Isalyn realized she was still holding one of the daggers. Looking to her left hand, she could see that it was, indeed, the dog’s head dagger. She had no idea what happened to the other one. She had dropped it somewhere in her panic. She lifted the dagger up so that he could see it.
“I came to buy this for you,” she said, thinking it sounded stupid even as she said it. “I wanted to thank you for yesterday and for… well, for everything. You have been kind and attentive and I wanted to thank you for it. I wanted to give you a token of my gratitude.”
Tor was looking at the dagger with the sapphire eye. When he realized that she’d come to town to purchase a gift for him, it doused any irritation he felt.
But not completely.
He was still wound up from the fight.
“You did not have to do that,” he said, somewhat gentler. “A kind word would have sufficed.”
Realizing the gift did not have the same meaning to him as it did to her, Isalyn suddenly felt embarrassed. She wanted the man to remember her, but not as a foolish lass who needed constant saving. She had thought… she had hoped… that he rather felt some attraction to her as she was feeling for him. But realizing that was not the case, she immediately lowered the dagger and her gaze.
“I am sorry, then,” she said. “I did not mean to cause you such trouble. You have been kind and I have very much enjoyed conversing with you, so forgive my boldness in thinking to purchase you a gift. It was wrong of me.”
She pushed around him, quickly, heading back to the metalworker’s stall just as the metalworker and his son were starting to pick up things that had been scattered. She handed the metalworker the dagger, apologized profusely for the mess, and gave the man about half the contents of her purse to pay for the damage. The man was grateful, but he tried to give her the money back and she wouldn’t take it. She insisted. Leaving the metalworker looking concerned, and a little confused, she tucked her head down and headed down the street.
But Tor caught up to her.
“Hold, my lady,” he said, grasping her by the arm. “Where are you going?”
Isalyn was deeply ashamed and, truth be told, still upset about the fight. Something about it had damaged her sense of safety, the one that permitted her to travel alone whenever she pleased. Tor had been right – had he not come along when he had, her personal well-being at this moment would have been decidedly different. In fact, the entire morning had been upsetting and she simply wanted to go back to Featherstone.
“Home,” she said, unable to look at him. “I am going back to Featherstone, pack my belongings, and return to London where I belong. I do not like it up here in the wilds of Northumberland. I want to return to the city that I know.”
Tor could see that she was fighting off tears. She still had blood streaked on her cheek, which fired him up again. But knowing she was safe and the threat was vanquished brought him back down. He’d fought for her, defended her, and he felt as if he’d never done anything more worthwhile in his life. Even though her actions had been foolish… well, he wasn’t one to point out the obvious. She knew she had been foolish.
… didn’t she?
It occurred to him that this probably wouldn’t be the last time she charged out on her own. If he left her now, he was going to worry about her. Probably for the rest of his life. Somehow, this beautiful, bold woman had managed to get under his skin and he’d only known her for a day.
But… oh, what a day it had been.
“Come with me,” he said softly, reaching out to grasp her arm.
Isalyn found herself being swept along. “Where are we going?” Before he could answer, she dug her heels in and pulled her arm from his grip. “Tor, I am going back to Featherstone. I’ve already created enough of a…”
He cut her off, latching on to her again. This time, it was her hand. “Shut up,” he said quietly, but there was a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “You talk too much. Just keep your lips shut and come with me.”
Isalyn would have yanked away from him again had she not thoroughly enjoyed the feel of her hand in his. His hand was gloved but, even so, the power and warmth against her flesh was something she’d never experienced before. And the way he looked at her…
Maybe she had been wrong.
Maybe he did feel attracted to her as she did to him.
But it was worse even than that. She felt safe and wanted. Her hand in his seemed so natural that she never wanted him to let her go. She could have kept her hand there forever and a day, just to feel the man’s strength against her.
How could she even want such a thing from a man from the wilds of Northumberland?
As he pulled her down the street, they came to his horse, tethered next to an animal’s trough. True to form, the horse had his face buried in the water, blowing bubbles. Tor untied the beast and they continued along, nearing the Crown and Sword. That was where Tor caught sight of Fraser and he paused, waving a big arm over his head until Fraser saw him. The de Featherstone knight made haste in their direction.
“Lady Isalyn,” Fraser greeted, disapproval in his tone, before he looked to Tor. “Where did you find her?”
“Down the avenue,” Tor said without elaborating. “We are going to find something to eat. Will you join us?”
Fraser’s gaze returned to Isalyn. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he dismounted swiftly, coming to look her right in the face. His jaw began to tick.
“Why is her lip split?” he said, turning to Tor. “Why is there blood on her face, de Wolfe?”
Even Isalyn could see that Fraser thought Tor had struck her. It was written all over his face. To avoid a catastrophe, she threw up her hands.
“Because I caused a fight and Tor saved me,” she said. “Do you really think the man would strike me, le Kerque? You must be mad!”
Fraser looked at her, frowning. “What fight?” he said. “Who struck you?”
She sighed sharply. “I am not in the habit of explaining myself to my father’s hired men, but just so you do not think Tor hit me, I will tell you what happened,” she said. “I came to town to make a purchase. Three unsavory soldiers tried to accost me at the metalworker’s stall. Tor came around just in time and saved me from them, but not before they destroyed the stall and scattered everything within it. If you do not believe me, then go ask the metalworker. He is piecing his stall together as we speak.”
The situation was laid out in that simple but shocking explanation, but Fraser believed every word. Tor de Wolfe didn’t seem to him like a man who would strike a woman, but he’d only known him a very short time. Sometimes, men kept things hidden. He looked at Tor.
“My apologies,” he said sincerely. “But you must know how this looks.”
Tor nodded. He wasn’t offended. “I know,” he said. “I have never lifted a hand to a woman in my life and no matter how foolish and stubborn she is, I never will.”
That was enough for Fraser. “I am sorry I assumed otherwise,” he said. “As for your invitation to join you for a meal, I must decline. I must return to Featherstone and tell Lord Gilbert that his daughter has been found. Again.”
Tor shook his head. “I do not intend to return to Featherstone and the lady should not travel home alone,” he said. “Therefore, we will forego the meal and you can take her with you now.”