Page 29 of Wolf's Keep

He could smell her on everything—in the barrel he bathed in, on the covers of his bed, on his armor and surcoat, even on his sword. She’d cut herself on it, the heady fragrance of her blood lingering in the air. On first noticing his hauberk bunched up on the chair, he had smiled. Now, after inhaling her scent for an hour, he cursed her inquisitiveness. She had embedded her damn scent in its steel links. Should he have to wear it in the next few days, the smell of her warm flesh would hang about his body, driving him to distraction.As if I am not already there!

Had she been aware, by touching things, that she had given away her every movement she may not have felt comfortable being in his chamber. Had he known the effect her overpowering scent would have on him, Gaharet would never have allowed her within ten feet of his chamber. Bathing would now be a testament to his endurance.

Several times he found himself heading for her room before he stopped, forcing himself to return to his chamber to await the morn. With a frustrated growl, he compelled himself to leave his bed, to leave the keep and step out into the night, stripping and shifting to his wolf the moment he stepped beyond the walls. A run would expend some of his pent-up energy, and the cool night air would take the heat out of his relentless lust. Maybe.

Out in the forest, he stayed away from where he had found her, avoiding any lingering signs of her presence, inhaling only the smells of pine needles and damp earth. Patrolling his lands, a hint of breeze ruffling his fur, he searched for hints of unannounced visitors. He found nothing amiss. No one had come for her. He had not expected someone would, but he had not survived by taking unnecessary risks. Caution had kept him alive, safe.

Stretching himself out in a long, loping gait, he relished the freedom, the darkness of the forest and the cool night air. Pushing himself until his body and mind tired, he turned and headed for home. His run having taken the edge of his restlessness, he slipped through the gatehouse, pausing within the confines of the walls. He stared up at her window.

What should he do with this woman from another time? He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to fling open the door to her chamber, take her in his arms, take her beneath him, before him, anyway she would have him. A vision of her bare skin flushed, pressed against the length of his body, flashed through his mind. He shook his big, furry head.

When he had given in, in part, to his desire and kissed her, pressed his body against hers, the change had come unbidden, unasked for. Could he be with this woman and not reveal himself? Reveal who, what, he really was?

He had stayed too long staring up at the window. The shutters opened, and she appeared, backlit by the light of the room, hair loose and drifting about her face. He froze. Had she, too, struggled to find sleep? Had she paced the room, her thoughts of him, of their kiss, of the passion that flared between them?

Sitting on his haunches, he contemplated her for a moment before slinking into the cover of darkness. She was not yet ready to meet his wolf. He had trained horses less skittish in his presence than her. Horses that could scent his true nature. Feared it. With calm, with patience, withtime,he had won them over. According to Erin, time he did not have.

From his camouflaged position, he stared up at her, arms clasped about her body, warding off the chill. Leaning forward, she grasped the shutters, banging them closed, vanishing from view. Gaharet called forth the change, pulling on his clothes, and made his way back to his bedchamber, uncertain if he wanted to encounter her in the corridor or not.

Chapter Twelve

Grumbling, her old knees creaking and groaning, Anne mounted the stairs to Erin’s bedchamber to wake the girl. Truth be known, it did not dissatisfy her that Gaharet had put the young woman in her charge, but the way Gaharet was treating the girl really had her mad. No shoes indeed. What had gotten into that young man?

He had come into the kitchen that very morning, tasking her with ensuring the girl’s comfort, making no mention of her strange clothes, the foreign tongue she spoke or where she had come from. Anne did not bother asking. She had been part of the d’Louncrais household for too long to ask questions. She knew what he was, what all the d’Louncrais family had been, and his vassals’ families, God rest their souls, and his vassals. All of her family who served here did, and she had learned to turn a blind eye to the strange goings on in this keep. This, however, was different. This young woman was not one of their kind. Anne would stake her life on it.

Nigh on thirty-five years had passed since a human woman, other than a servant, had entered this keep—when Jacques d’Louncrais, Gaharet’s father, had chosen a mate outside the pack. A stark contrast to these circumstances, Elise Beauchene had entered the keep of her own volition and stayed by choice. Gaharet had carried this woman in unconscious and now, he informed her, the girl, Erin, was not to leave. He had given Erin free rein to explore as long as she stayed within the confines of the outer wall. If she wanted to leave the keep, he forbade it.

“Should I find some shoes for her?” Anne had asked, for she had noticed Erin’s bare feet. As if the girl would run out into the forest with no shoes on.

“No. No shoes. I do not want her leaving here,” he had said, his tone firm, brooking no disagreement. That had never stopped Anne.

“The girl will catch a chill, bare feet on these floors,” she had protested, “what with the days cooling and autumn on its way.”

Gaharet had shaken his head. “No shoes, Anne.”

Anne had frowned, leaving off cleaning the dishes to stare at Gaharet, hands on her ample hips. “Next, you will be wanting me to confine her in the training room on the top floor. Your mother brought you up better than that, lad.”

Gaharet had stood his ground. “Do not cross me on this one, Anne.” He had given her a stern look.

“Very well,” she had agreed, “but do not forget, I warned you. It is not good for the girl to be running around barefoot on these cold floors. When she falls ill, do not think for one moment I will not hold you responsible.”

Growling, he had stalked out of the kitchen only to return a few moments later with a pair of ankle length stockings, slapping them down on the bench in front of her.

“These are hers. It is as far as I am willing to go right now.”

Smiling to herself, Anne reached the top of the stairs, stockings in one hand and fresh clothes slung over the other. She knew that boy too well.

Mayhap things were not so different from Jacques and Elise, after all. She had caught the heated glances between Gaharet and Erin, though Erin tried her best to hide them. Nothing escaped old Anne’s sharp eyes. Suppressing a chuckle, Anne entered the bedchamber. Young men. They were so transparent sometimes.

* * * *

Erin stirred, a slow rousing from sleep, warm and cozy in the bed. She smiled, a sleepy smile, until it filtered into her mind it’d be another five more centuries before Europe discovered coffee. Groaning, she pulled the covers over her head. No coffee. How would she ever survive without caffeine? And no breakfast either. It’d be like going on one of those fad fasting diets.Ugh.

“Morning, child.”

A cheery female voice greeted her, as shutters banged open and light streamed into the room.

Erin peered out from beneath the covers at Anne. Sitting up, she rubbed her face with her hands. Coffee. Shesoneeded coffee. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, slipped out from under the covers and padded across to the table to where a jug of water and a washbowl stood. She sponged down her body with the cold water, drying it on a linen provided as Anne straightened bed covers, fluffed pillows, and laid out a fresh dress for her. She paused, damp linen in her hands. Beside the dress lay a pair of socks.

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