Page 30 of Wolf's Keep

“My socks? Where did you find them?”

“I told that young man you needed something on your feet. He gave me these. Said they were yours. I will work on getting you some shoes,” Anne said, busying herself stoking the coals in the brazier.

Young man?“You mean, Gaharet?” she asked, slipping on her bra and knickers, ignoring the strange look Anne gave her underwear. She refused to ditch them no matter what the custom. Facing Gaharet while going commando, didn’t bear thinking about.

“Of course, love. Gaharet is the master of this house. What he says goes.” Anne smiled at her, a twinkle in her eye. “Most of the time.”

Erin grinned. “You’re the cook, right?”

“Yes, love. How do you think I got so round?” She chuckled, patting her enormous hips. “Comes from tasting all the food. My place is normally in the kitchen, but Gaharet asked me to take care of you while you are here. Not so many people to care for these days. All the young maids were let go.”

“Doesn’t he expect you to, you know, treat him like the master of the keep?”

“Oh, I probably should call him Mon Seigneur. All the other servants do, but”—she gave a little shrug—“I helped raise him from a babe. He is like a son to me. When his mother passed and then his father, someone needed to keep that boy in line. Seemed like I was the best person to do that. Now, if you have finished washing, I will help you dress.” She held up a simple linen chemise.

Erin shimmied into it, then slipped on an under-dress of cream linen, the hem falling to her feet, large voluminous sleeves finishing past her wrists. Anne pulled the laces firm, tying them at the nape of her neck. Erin lifted her arms and Anne slid an outer garment of deep green over her head. Short cuff sleeves accentuated the linen ones, the embroidered hem of the skirt falling just below her knees. Once more, she resembled a noblewoman of the tenth century. Curious that Gaharet had chosen such clothes and not those of a peasant.

“Let me help you with the headscarf, love.”

Anne ushered her to a seat, running a comb through Erin’s hair, fixing the material in place. Long and a little restrictive, it fell past her waist.

“Now, Gaharet tells me you have a keen interest in keeps and the like. There is much to explore here. Beautiful hangings in the hall, the view of the forest from the ramparts is wonderful—you can access that from the top floor—and you can always visit me in the kitchen if you are looking for some company. Gaharet spends most mornings in the library of late, should you require him. Once I get you some shoes, you might wish to go for a wander beyond these walls, visit the stables, get some fresh air.”

Erin slipped her socks on her feet.

“Off you go now. Go on and explore. No sense hiding away here in this room all day.” Anne handed her a lit candle, ushering her toward the door.

Erin paused in the corridor, her socks a barrier against the cold floor, debating which way to go. Anne was right. Staying in the bedchamber served no purpose. She’d learn nothing more here, though Gaharet may come to regret giving her free rein in his home. She’d explore his keep from top to bottom, leave no room un-entered, no corner unexplored and no door unopened. As an archaeologist, she could dream of no greater opportunity. She’d be crazy not to take it, and perhaps she’d stumble onto something useful.

Erin made her way down the darkened corridor, passing Gaharet’s bedchamber, pausing at a set of stairs disappearing up into darkness. The flickering candle held in front of her, she ascended, one step at a time, slow, cautious, but resolute, a clutch of fabric in her hand lifting the hem of her dress as she went. A little darkness would not stop her. Anne said she could access the ramparts from up there, and her own knowledge of keeps and castles suggested the armory would also be on the top floor. The armory—now that’s a sight she’d like to see.

Reaching the top step, she paused, holding the candle first one way, then the other. To the right lay a long corridor, its end barely visible in the candlelight. She took a few steps that way, holding her candle aloft. Beyond the row of doors, down the very end of the darkened corridor, stood a solid door. A beam across its width barricaded it against the outside. It would open onto the ramparts for sure.

She turned around, moving in the opposite direction, back past the stairwell and around the corner. One doorway. She kept walking until she was halfway down the corridor. Another doorway, this one with a door. There were only two doorways, suggesting two large rooms. One would be the armory, but what of the other? Storage? No, the larder and pantry would be on the lowest floor, down near the kitchen.

She turned back down the corridor and stood before the first doorway. The ramparts could wait. The puzzle of the two large rooms presented a much more curious prospect. She thrust the candle in front of her and stepped into the first room. Light glinted off steel. She grinned. The armory.

Her gaze flickered along the walls, taking in the sheer volume of weapons.

Wow! Chateau de Castlenaud has nothing on this place.

If she’d ever doubted Gaharet’s ability to defend his keep, a single glance around this room quashed it. Racks of spears, bows and arrows lined one wall—twenty, forty of each, maybe more. She swung the candle around, holding it aloft. Along the opposite wall, shields of varying shapes and sizes, all with the howling wolf insignia. She took a few more steps into the room, pushing the candlelight further. Hanging along the back wall, hauberks glimmered. In the middle, a dozen benches covered in oil-cloth wrapped bundles. Swords, axes, daggers?

The money that had gone into making and procuring so much weaponry could feed a small village for a year, maybe longer. They’d known Gaharet d’Louncrais had means, but the true magnitude of his wealth took her breath away. How many generations had it taken to amass such a collection? Two, maybe three, at least. Where had all this gone when he’d died?

Erin could easily spend a day or two in here exploring, examining every single piece in this room, perhaps avail herself of a weapon just in case, but… Her mind skittered away, down the corridor. What of the other room? More weapons? Her curiosity burning far brighter than her candle, she left the armory and continued down the corridor, stopping in front of the entrance to the second room.

This one had a door, a substantial door. She held the candle up, her hand against it, ready to push it open. She paused. This door differed from any other door she’d seen in the keep. Fastened to it were two iron locking bolts.Hugebolts. Strong. The door itself looked very solid, thicker than the others, and had a slot cut out of it at eye height. Whatdid he keep in this room? Or who?The nape of her neck tingled and foreboding slithered down her spine, settling like a lead weight in her stomach.

The door was unlocked. She hesitated. The feeling in her gut told her to leave this room alone. To not go inside. To not even look.

What sort of archaeologist would I be if I did that?

Gaharet had said nothing about not entering any rooms. Given no warning. Put no limits on her exploration other than she couldn’t leave. Surely, he’d have forbidden her to enter it if this room posed a threat, a danger.

It’s just a room.

Still, she hesitated. Perhaps she should leave this door unopened.

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