Damn the man for chasing her out of his hall.
True to form, Isalyn did not go to the kitchens or to her chamber as her father had instructed. She had spent many years away from her father and his commands, so she wasn’t going to start listening to him now. Instead, she had gone back the way she had come, out into the bailey with a blustery storm gathering overhead.
Even as she stood there, she could feel raindrops falling inconsistently and thunder rolled in the distance. She glanced up into the sky, watching the pewter-colored clouds as they collected, and the wind was beginning to pick up.
It was going to be a good storm.
But it was nothing like the storm in her heart. The moment in the hall with her father was so typical of so many moments with him. It seemed to her that when her mother was alive, he had been far more congenial and sweet. She remembered the affection between her parents, something that had changed so drastically in what seemed to be such a short amount of time. She had such memories of her parents’ affection and then, suddenly, it was gone.
Even though her father had summoned her from London under the pretense of an illness, something that would indicate he wanted her with him, he still had no ability to behave towards her as a father should. Affectionately, kindly. It was as if he didn’t know how to behave with her at all and considering how much time she had spent with her mother in London, she was virtually a stranger to him.
And he was a stranger to her.
Isalyn had always wished that she had asked her mother what had happened between her and her father, but the woman had been so sick in the last few years of her life that Isalyn didn’t want to bring up the past. Her mother never spoke of Gilbert, as if he were dead to her somehow, but perhaps if she had asked about the situation, she might understand him a little better. As it was, she knew nothing.
He never even tried to get to know her, not even when she appeared a month ago at his summons. It was as if her coming had been enough for him, because there had been no grateful reunion or meaningful conversations.
But there had been some consternation on his part.
Isalyn wasn’t a calm, obedient girl. She had a mind of her own. Consequently, her behavior confused and upset him, but he never once tried to talk to her about it. The more she did as she pleased, the more he seemed to distance himself. Isalyn’s mother had given her so much freedom and so much encouragement to do what she wanted to do, and that was the way Isalyn lived her life. Her mother had known about the plays she had written and she had even read a couple of them until her illness consumed her. She had been proud of her daughter’s creativity and had never tried to discourage her, something that was rare for a parent to do with a female child.
The rain began to come down a little more steadily as Isalyn reflected on her relationship with her father. It had been embarrassing when he’d spoken so condescendingly to her in front of Tor, but rather than snapping back, she had kept her mouth shut. When every cell in her body was demanding she resist, there was a part of her that didn’t want Tor to see that. She had already impressed upon the man just how independent and strong she was, and she was certain that he was intimidated by that. Any man would have been. Being independent was one thing, but being sassy and disobedient was quite another.
She just didn’t want Tor to think badly of her.
Why on earth that should matter to her, she didn’t know. But it did.
In fact, even thinking about him made her smile. Perhaps it was the patience he had shown her since the very beginning of their association. She’d never seen a man with more patience. He had saved her life and how had she thanked him? She had been rude. And nasty. But she had apologized for it, bought him a meal, and he had forgiven her. Their conversation at the Crown and Sword had been one of the better ones she’d ever had.
Or perhaps it wasn’t the conversation as much as it was the company.
More rain began to come down and Isalyn could see Tor’s big, hairy warhorse standing over by the trough, burying his nose in the water and blowing bubbles. He was such a big horse, but with oddly short and thick legs. It seemed to her that he was just as big and strong as his master, so they seemed to fit well together.
Curious, she made her way across the courtyard, pelted by occasional fat raindrops and thinking that perhaps she should find some shelter because she didn’t want to ruin the red damask she was wearing. Across the courtyard, where the horses were tethered, was a doorway that led inside and she headed in that direction.
But that path took her by Tor’s fat horse and something made her pause next to the animal. Maybe she simply wanted to get a good look at the horse, an animal he would have undoubtedly taken into battle. In London, she wasn’t exposed much to the warlords or knights, so battle to her was more of a concept than something she had any experience with. Bloodthirsty knights who fought with barbaric Scotsman or uncivilized Welsh were about all she knew of the fighting class. Her world had always been a somewhat sheltered and civilized existence, where things like that didn’t much exist.
She had never shown much interest in that world but, suddenly, she was.
That world had Tor in it.
At that point, Isalyn was standing at the horse’s head and the animal noticed her, lifting its muzzle out of the water. It was a very pretty horse, even if he was big and hairy and strange-looking. There was something in his eyes that looked almost gentle and, on impulse, she reached out to pet him.
It was the wrong move.
The horse, startled by the hand in its face, jumped back and reared up. It was enough of a jolt to knock that enormous bundle on its hindquarters onto the ground and as Isalyn watched, the bundle became undone and part of an arm was exposed. Curiosity turned to horror as she realized that the wet blanket concealed a corpse, but that wasn’t the worst of it. A big gust of wind lifted up part of the horse blanket that the corpse was wrapped in, revealing its head.
She recognized the hair and the somewhat distorted features. Even though she hadn’t seen him in a few years, still, she never forgot a face.
Isalyn found herself looking at her very dead brother.
Her screams filled the air.
By the time Tor hit the bailey along with Gilbert, Nat, and Fraser, everyone seemed to be in an uproar and it all seemed to be centered around Enbarr. There was more screaming going on and, quickly, Tor pushed through a crowd of soldiers to see what they were looking at.
Then, he could instantly see what happened.
Somehow, some way, Steffan’s body had been dislodged from the back of his horse. It now lay up on the ground, in the mud, and the horse blanket that had been tightly wrapped around it had partially come off. But that wasn’t the worst part – Enbarr, startled by the surge of the crowd and the screams that seemed to be echoing off the walls of the manse, was dancing around in a jittery fashion. In the process, he had stepped on Steffan’s body repeatedly.
What they had was a mess.
“God,” Tor groaned, shoving some soldiers aside as he hastened to calm his panicking steed. He grasped the horse’s head, struggling to calm the beast. “Easy, Enbarr. Be easy, lad.”
Quickly, he untied the reins that had the animal tethered to a post, pulling the animal away from the body on the ground. There were horrified stable servants standing around, watching the spectacle, and he grabbed the nearest man by the collar and yanked him over to the horse.