Talbot paced the hall with impatience. He was finally alone, though Kiltorren’s foul apple wine clouded his thinking. At least, this Isibeal was dead—whether she was his uncle’s Isibeal or not—though the confirmation that she had a child was far from welcome.
Could this Alys be the daughter of Millard? The very possibility made Talbot’s blood run cold.
But it could not be so. This Isibeal had been a w***e, according to those at Kiltorren, which made Talbot doubt that she was truly the Isibeal of his uncle’s memories.
For Millard was naught if not rigorously moral. He had never left any question that he might have spawned a bastard in any city. Millard did not employ whores. He did not approve of Talbot’s indulgences with whores.
But Isibeal had been a w***e, and this Alys was a w***e,
