Tor snorted. “Of course they have,” he said. “Some of them are Scotts, from Matha’s clan. They know this is a de Wolfe production, so they have come to support their English branch of the family.”
“And that is why I let them have a Scots hero part of the time.”
Tor leaned forward to kiss her but, suddenly, they were surrounded by other de Wolfes, all of them congratulating Isalyn on a job well done. Scott was the first one to hug her tightly. He adored his daughter-in-law, who had been the perfect match for his strong, silent, and brilliant son.
“Another success, Isalyn,” Scott said. “Tonight was positively magnificent. I thought we were going to have a battle, however, when you brought out the knight to save Edinburgh. There were a few men from Clan Kerr out there and they took particular exception to that.”
Isalyn started laughing. “I know,” she said. “I was watching from the shadows. They started throwing things. Did you see them?”
Scott laughed. “I did,” he said. “They were throwing pieces of jerky. Did you not see the knight pluck one that had hit him on the chest and eat it?”
They all started laughing. It had been an eventful night, a moment for the House of de Wolfe to bond over something other than a battle. Times such as this, with laughter and joy and pleasure, were rare. Troy de Wolfe, Scott’s twin, who had also married into Clan Kerr, pushed his way to the front so he could kiss Isalyn on the cheek.
“You are lucky that is all they threw,” he said. “If the Kerrs become enraged, they’ll start throwing knives.”
“There is always tomorrow night,” Isalyn said, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll put my knight in real armor so he can protect himself should the dirks start to fly.”
She was joking. Sort of. The Scots and the English in the same amphitheater had been dicey from the start, but Isalyn had been determined to use a theater that the Romans had once used and unite the border through entertainment. It somehow gave validation to her dramas, performed in the same space that had once been a backdrop for Greek and Roman tragedies.
All she knew was that she was happier than she had ever been.
Thanks to a certain provincial knight.
But the hour was growing late and they needed to head back to Castle Questing, which was about ten miles to the southeast. It would take them little more than an hour to get there, traveling beneath the light of the half-moon during a summer’s night that had been mild and calm.
The de Wolfe men helped Isalyn shut down the amphitheater for the night, collecting costumes and props that were being stored in a livery across the road, one that bordered the River Tweed. Fraser was hauling things particularly quickly because he wanted to get back to Castle Questing where his wife was waiting for him.
At nine months pregnant, Isabella was round and rosy, hungry and grumpy, and ready for the child to be born. She had demanded to come to Castle Questing when Isalyn’s drama opened and they had been at Castle Questing for two weeks. But they were also there for another reason – Isabella had been born at Castle Questing and she wanted her baby to be born there as well, so everyone, including Blayth, was playing a waiting game for his first grandchild to be born.
“Come on, now!” Fraser was clapping his hands to get men moving. “Hurry up. We must head back to Castle Questing.”
That made Will drag his feet. Big, dark, and handsome, Will was the image of his grandfather, William de Wolfe, but he had a touch of the de Norville sense of humor thanks to his mother, the eldest daughter of Paris de Norville. He had a pillar made of plaster in his hands as he crossed the avenue to the livery, pausing next to Fraser.
“Do you think you’re the only man who has a wife he wants to return to?” he asked, incredulous. “She has probably already had the child.”
Fraser frowned. “She promised not to have it while I was away.”
Scott and Troy heard him and started laughing. Even Will grinned. “She may not have a choice,” he said. “Women have babies when they have them. It is not something they can plan.”
Fraser cocked an eyebrow. “Then we had better hurry.”
They did. A little more than an hour later, the party from Kelso entered the massive bailey of Castle Questing, turning their horses over to the stable servants as they headed into the equally enormous keep.
Isalyn was half-asleep as she walked in, staggering to the point where Tor picked her up, cradling her so she wouldn’t fall. There was a steady hum of chatter going on as men went about removing helms and gear. Tor was about to take Isalyn up to their chamber to check on their two young sons when he was blocked by his grandmother descending the stairs.
Jordan Scott de Wolfe was wrapped up in the tattered shawl she always wore, the one her husband swore she would be buried with. She was in her eighth decade but she moved, and looked, like a much younger woman. The shining star of the entire de Wolfe family, she looked at Isalyn with concern when she saw that Tor was carrying her.
“Ish?” she said, using her family nickname. “What’s the matter with ye, lass? Are ye ill?”
Isalyn smiled weakly, pushing herself out of Tor’s arms. “Nay,” she said. “I’m simply weary. Tor was being kind by carrying me. How are my lads?”
Jordan smiled. “Finally in bed,” she said. “They remind me of Scott and Troy at that age. I couldna get them tae sleep no matter how hard I tried. I had tae sing for yer lads for an hour tae put them tae sleep and ye know I dunna sing very well.”
Isalyn leaned in and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “Thank you, Matha,” she said. “You know they love to hear you sing the fairy song.”
Jordan grunted. “My throat is raw,” she said, watching Isalyn giggle as she moved past her, heading up the stairs to check on her sons. But Jordan stopped her. “Wait, Ish. Where’s Fraser?”
He was towards the rear of the group, removing his gloves, but when he heard his name, his head shot up.
“I am here, Lady de Wolfe,” he said.
Jordan beckoned him forward before pointing up the stairs. “Go tae my granddaughter,” she said. “She has a little surprise for ye.”
Fraser went pale. “She… she does?”
Jordan’s old eyes twinkled. “Get,” she said. “Dunna keep her waiting.”
Fraser bolted. They could hear him running up the stairs, including Isalyn, who looked at Tor’s grandmother with wide eyes.
“Did she have her babe?” she asked anxiously.
Jordan nodded. Then, she started to laugh. “I was trying tae get yer two tadpoles tae sleep when I heard Bella calling for me,” she said. “I practically had tae tie Tristan down. I promised him that he’d be able tae ride his pony tomorrow if he went tae sleep and that was the only way I could leave him. Remember that, Tor. Tristan rides his pony tomorrow.”
As Tor nodded, Isalyn put her hands on Jordan’s arm. “But Bella? Is she well? Is the babe well?”
Jordan patted her hands. “Very well,” she said. “By the time I went intae the chamber, she was already pushing the first baby out. Her mother and I barely had time tae help her. The lass did it almost all by herself.”
Isalyn’s eyebrows lifted. “First baby?”
Jordan nodded. “She had two,” she said, listening to the men mutter their approval. “Two little lads who scream like banshees.”