Page 27 of Wolf's Keep
Erin debated whether to tell him more or force him back to the topic she needed to know more about—the amulet. More specifically, how did she reverse the damn spell? He pinned her with his gaze, a look of steely determination flitting across his face. She gulped. Or maybe not.
“A few months before Lothair has Marguerite burned at the stake.”
He straightened in his seat, placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “And that is when, exactly?”
Picking up her goblet, Erin took a long drink, focusing her eyes on the wine, her goblet, her hands. “Marguerite dies in January.”
“Erin.”
A note of warning slid into his voice. Still, she refused to look at him.
“August. The comte’s summons comes in August,” she mumbled into her wine.
“What year?” he growled, his voice deepening, a guttural sound more beast than human.
She gasped, her chin snapping up. There, shifting in the back of his eyes, was something frightening, raw and predatory. Her heart slammed against her rib cage.
“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” she whispered.
“Next month!” He exploded from his seat. “Merde!”
Chapter Eleven
Gaharet paced behind the table. This conversation had not gone in the direction he had expected.Merde!Lothair would summon him to Langeais Keep in less than a month and he would not return. Presumably death would claim him, but at whose hands? Lothair’s? Renaud’s? Or the unknown turncoat in his own pack?
He raked his hand through his hair, placed his hands on his hips and stared at the wall, attempting to get himself under control. When he found some measure of calm, he turned back to Erin. Her white-knuckled hands clasping the table, she stared at him, face pale and eyes agape. He had frightened her, his darker half surfacing to push her into answering. He had never allowed that to happen with a woman before. Strong minded, stubborn and defiant, this woman pushed him in ways no other woman had.
He had been on edge from the moment he had first caught her scent filtering into the room from beyond the doorway, saw her dressed as a woman should be, soft and feminine. He had thought putting her in clothes that covered her would entice him less. It only had him seeking alternatives to look at, and there was no shortage of those. Her soft, pink tongue slipped out to lick her lips. He closed his eyes against temptation. Everything about this woman called to him—her smile, her bright eyes brimming with challenge, her fearlessness, her persistence and her sharp intelligence…Mon Dieu,the woman had an incredible mind. He could not remember enjoying a discourse with a woman, with anyone, so much. He could have conversed with her all night and into the morn, traded questions, matched wits, but he had not meant to frighten her.
Gaharet opened his eyes, straightened his chair and eased himself back into his seat. The last thing he wanted was for her to fear him.
“I have but a short time before I am subject to Lothair’s summons.” He kept his voice soft, banishing his darker half to the depths of his mind and forcing the tension from his body. “I would know if… I would know if my line continued.”
She visibly relaxed. Releasing her grip on the table’s edge, she grabbed her goblet and took a large gulp of wine. Placing it down, she looked up at him. “No. I’m sorry. There is no mention of the d’Louncrais name beyond you.”
He sucked in a breath. It would seem Erin’s arrival was most fortuitous. Not only did she come bearing warning of his impending demise, giving him time that he might thwart his fate, she might also be the very thing that would ensure the continuation of his familyandhis pack.
“Why haven’t you married? Given how important it is for you to provide an heir to all this?” She gave a sweep of her hand, indicating their surroundings. “It’s not like you need a title or money, and by all accounts, you could have your pick of women.”
Some of her feistiness had returned. Good.
“I’m sure there is a lovely lady from a noble family who’d be overjoyed to live in this fabulous keep, surrounded by servants and luxury and, in exchange, provide you with many children.”
Her facetiousness amused him. Had he not had similar feelings toward the standard view of marriage, he might have found her words offensive, or perhaps naïve. Instead, it intrigued him. “You would not seek an advantageous match, to increase your standing, to secure your financial security?”
“No thank you. Things have changed a lot in the intervening centuries. Arranged marriages have fallen out of favor. People wed for entirely different reasons.”
“Such as?”
“Love. It’s not about how much money someone has, or their status, or who their family is. At least not for a lot of people. It’s about how you feel about someone and whether you want to spend the rest of your life with them.”
“You are not married?” He had no thought of how he would respond if she was.
She gave a slight shake of her head. “No.”
“Not betrothed?” A betrothal could be broken and was of no consequence to him.
She frowned. “No.”
