“Welcome to Blackpool, my lord and my lady,” Lenore said. “My sister is already seeing to your accommodations. I apologize they are not yet ready for you. We did not know you were coming.”
Her last sentence sounded like… an excuse? A rebuke? Tor interrupted her before anything more could be said.
“See to their food,” he said, decidedly colder. “And hurry about it.”
Lenore scurried off, heading towards the servant’s entrance to the hall. Gilbert was in the process of settling down when he suddenly stood up again.
“The garderobe, if you please,” he said. “I’d better before I sit down. It has been a long ride.”
Tor whistled for another servant, who escorted Gilbert from the hall to show him to the garderobe built into the wall turret to the east of the hall. As Gilbert vacated the hall, Tor turned to Isalyn, sitting at the big, scrubbed table.
Finally, they were alone.
“Well,” he said, smiling. “It seems as if I have you all to myself, at least until your father returns. How was your journey?”
Isalyn couldn’t adequately describe how she felt when she looked at Tor. As she knew, something had changed yesterday when he’d charged in to save her from the soldiers, something that made her feel giddy and warm in his presence.
“It was quite pleasant, thank you,” she said. Then, she lowered her voice. “Before my father returns, you should know that he does not know about the fight in Haltwhistle. Fraser has not told him and I certainly have not, so…”
His grin broadened. “So you do not want me to mention it.”
“I would appreciate it.”
“Your secret is safe.”
Isalyn smiled in return, flushing simply from the way he was looking at her. “If I did not thank you adequately for your assistance, allow me to do so,” she said. “That is twice you have come to my aid. I really do wish you would have let me gift you with the dog’s head dagger. I very much wanted to.”
He shook his head, sitting opposite her just so he could look at her unimpeded. “I told you that it was not necessary,” he said. “It was my honor to help you.”
“You are gracious,” she said. “I feel as if I have been nothing but trouble since we have met.”
He snorted softly. “You have certainly kept me alert,” he said. “But please do me a favor.”
“What is it?”
“Do not leave Blackpool unescorted,” he said. “Please. As a personal favor to me. I want to be able to sleep tonight and I will not be able to unless you promise me.”
Isalyn shrugged. “Where would I go? Back to Haltwhistle?”
“That was not a promise.”
“Then I promise,” she said, watching his smile return. “But if your food is lacking, I shall run all the way back to the Crown and Sword. I am very hungry.”
He laughed. “It may not 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.
Curious, indeed.
“I am sorry to hear about your wife,” she said after a moment. “How lovely of you to accept responsibility for her sisters. That speaks so very well of your honor.”