WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2) Page 12

  “The lady said tae leave her alone,” he said in a Scots accent. “Go about yer business, lads.”

  The soldiers eyed the big, burly metalworker and his apprentice, who was clearly a son because he was simply a younger version of the man.

  “’Tis none of your affair,” Scar-Face said. “Mind your own business.”

  The metalworker didn’t move the iron bar. “Ye’re harassing one of my customers,” he said. “Move along.”

  Scar-Face shoved the iron bar out of the way. “I don’t take kindly to a Scots dog telling me what to do,” he said. “And how do you know I wasn’t going to be a paying customer? And what makes you think she is?”

  The metalworker lifted the iron rod, wielding it like a club. “I willna tell ye again tae move along,” he said. “I’ve got more weapons at my disposal than ye do, so consider yer answer carefully.”

  Scar-Face’s answer was to unsheathe his sword. His companions followed. Seeing this, the metalworker and his son unsheathed two gorgeous broadswords that they had displayed in the center of the stall. People began to scatter as metal began to flash.

  A fight was in the air.

  That is, everyone scattered but Isalyn. She was outraged and frightened, but the metalworker had defended her so she couldn’t very well leave him. She was standing by a display of beautiful daggers, including the dog’s head, and she grabbed it. Her other hand took up a long and very sharp dirk. She wielded both of the weapons threateningly.

  “You have been told to leave several times,” she said. “You are not welcome. If you do not leave immediately, I will summon the watch and they shall run you out of town.”

  The soldiers looked at her with a mixture of impatience and annoyance. “I’ll deal with you after I’ve taken care of these bastards,” Scar-Face said. “Put those daggers away before you hurt yourself.”

  Truth be told, Isalyn had never used a dagger in her life. She didn’t even own one but, even so, she wasn’t afraid to use it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be turned against her, but she was willing to take the chance. She couldn’t let the metalworker’s noble defense go unaided.

  “If you do not leave now, I am going to summon the watch,” she said steadily. “You have your last warning.”

  “Better listen tae her, lads,” the metalworker said. “I can use a sword as well as ye can, so dunna think I’ll make an easy target.”

  He’d meant it as a deterrent, but it only seemed to act as a threat. One of Scar-Face’s companions brought his sword to bear on the table in front of him, one that held metal bracelets and combs. The table broke and the items went flying, and people began to run in earnest.

  The metalworker flew into action.

  Swords began flying and a table dumped over onto Isalyn as men engaged in combat. Frightened, and surprised by the tipping table, she let out an instinctive scream. It was enough to cause one of Scar-Face’s companions to swing his sword in her direction, right at her head. Isalyn hit the ground when she saw it flying at her and she screamed again, simply because it was very frightening. She wasn’t used to combat of any kind. Her thoughts turned towards summoning the watch to break up the fight, but that was the last thing she remembered thinking before the entire stall exploded.

  Suddenly, there was a fully armed knight in their midst.

  A massive broadsword was arcing in the direction of the soldiers in a skilled and offensive fashion. Caught off-guard by an enormous and enraged knight, they struggled to defend themselves from the onslaught. But their actions were for naught. They were no match against the knight bearing the colors of the House of de Wolfe. Scar-Face was the first one to go down, sliced across the neck, down his chest, and into his belly.

  He hit the ground right in front of Isalyn.

  She yelped again, hit in the face by Scar-Face’s hand as he fell. She rolled away, now scrambling to get out of the way as a vicious battle took place over her head. She was crawling through the mud, trying to get clear and get to her feet so she could run away. At some point, she made it far enough away to stagger to her feet, but she made the mistake of turning around to see what was happening.

  All she could see was Tor killing everything that moved.

  It was hypnotic.

  A second soldier went down as she watched, leaving the last soldier fighting against Tor with all his might. The metalworker and his son wisely cleared the stall, running over to stand with Isalyn as she stood there and watched Tor with awe.

  She’d never seen a fight in her life.

  Now, she was getting an eyeful.

  The remaining soldier was a big man and he wasn’t going down as easily as the other two had. The metalworker’s stall was completely destroyed at this point, with product and broken tables littering the ground. The soldier was fending off Tor more than he was actually waging an offensive against him because, at this point, he was just trying to stay alive. However, the ground littered around him was impeding his ability to keep solid footing. He kept tripping over daggers and combs and other things that had fallen from the broken tables.

  But Tor wasn’t showing the man any mercy. He was swinging that sword with great skill and tremendous power, and it was only a matter of time before he gained the upper hand. The soldier took a misstep and Tor was on top of him, using that big sword to slice into the soldier’s right arm, severing tendons and muscle. The soldier had the presence of mind to grab his sword with his good arm, taking a swipe at Tor, but he was too slow. Tor kicked him in the belly, sending him onto his backside. Before the soldier could pick himself up, Tor gored him right in the chest.

  The battle was over.

  It had been a skill level and a fight not usually seen in these parts. Tor de Wolfe was a man with the kind of talent that was used to fight for kings, so as much as the fight had been terrifying in many ways, it had also been a feast for the eyes. It had truly been something to watch.

  Even for Isalyn.

  She stood there a moment, mouth hanging open in shock, watching Tor kick his opponent to make sure he was dead, before wiping his sword off on the dead man’s tunic. Then, he went to the other two men he’d cut down to make sure they were dead, too. Only when he was sure they were not going to rise up against him did he look over to Isalyn.

  Their eyes met and, for a moment, they simply stared at one another. Then he made his way over to her, that deadly broadsword still in-hand. As he came near, he reached out and touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

  “They hurt you,” he said simply.

  Isalyn had no idea what he was talking about. Her hand flew to her lips, coming away with smears of blood. Then she remembered being hit in the face by Scar-Face when he fell.

  “Not intentionally,” she said. “It was an accident. Tor… what are you doing here?”

  He sighed heavily and sheathed his sword before speaking. “To find you,” he said. “You ran off before dawn, so your father sent Fraser and me out to find you. I was heading home, so the stop in Haltwhistle was along my way. What in the hell happened? Why were you fighting these soldiers?”

  He was being calm and collected, not at all like the beast she’d just seen slay three men. She had expected shouting at the very least, but there was none. That left her feeling somewhat disoriented and she endeavored to answer his question.

  “I do not know, really,” she said. “I was looking at the metalworker’s wares and those three would not leave me alone. They were quite… aggressive.”

  “Did they touch you?”

  Before she could answer, the metalworker spoke up. He and his son were still standing there, still with those beautiful broadswords in-hand.

  “They boxed her in and tried tae assault her,” he said. “When I tried tae stop them, they thought tae fight me. That is when ye came in, Sir Knight. Ye were a welcome sight.”

  Tor looked at the man, and his son, and then turned to look at the shambles of their stall. “From the look of your place of business, somehow I doubt that,” h
e said. “But you understand I could not let them threaten the lady. She was in distress.”

  “Ye saved her,” the metalworker said. “The rest, I can fix. I’ll have it rebuilt in a couple of hours. But tae see ye fight like that… ’twas impressive, Sassenach.”

  He said it with a smile so that Tor knew he wasn’t trying to offend him with the Scots term for English, which they usually meant as an insult. Tor simply nodded his head and the pair walked past him, back to their destroyed stall.

  But Isalyn was still standing there and he turned his attention to her. He looked at her for a moment before finally shaking his head.

  “Had I not come along when I did, this situation would have had a considerably different outcome,” he said in a low voice. “I found you in town yesterday and I saved you from a wild horse. Today, it was from soldiers who more than likely would have happily molested you. What is going to happen to you when I go home and am no longer around to save you?”

  Isalyn was trying not to look ashamed. “I have survived this long without you,” she said. “But I do appreciate your assistance.”

  That wasn’t the answer he wanted. “Why did you come to town this morning, anyway? What is here worth risking your life over?”

  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 o
ffended. “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.”

  Isalyn turned to him, her eyes big. “You… you are going home?”

  Tor nodded. “I must,” he said, thinking that she looked as if she didn’t want him to go. Something in her eyes made his heart race, just a little. “We are very close to my home, about twenty miles to the north.”

  “Then… then you want to go home?”

  He shrugged. “It is time,” he said. “I have been away the better part of three weeks chasing your brother around, so it is time.”

  “Of course,” she said, deflating a little with disappointment. But after a moment, she forced a smile. “Of course you want to return home. I suppose I was hoping you would sup with us again this evening.”

  He smiled faintly. “I would love to, but there are things at home that require my attention,” he said. “But now that we know one another and are friends, I should like to invite you and your father to sup with me at Blackpool. Le Kerque, too, if he can behave himself.”

  While Fraser rolled his eyes and tried not to grin, Isalyn took the invitation very seriously. “Truly?” she said. “After all of the trouble we have caused you, you would still invite us to sup?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But… but I was planning on returning to London shortly.”

  “Then we must make it soon,” Tor said. “You will come before you go, will you not?”

  Isalyn found herself wishing that Fraser would go away. But he was standing there, listening to everything that was said, and Isalyn wanted this conversation to be just between her and Tor. She didn’t want to sound like a fool in front of Fraser, or even in front of Tor, but she was quite intrigued by the invitation to visit. She wanted to go very badly. It was a struggle not to sound like she was too eager.