Page 59 of Wolf's Keep

Anne had said much the same, without all the detail, but Erin’s focus was on Kathryn’s unusual eyes. Gaharet’s eyes did the same thing. What did it mean, those shadows that came and went? Could Kathryn be the key to understanding Gaharet’s secrets? Would Kathryn confide in her something Gaharet would not? She stabbed the needle through the cloth again, completing another blob of purple stitches, showing no resemblance to any flower she’d ever seen. Maybe roses would be easier.

“So, Aimon?”

Kathryn flushed.

“White-blond hair, wounded in the battle of Montsoreau?”

Kathryn nodded, her gaze flicking across the room. Erin followed her gaze to Manette, who made no attempt to conceal her interest in their conversation.

“You can certainly do better than some others, and if I can help in any way, I will.”

Hope shone in Kathryn’s eyes. “Thank you. You do not know…” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Manette and Odila are not the only ones with distasteful husbands.” She cast her gaze to a small, childlike woman across the room. “Therese’s betrothed is a big brute of a man. If I do not choose soon, my father will be forced to make an arrangement, and my options are no more favorable than hers.”

Erin smiled at Kathryn. Perhaps she had an ally here. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be stuck in this era, but she’d take any help she could get. She dropped her gaze to her needlework and frowned, comparing her efforts to Kathryn’s. If Jackson Pollock did embroidery, it would probably look something like hers. Thankfully, spending the rest of her days sewing and gossiping didn’t feature in her future. Once she had the reverse spell… Her hands stilled. There had to be a reverse spell.Right?

Of course there was. She just needed Gaharet to tell her, then she’d be back in the twenty-first century wearing jeans and T-shirts, working on a dig site and all this would be a thing of the past. Literally. No more long dresses and restrictive head veils. No more horseback riding. She’d have instant hot water at the turn of a tap, flushing toilets, breakfast and coffee. Her mouth salivated at the thought of coffee and those amazing croissants from the Langeais bakery. But no more Gaharet.

Erin paused in her attempts at needlework, frowning. That thought hurt way more than it should have. Purple thread disappeared as she speared the needle through again. She yanked it back, completing another violet. She couldn’t deny she wanted him, and had the wolf and Comte Lothair not interrupted them, she would’ve had sex with him in that meadow.

She snapped the cotton, re-threaded the needle with green cotton, and attacked the cloth again.Maybe tonight.Her body thrummed at the thought. She poked the needle through, another stitch in the leaf completed and reefed it back through. If, with her knowledge, they circumvented his fate, she would leave here knowing she’d helped save a good man. And, if tonight went as Gaharet planned, with one hell of a memory. Warmth spread through her body, her panties dampening. But was that enough?

Erin dropped her hands in her lap, staring at the material and her woeful attempts at embroidery. How many of these stupid violets did she have to do? She wrenched at the cloth, but it snagged on her dress. Flipping it over, she gaped at it. She’d sewn the bloody thing to her dress.

“Shit.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, the room shocked into silence. Kathryn muffled a giggle. Across the room Manette gloated, Dame Adeline frowned and the priest in the flowing black cassock standing in the doorway stared at her, eyes boring through her. She paled.

Damn it.

“Mademoiselle Richardson I presume?”

Erin eyed the pectoral cross around his neck and the magenta skullcap. Not any priest—an archbishop, an archeveque. Great. Just what she needed right now—more attention. High-ranking attention. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Votre Excellence.”

“Come, my dear. Let me take you for a tour of Mon Seigneur Comte’s keep. And while we walk, you and I can have a little chat and become acquainted.”

One look at Kathryn’s startled expression told her being afforded such an esteemed guide wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

“Thank you, Votre Excellence. How very kind of you.”

Erin snapped the cotton tethering the needle to her embroidery, handing it to Kathryn. With a false smile she concealed her distaste, and her concerns over hygiene, and knelt and briefly kissed the ring on the archeveque’s outstretched hand. Shoulders back, head held high, ignoring the embroidered cloth attached to her skirt, she cast one last look at a bewildered Kathryn and allowed the archeveque to lead her from the room.

* * * *

As the door closed behind them, he slipped his arm through hers, walking her past the stairwell, down to the hall and along another corridor. A tall man, large of bone rather than muscle, he matched his large stride to suit hers, his heavy robes swishing as he moved.

“Congratulations, Mademoiselle, on your recent betrothal. Seigneur d’Louncrais is a fine match.” He patted her arm, smiling at her, guiding her down a set of stairs. “Many a young lady will be most disappointed to hear he is no longer available.” He chuckled, but there was no real humor or warmth in it.

“Thank you, Votre Excellence.”

“Wealthy and well connected, a most trusted vassal of Mon Seigneur Comte. If I may be so bold to say, you have done remarkably well for yourself considering your circumstances.”

Gaharet’s betrothal sure had garnered a lot of interest and a lot of speculation.

“A woman without family,” he continued, leading her along another corridor, nodding at a passing servant girl, ignoring open doorways, “and no obvious connections. I am not familiar with the Richardson family.” He frowned, pausing at the top of another stairwell. “You must have traveled far.” He started down the stairs, and Erin had little option but to do the same. “What county are you from?”

“I’m… I’m not from Frankia, Votre Excellence.”

“Mmm, I thought as much. Your manner of speaking is a little odd. Bretaigne then?”

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