Page 44 of Wolf's Keep

He swung a saddle bag containing food and a skin of wine across the horse’s withers then led the big stallion out of the stables toward Erin. She paced the courtyard waiting for him, hair covered by her headscarf, the burgundy fabric of her dress outlining her body as she moved.

The color suited her, stirring a hunger in him he had tried ignoring for the past week and a half.Merde.He wanted her. With Erin, his body had but one thought and it slammed into him every time he set eyes on her. His darker half lurked perilously close to the surface, restless, keen to assert its place, to preen, to make her his. Soon, he placated it. Soon.

Since their visit to see baby Georges, something in Erin’s demeanor toward him had shifted. Whether her conversation with Eleonore or seeing him holding the baby had elicited the change he could not be certain, but she no longer curtailed the time she spent with him. Now, every time he turned around, she was there. Listening to his exchanges with his people, studying him. Sometimes she looked thoughtful. At others, puzzled. Sometimes her surprise amused him. Did he not fit her expectations of a tenth-century chevalier? If only she knew.

He often found her in the library, looking for his ancestor’s journal, no doubt. She would never find it. He had sequestered it away, uncertain of what its pages might reveal. She had read enough of it to keep her searching for it, though.

He took advantage of those moments to converse with her, asking her about life in her time—how people lived, the houses they built, the clothes they wore and the wars they fought. That a liquid could power a vehicle with no need of a horse to pull it intrigued him. That vehicles could float in the air carrying over four hundred people unnerved him. The reasoning for moving pictures of people behind a glass screen he could not even begin to fathom. She had laughed when he scoffed at such a ridiculous notion. He had warmed at the sound, pleased their conversations no longer held the combativeness of their first few days.

On occasion, she would broach the subject of the amulet and he would reiterate what he had already told her. Those two little lines would appear between her eyebrows, her lips would thin and she would end the discussion with a frustrated huff and an angry swish of her skirts, stalking away.

At times he would judge her relaxed and amenable enough and attempt to discuss her excavation of Langeais Keep. She would merely smile at him, eyes wide in feigned innocence, and profess a previous promise to help Anne, or to visit Eleonore, or to be somewhere in the keep other than with him. He would let her go, listening to her retreating footsteps, silently daring her to break into a run. She never did.

Talking to her had both eased and excited his desire in equal parts, but he had kept his inclinations under control in an effort to attract her with his words, as hard as that was. As hard as he was. Constantly. Many a time they met within the confines of a corridor, and the temptation to gather her in his arms and carry her off to his chamber had sorely tested his restraint.

She desired him as much as he did her. He could see it in all her small gestures, her body language. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal every time she walked into the room. Knowing she pleasured herself in her bedchamber every night threatened to rip away any semblance of control he had. The compulsion to burst through her door and sink himself into her soft, wet heat grew stronger by the day. Yet still she resisted it. So he waited, he watched and he talked.

The time for talking was done. Lothair had summoned him to Langeais Keep and now Gaharet needed answers as much as he needed her. He could not afford to wait any longer on both counts. Her avoidance of disclosing information about the excavation site, and about his death, ended today. And the time had come for him to make her his.

He swung up onto his horse, adjusted his sword to the side, and nudged the animal to stand beside her. His horse, used to a master who was not entirely human, stood quietly. Leaning over, he grasped the startled Erin around the waist and lifted her onto the horse in front of him, her legs dangling on one side. Her hip fit nicely against his groin, her shoulder against his chest, and the top of her head just below his chin. Perfect. They had half a day’s ride to reach Langeais. There would be plenty of time to talk. Among other things.

“Nobody said anything aboutmegoing riding,” she muttered, holding her body stiff in his arms, anxiety rolling off her in waves.

“Comte Lothair has summoned me to Langeais Keep. As you predicted he would.”

Her face paled, the bitter scent of her fear spiking the air. “There’s no need for me to go. Perhaps it’s best I stay here.” She squirmed against him, attempting to slide from his horse.

He tightened his arms around her, keeping her firmly in place. “Do you not want to see Langeais Keep, meet Comte Lothair? I would have thought an archaeologist would be eager for such a chance.” He resisted his need to comfort her, assure her all would be well. He suspected she would not welcome his touch. Taking up the reins, he nudged his horse forward, her fingers clutching at his surcoat.

“Sure, ride us both to our deaths with a little sightseeing on the side and lunch with the devil himself.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps, perhaps not. I have you, do I not? Your knowledge of Lothair, of this century, gives us an advantage that no one could anticipate.” His words were meant to reassure her, but she merely grunted in reply. He urged his horse into a trot, the motion making her cling to him.

“We could have gone in a carriage or a cart. Walked even. Walking is good. Or, here’s an idea. We don’t go at all.”

Her voice gave a telltale quiver. Had she not ridden a horse before? Had he known she would cling to him like this, he would have taken her riding days ago.

“I cannot ignore a summons from the comte, and we will make better time on horseback. Relax, Erin. I will keep you safe. I will not let you fall.”

He pushed his horse into a canter, forcing her back into the protection of his arms and against his chest. She only gripped him harder. He suppressed a smile. He would delight in it while he could, inhaling her intoxicating scent, her body pressed against his. They would be in Langeais soon enough, and he would not be able to focus his attention on her so much. He would need his wits about him then.

Lothair and Renaud were making plans and, while defying the comte and secluding himself away on his own lands might seem a safer option, it blinded him to their scheming. He had no wish to die, had no foolhardy desire to sacrifice himself like some glory-bound chevalier’s squire. Trouble and betrayal had found them, and he would face it, not hide in his stone keep cowering. He would need to exercise caution, but Erin’s information could give him the upper hand over their enemies if she shared her knowledge. By bringing her along, he had given her little choice.

Ensuring they would not be without allies at Langeais Keep, he had sent messages to all his men of his summons. They would be there when he arrived. Safety in numbers. Of the six, only five he could trust. But which five?

Cantering down the hill, they rode under the portcullis and beyond the walls, heading for the dark, cool expanse of the trees.

“We’re going through the forest?” Her voice pitched high, and her hand gripped him tighter. “Isn’t there a road, villages to pass through? I’d like to see the villages.”

L’enfer. He had made an error in judgment the night she’d followed him into the forest. He had meant only to track her, keep her safe and observe how far she would be willing to go. Watching her pick her way through the trees in those tight-fitting clothes of hers, his need to scent her, to show her his true nature, had overwhelmed him. Drawing too close, he had frightened her.

“Do not worry about wolves, Erin. They will not bother us. I will make sure of it.” He relaxed into the rhythm of his horse’s gait as they slipped beneath the whispering canopy of birch and beech, chestnut and pine, the thud of his stallion’s hooves a steady beat along the worn trail.

Cresting a rise a good number of leagues into their journey, Gaharet reined his horse to a walk. He nudged him down an embankment and across a trickling brook, following its course, allowing his stallion to pick and choose his way along the water’s edge. At this slower pace, Erin loosened her grip on his arm, and began taking in their surroundings. He gave her a few minutes reprieve before breaking the silence. What he wished to talk about would not make her happy.

“When we arrive at Langeais,” he began, “I have an interest in your impressions of it. I imagine it will have changed much over the years.”

“You have no idea.”

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