’t one to be influenced by a pretty face. For close to seventeen years, ever since the death of his wife, he’d made
a habit of shutting out the weaker sex. Jane had been the only woman in the world for him and he never expected to replace her. In fact, even thinking about another wife made him feel unfaithful to Jane. She had been gone all of these years, but she still wasn’t gone from his heart.

  The memory lingered.

  At least, that was the impression he lived with every day. But in looking at the young woman’s lovely face, he could feel a tug on his heart, that cold and dormant thing that lived inside of him. He realized that he wanted to go with her and he wanted the company of a lovely young woman, and that made him feel guilty. It had been nearly seventeen years since he last held company with a beautiful young woman and he thought it wasn’t something he missed at all until this very moment.

  Something inside him was stirring.

  Glancing over his right shoulder, he could see that Nat had already made the turn onto the road south. They were both here on business, and nothing more, and he felt a little strange deviating from that plan. But when he looked at Isalyn’s face again, he didn’t care that he was about to deviate.

  He was rather intrigued by it.

  “Very well,” he said after a moment. “Let me catch up to my companion and tell him. Where would you have me meet you?”

  Isalyn pointed back towards the town center. “There is a small place on the other side of the square called the Crown and Sword,” she said. “It is not much to look at, but the food is excellent. My father will come to town just to eat there.”

  “That is as good a recommendation as any,” he said. “I will join you there shortly.”

  With that, he directed Enbarr forward again, thinking about what he was going to tell Nat. Nat wasn’t invited, of course, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to break that to him. He could explain away the woman well enough – that she simply wanted to thank him for saving her – but he wondered if Nat would be able to read his thoughts.

  Thoughts that suggested he was more than willing to join her.

  When he finally caught up to Nat, the man fortunately didn’t read his mind because he was too busy being annoyed at the delay. Now he was going to have to patiently wait for Tor as a grateful lady paid for a meal. Tor promised Nat that he would bring him food, which seemed to be the only thing to placate the knight, who now had to mind two horses and a corpse while Tor was off cavorting with a grateful maiden.

  It hardly seemed fair.

  But Tor really didn’t care.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I swear to you that I have never fallen from a horse,” Isalyn said. “I’ve never even needed help. This was a first.”

  Tor wasn’t so sure he believed her but, at the moment, it didn’t matter. He was too busy being fascinated.

  By her.

  The Crown and Sword was a small establishment. It was nestled between two bakers’ stalls and had the invariable distinction of always smelling like fresh bread. It was also quite warm because of the heat from the bakers’ ovens that used common walls. Coupled with the heat from a hearth that was as tall as a man, it was a very warm place.

  Tor wasn’t quite sure if he was sweating because of all of the heat or if it was because of the company he kept. He was dressed as he normally did, in a padded tunic, mail coat, and a heavy de Wolfe tunic. All of the heavy and protective clothing that went with what a knight usually wore. He was normally comfortable in the garb because the temperatures in the north could be quite cold but, at the moment, he was sweating buckets as he sat across the table from lovely Isalyn.

  He resisted the urge to strip off anything.

  This wasn’t the place, nor the time, for it. He remained fully clothed, wiping at his sweaty face once in a while. The small establishment they were in was really no larger than a home and there were just a few tables, all full of people enjoying what was perhaps one of the finest meals Tor had ever eaten. Unlike most establishments, which were mostly meant for drink, this one seemed to be meant mostly for food. It was quiet and there was no entertainment or boisterous behavior.

  It was an interesting place, indeed.

  The food came in courses and it had been coming in a steady flow ever since they sat down about an hour ago. The first course had been poached eggs on bread covered in a sweet and savory sauce. That had been quickly devoured and the second course had been hard boiled eggs stuffed with meat and breadcrumbs. Six had been brought to the table and Tor had eaten four of those because they were so tasty. The third course had been a fish pie, literally a pie crust in the shape of a fish. It has been filled with white, salty fish swimming in a sweet wine sauce.

  Now, they were on the fourth course, which was a very good beef roast with sweet carrots. It seemed as if the wenches brought another course about every fifteen minutes and the talk between them had been light. Isalyn spoke of her recent visit to the tavern and the dish her father seemed to favor, which was stuffed capon. She spoke very little of herself or of her family except to say that she had a father and a brother but, other than that, Tor didn’t know anything about her. He suspected that she had designed the conversation that way.

  But the truth was that he had not spoken much of himself, either, although he was wearing the de Wolfe tunic. That should have told her where he came from but she never commented on it. It was one of the most recognizable standards in England, if not the most recognizable in the north, but she never said a word. He began to understand why when he asked her what her favorite dish was.

  That’s when Lady Isalyn began to come alive.

  “There is a place in London called The Taberna,” she said. “Everything they serve is modeled after the food the ancient Romans ate. They serve a dish called Ova, which is eggs with pepper and honey. It is delicious.”

  Tor was still working on the fish pie because his portion had been so large. “And that is your favorite?”

  She nodded, sipping at her mulled wine. “One of them,” she said. “They also serve a dish that is made from chicken legs with a sauce of vinegar and honey and mint. I could eat that morning and night.”

  She had such a deliciously round little figure that he could believe it. He liked a woman who loved to eat.

  “Do you travel to London frequently, then?” he asked. “You seem to know a lot about the Roman tavern.”

  She nodded. “I live there most of the time,” she said. “My mother’s family has a home in London along the Thames and I live with my aunt. She has no children, so she enjoys the company.”

  Tor sopped up the fish sauce with his bread. “Do you like it there?”

  Isalyn nodded fervently. “I do,” she said. “There is no place I would rather be. I long for the bustle of the city, the way of life. I like the shops, the food, the culture.”

  “What culture?”

  “Why, entertainment, of course,” she said as if he were ignorant of such things. “There is an entire district where actors portray great works of literature. Dramas, they are called. Have you never seen one?”

  He shook his head. “I have heard of them, but I have never seen one.”

  She was warming up to a subject she knew a good deal about. “Mostly, there are popular ones that portray stories from the Bible,” she said. “The church has a good deal of control over the content, but there is a district across the river that does Greek tragedies and scandalous romances. The church is angry about it, but they cannot do much except denounce it. No one listens, however. The dramas are performed to big crowds every night from the bed of the wagons.”

  He was chewing the last of the bread and fish gravy. “Ah,” he said. “I have seen such wagons. They move from place to place. Sometimes they come this far north. You will see them in the larger cities. In fact, there is an ancient Roman theater near Melrose and I have heard they do great productions there from time to time, but I have never seen them.”

  She smiled. “In London, they do the same thing with an ancient Roman theater near the Guildhall,” she said, her expression becoming somewhat wistful. “I miss the
dramas. When I am in London, I sneak out of my aunt’s home and take the ferry across the river to see the dramas.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “In London?” he said. “Alone?”

  “Of course.”

  “You are taking great chances with your safety, my lady.”

  She grinned, a delightfully impish gesture. “You sound like my father.”

  “He is right.”

  Seeing that she did not have his support, she shrugged. “I do not need an escort clinging to me everywhere I go like a shadow,” she said. “I much prefer to go alone and move about unnoticed.”

  “You disapprove of escorts?”

  “They are a nuisance.”

  He swallowed the bite in his mouth, eyeing her. “I was wondering why you had no escort,” he said. “You are having a meal with a man you do not know and there are no soldiers around to protect you.”

  She stiffened, just the slightest. “I can take care of myself,” she assured him, perhaps even suggesting with her tone that she was prepared to fight him should he entertain any unsavory ideas. “A woman does not need a man to protect her. Women must learn to protect themselves. They must learn to do for themselves. I do not subscribe to the notion that women always need men to save them and mayhap that is why I was so harsh with you earlier. I should not have been and I have apologized but, truly, do women always need a man to save them? I do not think so.”

  Tor was rather amused by her attitude. “That is a brave notion,” he said. “But it could also be a foolish one with the wrong man.”

  “Why?”

  He lifted his big shoulders. “What if you marry a man who demands complete obedience? What if he does not want you wandering around without an escort?”

  She frowned. “I would never marry such a man.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Did you ever stop to think that such a man is concerned for your safety? He does not insist on an escort to control you, but because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”