She had to think on that. “I suppose that can be true,” she said. “But men are conditioned to dominate a woman. That is our world. Do you, as a man, always wish to dominate a woman?”
In bed, mayhap, Tor thought quickly, but he didn’t speak the words aloud. He had a feeling she wouldn’t take kindly to them. Instead, he tried to keep a straight face as he answered her question.
“Men are the stronger sex, my lady,” he said. “That is the natural order of things.”
“They may be stronger, but that does not mean they are more intelligent in all things.”
“That is true.”
Her mouth twisted wryly. “Are you married?”
He shook his head. “Nay.”
“But if you were married, would you dominate your wife and suppress her natural curiosity and strength?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not she was foolish and reckless.”
“But how do you determine if she is? Women are just as smart as men, you know. Men can be foolish and reckless, too.”
He couldn’t help the smile on his lips. The woman was a spitfire. He didn’t sense that she was argumentative, but she definitely had an opinion she wanted heard. If she hadn’t been so adorable, he would have grown annoyed long ago.
“That is true,” he said. “I do not mind a woman who is curious and strong, I suppose, but I draw the line at reckless and stupid. Whether or not you want to agree with me, the fact of the matter is that this world can be a dangerous place and women need protection from time to time. It is not an insult, simply a matter of fact. And some women do not mind having a man for protection.”
Isalyn couldn’t disagree. As the fifth course arrived, this one an apple and cheese tart, she picked up her spoon and delved into the dish.
“Nay, some do not,” she said. “And there is nothing wrong with it. I know that mayhap it hasn’t been the best decision for me to travel on my own, but I find something emboldening about it. I am bright and educated, so why should I not be in command of my own life and my own destiny?”
Tor was already halfway through the delicious tart. “What does your father have to say about that?”
She seemed to deflate a little. “He does not like it,” he said. “He tells me that I will never find a husband if I continue to behave like a rebel, but I do not care. I do not much care about marriage. But if I do marry someday, he will be a man who will treat me as an equal, not as a possession.”
“Then he will be a unique man, indeed.”
“Mayhap I shall find him, someday,” she said. “I only hope I am still young enough to enjoy it.”
He looked at her, thinking that she was perhaps being suggestive in that comment, but she just started giggling. She was absolutely charming, opinions and all, and he grinned at her.
“As beautiful as you are, I am sure you will have no trouble at all,” he said. “If I come across such a man, I will send him your way. Where shall I send him?”
“London,” she said flatly. “I do not intend to remain in the north any longer than necessary.”
“Did you come here for a purpose?”
She nodded, spooning more tart into her mouth. “My father was unwell,” she said. “He sent word and asked that I come to visit him, so I did. But he is much better these days and I wish to return to London.”
“You do not like it with the barbarians of the north, I take it?”
She shrugged. “As I said, I like it much better in London,” she said. “Life in the north is too provincial for me. I need the excitement of the city.”
“And the filth,” he said pointedly. “And the thieves and the beggars and the crime. Why in the world should that excite you so?”
A smile creased her lips as she picked at her tart. “It just does,” she said. “There is more opportunity for a woman of ingenuity there.”
“What do you mean?”
She stopped picking and eyed him. “May I tell you a secret?”
“If you wish.”
“You must promise never to tell anyone.”
“I swear it.”
She leaned towards him, lowering her voice. “Those dramas I spoke of?” she said. “It is against the law for women to act in them, and no decent woman would write one, but I have written several. The dramas I go to see are my own.”
He looked at her, surprised. “I see,” he said. “And no one knows this?”
She shook her head. “I write dramas under a man’s name,” she said. “It is so very foolish that I must conceal my name, but to openly participate in drama would bring condemnation against me and my family. It is unfortunate that I cannot be free and honest about who I am, but the truth is that I cannot. It is only acceptable for men to write and act in dramas. So, I write the dramas and give them to my friend, who is an actor. He and his friends perform them.”
“What name do you write under?”
“Wellesley Fairhurst.”
Tor sat back in his chair, his gaze glimmering with mirth. “Now I understand why you love London so much,” he said. “You can be an anonymous playwright.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you make any money from this secret life?”
She nodded. “A little,” she said. “It is money I stash away so that I can marry any man I choose because I can offer my own dowry.”
He snorted. “I thought you said you did not care about marriage?”
She lowered her gaze, embarrassed. “I suppose that’s not really true.”
His smile broadened. “Do you already have someone in mind?”
She shook her head firmly. “Nay,” she said. “But I know he will be worldly and educated and like to travel.”
“No provincial knights for you, then.”
“There is nothing wrong with provincial knights,” she insisted. “But my father is a merchant, as was his father before him. When I was young, I traveled with my father and I suppose that is why I like the bigger cities. Even as a child, there were so many interesting things to see there. I could never be happy in the wilds of England or France because provincial lords are content with their boring lives. I could never be content with such a thing.”
Something she said gave Tor pause. “Your father is a merchant?”
“Aye.”
“What is his name?”
“Gilbert de Featherstone.”
Tor’s heart sank. He had no idea Steffan de Featherstone even had a sister, a woman he just spent a wonderful hour with. She was bright and curious and vivacious, and he had enjoyed his time with her immensely.
A woman whose brother he had killed.
In truth, he was a little confused. He had enjoyed his time with her, that is true, but there was never a thought of anything beyond that enjoyment. His thoughts had not wandered to seeing her again or a more permanent arrangement, like courting her, because of his feelings for Jane. He had spent almost seventeen years ignoring any thoughts of remarrying again and it was something he was untroubled by until about an hour ago.
Now, he was troubled.
If Isalyn de Featherstone was nothing else, she was honest and forthright. The entire conversation in that overheated tavern had been an introduction to a woman who didn’t think like most women of the day. She believed women should be strong and should not be dependent upon a man. Such thoughts coming from a well-bred and well-educated young lady were not normal. Well-bred young women were conditioned to be polite and ladylike and appreciate chivalry, but not Isalyn.
She had her own ideas about such things.
Truth be told, he didn’t really mind.
He found her fascinating.
But no longer. Realizing she was Steffan de Featherstone’s sister essentially destroyed any hope of a further relationship with her and he realized that he was grossly disappointed. He was quite certain that there wasn’t much chance of a woman like that wanting to maintain a friendship with the man who had killed her brother.<
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“It is a coincidence that you are Gilbert de Featherstone’s daughter,” he said after a moment. “I was just going to visit your father at Featherstone.”
“Oh?” she said with surprise. “You know my father?”
He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I know of him. In case you have not recognized my standard, my father is the Earl of Warenton. My name is Tor de Wolfe.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You are a de Wolfe?”
“I am. One of those provincial knights who lead boring lives.”
She heard her words come out of his mouth and her cheeks flushed a dull red. “I am sorry,” she said. “I should not have said such a thing. I have never had trouble speaking my mind and it has caused some embarrassment at times, mostly mine. I am sorry.”
Because she was so ashamed, he forgave her in an instant. “No harm done,” he said, smiling. “But I will say that my life, and the lives of my family, are anything but boring. It can be quite exciting along the Scottish Marches when we are the only thing that stands between a Scottish invasion into those big cities you are so fond of. Did you ever think of who was protecting your freedom to write plays and cavort without an escort?”
She shook her head, properly contrite. “I suppose I have not,” she said. “It seems that I have offended you twice today, my lord. Once when you saved me from that horse and now with my opinion of provincial knights.”
“The day is still young. There may yet be the opportunity for more insults.”
He was jesting, but Isalyn looked at him with a measure of horror. “I think two times are quite enough,” she said. “I evidently owe you another meal to make up for the second insult.”
He started laughing. “That is not necessary,” he said. “But you could provide me with an escort to your father’s home. My companion and I might need your protection.”
She looked him over, noting the enormous broadsword at his side that probably weighed as much as she did. “Somehow I doubt that, but you are kind to say so,” she said. “I will escort you under one condition.”
“What is that?”
“That you do not tell my father I was rude to you. Twice.”
He fought off a grin. “You have my vow, my lady.”
“And you do not tell him what I told you about the dramas that I write.”
“You said only one condition. Now you must pick which one. Either he knows about your bad behavior or he knows about your clandestine activities. I cannot withhold both.”
He was clearly teasing her, fighting off a smile, and she sighed sharply. “If you tell him both, I will write you into my next drama and ensure you are killed off in the most painful way possible. I will set the de Wolfe hounds on you.”
He burst out laughing, flashing big, white teeth at her clever play on words. “God, not that,” he said. “Very well, then. At the risk of being a corpse in your next drama, I will not tell him either of those things. You have my promise.”
The ends of her mouth curled up. “Good,” she said. “We understand one another.”
“I think we are starting to.”
Her triumphant grin told him everything he needed to know, and it was a great pity. A pity he couldn’t continue this conversation and a pity he couldn’t come to know a woman who very quickly had his attention. Nearly seventeen years of loneliness he never knew he suffered from had suddenly been recognized with the event of the busty blonde lass. God, how he’d missed laughing with a pretty, witty woman.
He wondered if he was going to deeply regret killing Steffan de Featherstone in the days to come.
CHAPTER FOUR
For a provincial knight, he was handsome.
Quite handsome, really. If she was honest about it, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
Pity he was a provincial knight.
On their ride south from Haltwhistle, she tried to pretend that she wasn’t looking at him even though she was. He was very big – perhaps even the biggest man she’d ever seen, tall as well as muscular. He had a square jaw and green eyes, and in the dim light of the tavern, she thought he had blond hair. But in the light of day, before he’d put his helm back on, she could see that his hair was red with a dusting of silver and gold. Blended together, it made him look like a blond.
No matter what his hair color was, it was beautiful.
So was he.
Truth be told, she had no idea that there were men of such magnificence this far north. Although she had been born at her family’s home in Carlisle, she had not spent an over amount of time in the north. Her mother, a worldly woman of some means, preferred the cities and her own family’s home in London, and that was where Isalyn had spent a large part of her life.
To her, the north of England was full of barbarians. On her infrequent trips home, she had mostly spent them at the family manse in Carlisle, as that was an acceptable abode for the most part. Carlisle was a fairly cosmopolitan city, but it was nothing like her beloved London.
She loved the city life.
Isalyn’s father and brother loved the country manse at Featherstone that had been in her family for over a century. It was a pretty place and when Isalyn had been young, she had spent a few happy summers playing in the elaborate garden or splashing in the brook that ran next to the property. She had been terribly young then, those carefree days of youth, and it had been before her parents decided to live separately and her mother had taken her to London.
But Isalyn did remember those younger years, like bits of a dream. She remembered her mother laughing, and her father laughing, and her brother pulling her hair. She remembered the days as seemingly bucolic and happy when they were a family.
But those days were long gone and now, she could hardly stand to return to Featherstone. She told herself it was because it was too rural. She was a lass who needed the excitement of a city, as she had told Tor. But perhaps the truth was that the memories there were just too painful because they had been so short lived. It was difficult to return to a home where there was no longer any love or laughter, and perhaps that’s why she wanted to stay away most of all.
It reminded her of things that had ended.
It reminded her of a mother who had died three years ago, right about the time Isalyn was becoming a young woman. Her mother had a cancer that ate away at her until she died a painful and lingering death. Isalyn had been devastated by the death of the woman who had been her very best friend and she had spent years mourning her mother as if her death had only happened the day before. Her aunt, who was her mother’s older sister, filled in as best she could, but she was devastated, too. There wasn’t a lot of room for Isalyn’s grief to a woman who was more concerned with her own sorrow.
And then, there was her brother.
Steffan was most definitely his father’s son. Arrogant, irresponsible, and largely immune to the sufferings of the world around him, Steffan had hardly seen his mother in the time his parents had been separated and he didn’t much seem to care. With their parents separated, Isalyn had gone with her mother and Steffan had remained with his father, and Steffan had lived as if he didn’t have a sister or a mother. She’d hardly seen the man growing up and the last time had been a few years ago.
There had been rumors, of course. Rumors of Steffan’s behavior that had trickled down to Isalyn’s mother. Even in London, they had heard of Steffan’s recklessness and of his inability to behave as a knight should. He was evidently a gambler and had stretched thin his finances because of it.
There were times when Isalyn forgot she even had a brother and, quite frankly, that was fine with her. Steffan had never made any great attempt to have a relationship with her and she had made no great attempt to have a relationship with him, so the siblings were ambivalent towards one another.
Even with this visit to Featherstone to see her father, Isalyn hadn’t even seen her brother because, according to her father, he now served the House of de Royans. That had apparently been going on for the past
two years and Gilbert seemed both proud and lonely for the fact that his son served another house. Steffan had no intention of going into the family business and that, too, seemed to weigh heavily on Gilbert.
Steffan wanted to be a knight, not a worthless merchant, as he put it.
Thoughts of Isalyn’s mother and a brother faded as they drew closer to Featherstone. They could see the big manse in the distance, a jewel nestled among the pastoral greenery. Isalyn’s focus returned to Tor, riding slightly ahead of her astride one of the biggest horses she had ever seen.
She was curious about the man beyond their conversation at the tavern.
“Sir Tor?” she called.
He turned as much as he was able given the restrictions of his armor. “My lady?”
“Tor. Tor,” she said, drawing his name out. “It is an interesting name. May I beg you to tell me who you are named for?”
He smiled weakly. “My Christian name is Thomas,” he said. “I am named for my grandmother’s father, but I also have an uncle who is named Thomas. When I was serving on the Welsh Marches, the Welsh gave me the name of Tor. It means a strong and impenetrable rock formation, and my family took up calling me that as well so I would be called differently from my uncle. But my father still calls me Tommy. He is the only one who does.”
“You have a big family?”
He nodded. “I have nine siblings,” he said. “Some from my father’s first marriage, some from my stepmother’s first marriage, and then some by their marriage together. I am the second eldest, my father’s son by blood.”
Isalyn thought on having ten brothers and sisters. “That is a lot of children.”
Tor snorted. “My Uncle Tommy has eleven children although, in fairness, several of them are adopted,” he said. “The de Wolfe family is quite large.”
“There are de Wolfes in Wolverhampton, too.”
“Those are cousins. My grandfather’s eldest brother was the Earl of Wolverhampton and those are his descendants.”
WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2) Page 7
