Chapter Two #2
Dyce brought her to the end of one of the big feasting tables were several knights were gathered, plowing into a meal of boiled beef and peas.
Off to her right, Isabeth was watching a group of women whisper to each other and point at her.
They were obviously scrutinizing her and Isabeth stared back at them, perhaps in a challenge.
She was very good with gossipy women. Still holding her hand, Dyce began to speak.
“Good men,” he said. “I think you may have met my wife years ago, but she has come with me to this festive tournament and I am honored to reintroduce you to her. This is my lady wife, the most beautiful woman in the entire world, Isabeth de Brito. She is very excited to join us this evening even though her health is delicate. Choose your conversation subjects accordingly.”
There were grins all around the table at that comment which was more like a threat. Dyce wouldn’t tolerate subjects that might singe his lady’s ears. The first man that stood up and faced Isabeth was a man she’d met before, though it had been a long time ago. He smiled and dipped his head politely.
“Lady de Brito,” he said. “Do you remember me? I am Ronan de Wolfe.”
Isabeth knew the name and she knew the man, though only through her husband. She honestly hadn’t remembered what he looked like. “Of course I remember you,” she said, her green eyes twinkling. “They call you The Shield.”
Ronan grinned. “An old name,” he said. “It was given to me by my grandfathers, once, because I am the unstoppable force, though your husband will not acknowledge my greatness.”
Isabeth giggled. “I believe he does,” she said. “Your name is spoken regularly in my household as the man my husband loves most in this world.”
Dyce made a face. “Do not listen to her, Roe,” he muttered. “She is lying.”
Isabeth laughed softly. “Never would I do such a thing,” she said. “You speak of Ronan de Wolfe as if the man can walk on water so, of course, I know him very well.”
“You do not.”
“He is like a brother to me now, Dyce. You have made it so.”
Everyone started chuckling at Isabeth’s wit. Ronan pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, my sister,” he said. “Sit and tell me all of the things Dyce says about me and then I shall decide whether or not to punch him in the mouth.”
Someone put a full cup of wine in front of Isabeth as she sat down, laughing when Dyce tried to push Ronan aside and sit next to her. But Ronan was having none of it – he shoved Dyce back and sat down on her right.
“I assure you, he only says good things,” she said. “He speaks very fondly of you. He says you are from the great de Wolfe family in Northumberland.”
Ronan nodded. “I am, my lady,” he said. “My grandfather was the Earl of Warenton, William de Wolfe.”
“And your father?”
Ronan cocked his head thoughtfully. “He is a bit more complicated,” he said.
“Suffice it to say that he is garrison commander of Roxburgh Castle, as Baron Sydenham, but he splits his time between Roxburgh and Castle Questing, the seat of the de Wolfe empire. My father is a very busy man these days.”
Isabeth was listening politely. “I’m from Yorkshire so I am not completely familiar with the families of Northumberland, but my husband says your family is quite large.”
Ronan nodded. “We hold most of the important castles and properties in Northumberland,” he said.
“We also hold Carlisle Castle. If you know anything about my grandfather, then you know he was a great knight, the Scourge of the Scots before King Edward ever held that distinction. My family, as a whole, is still the last line of defense between England and the Scots. You may thank me now.”
Isabeth giggled. “My gratitude is endless,” she said, but she sobered somewhat. “I can hear the pride in your voice, my lord.”
Ronan grinned. “Pride, indeed,” he said. “But also truth. I only speak the truth.”
Someone distracted him with a comment and he turned away as good-natured insults were lobbed, but Isabeth found herself watching the man.
What she hadn’t remembered was how handsome he was, making her feel the least bit giddy now that she had a good look at him.
She was married, of course, so nothing clandestine ever came to mind, but she appreciated a handsome man when she saw one.
Ronan was definitely that man.
He was big and blond, very blond, with a faint beard of dark blond whiskers.
He had blond lashes and brows, and dark, piercing eyes.
He had enormously wide shoulders, enormous arms, and equally enormous hands that dwarfed her own.
There was nothing about him that wasn’t exquisite in a male beauty sort of way.
Perhaps he wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever seen, but he more than made up for it in just his gigantic size and strength.
It was no wonder that Dyce admired him so.
With thoughts of Ronan lingering in her mind, innocently, she turned for her cup of wine.
Dyce had managed to push the man seated to her left out of his chair, so he was in the process of filling a trencher for her from the food that was laid out on the table.
As he put the meal in front of her, one of the women who had been gossiping and pointing approached the table.
Clad in the finest wine-colored silk, she was open in her curiosity.
“I do not know you,” she said to Isabeth. “Who are you?”
Isabeth turned to see a pretty woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and slightly crooked teeth standing behind Dyce’s chair. Dyce stood up as the lady spoke.
“Lady de Wolfe,” he greeted. “This is my wife, Lady de Brito. I do not believe you have ever met. Beth, this is Ronan’s wife.”
Lady de Wolfe’s gaze was intense upon Isabeth, the smile on her lips forced. “My lady,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet the wife of my husband’s dear friend. I cannot imagine how we have never met before.”
Isabeth smiled timidly. “Nor I,” she said. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady de Wolfe. I do hope it will be the first of many times to come.”
Lady de Wolfe’s smile turned genuine. “What a charming thing to say,” she said. Then, she tapped Dyce on the shoulder. “Get up and let me sit with your wife. I should like to speak with her.”
Unhappily, but obediently, Dyce stood up and pulled the chair out for Lady de Wolfe, who took it and commandeered Dyce’s cup of wine. She cozied up to Isabeth in a way that made Isabeth somewhat wary.
Suddenly, the woman seemed to want to be her best friend.
“You must tell me all about yourself,” Lady de Wolfe said. “Where is your family from?”
“Yorkshire,” Isabeth said, resisting the urge to lean away from a woman who was sitting quite close to her. “I am a de Royans.”
Lady de Wolfe cocked her head. “Bowes Castle or Netherghyll?”
“Netherghyll.”
“Ah,” Lady de Wolfe said. “Your father is a Yorkshire warden?”
Isabeth shook her head. “A brother to the warden,” she said. “He did not hold the title.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Briarfield Castle, my lady.”
Lady de Wolfe reached out and patted her hand. “Let us not be so formal with each other, shall we?” she said. “Please call me Marian. My family is the House of de Grey. Surely you have heard of them.”
Isabeth sensed something haughty in that statement.
My family is richer than God – of course you have heard of them.
“Of course I have,” she said steadily, though truthfully, only vaguely.
“And please call me Isabeth. I should like us to be friends and friends are not so formal, as you have pointed out.”
“Isabeth,” Marian said, running the name over her tongue. “What a lovely name.”
“Thank you, Marian.”
Marian lifted her cup. “See?” she said. “We are good friends already.”
Isabeth lifted her cup and drank because Marian did. The woman seemed to be staring at her an awful lot, as if she were studying her. Her gaze moved over her, lingering.
It was like being digested, bit by bit.
“How long have you been married?” she asked.
“Almost ten years.”
Marian’s eyebrows lifted. “Children? Many, I would think.”
Isabeth didn’t like the way she said it, an assumption that was both rude and painful.
She found herself not wanting to tell the woman that she was pregnant, as if that were any of her business.
It wasn’t. That beautiful secret was for her to share at her discretion, and she didn’t want to share it with this bold woman.
“In ten years, one would presume so,” she said, avoiding giving her an answer. Then, she veered the subject away from her. “How long have you been married?”
It was clear that Marian liked her wine because she took another large gulp. “The same as you,” she said. “Almost ten years. My father was determined that I should marry a de Wolfe son, so I did. Handsome, isn’t he?”
Isabeth turned to glance at Ronan, who was still in conversation with the knights at the end of the table. “Indeed,” she said neutrally. “You are quite fortunate. And you have children?”
Marian nodded. “Three,” she said. “Three daughters. Mayhap if I had given birth to a son, my husband would no longer ignore me.”
It was a statement of both self-pity and accusation. She said it loud enough so Ronan could have heard it, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He continued speaking with his friends. Unsure what to make of the comment and feeling uncomfortable, Isabeth forced a smile.
“You are still young and very beautiful,” she said, trying to be positive. “I am sure there will be many sons to come over the years, so I would not fret.”
By now, Marian’s smile was gone completely and so was her wine. She was looking off into the courtyard, seemingly disinterested in the conversation now.
She set her cup down.
“Mayhap,” she said, rising to her feet. “Please excuse me.”
Without another word, she was gone, leaving Isabeth feeling confused at her abrupt departure. As she watched the woman walk away, Dyce reclaimed his seat next to her.