01-08-2012, 08:33 PM
(ooc: Good call. I'll round out that final exchange and then time-skip away.)
Formidable or not, if he has a failing as a soldier, it is a failing he carries into every area of his life. He has an iron-clad idea of right and wrong, and can be unbending, even ruthless in his pursuit of what he considers good. While he can be a compassionate commander, this flaw makes him an unsympathetic ally, one who is hard to satisfy and given to introspection. Among his men are several he would consider allies, and here in the city there are other men, sons of his father's friends who grew up in and out of his humble family home, he would call friends. Even they are often exasperated by his unwillingness to compromise. They feel that he sacrifices joy, humour, even the satisfaction of a woman to warm his bed for ideals as chilly and precise as a crossbow bolt.
He struggles to judge how to speak to Evelyn; his words are formal, but the expression he wears as he apologises is less so, somehow confiding; he's ashamed and his face doesn't hide it. If he wasn't already chastising himself for thinking so ill of her, the look on her face as she thinks of what just occurred cements it. It should alleviate his guilt to see that she can understand why he believed such a thing, but it doesn't. He looks as though he might speak, but- as so often happens when he tries to comfort women or speak in confidence with them, he simply cannot find the right words.
It has been a long time- longer than he cares to consider- since he so much as stood alone with a woman. He has never married, and unlike many soldiers takes care not to associate with the working girls who follow the campaigns.
His bitterest secret is that every so often, his resolve falters. The pleasure of the dalliance never exceeds the ugliness of the nature of their trade, nor the guilt he feels afterwards. He takes care to show himself to be chaste, not susceptible to base temptation, but he also takes care not to find himself in situations where he might be proven a liar. Among his own he has achieved some degree of status, both for his military prowess and his unprecedented entry to a higher echelon of society- there are certainly women more than willing to test his vision of himself, particularly with so many husbands not returned from the war.
Evelyn's explanation is formal, albeit compassionate, and Wolfe makes himself hold her gaze as she speaks, although he can't believe she feels the need to assure him that she has no habits of that sort. His fingers twitch as she speaks, but he makes no reply, apart from to respond, “Of course not. I meant no-” again, the words dry up on his tongue. He merely listens as she imparts the information- information he takes as a warning- and nods to her formal adieu. “Rest well, my lady,” he says, and watches her leave.
He doesn't go to follow; it is in fact true that he'll be taking the chamber beside hers, but there's armour and a few other personal items to be moved from his accustomed room. Besides which- and more truthfully- he needs time to think about what just happened. His new role might just be more trying than he thought; defending the girl's person, certainly. Defending her honour had not even occurred to him. He is surprised to find that he feels quite strongly about the latter.
It is almost an hour later when he completes a cursory round of the corridors and retires. There is much to be done; the morning, if Evelyn has no need of him, will be dedicated to assessing the castle's East Wing to see how, and where, an intruder might enter. Dumping his pack and mail in front of the fireplace, he checks that Evelyn's door is barred, and falls into bed clothed. All good intentions abandoned, and despite the pain radiating from his shoulder- for which he knows there is no remedy but time- he is asleep before his head hits the pillow.
Unusually for such a punctual and hard-driven man, he sleeps soundly until the sun is high in the sky, and only awakens when he hears the castle stir into life around him.
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