Page 54 of Wolf's Keep

“Do not worry about Lothair. He will want to discuss it further, I have no doubt, but I will handle him.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Going to discuss the state of my virginity in more depth, are you?”

Erin couldn’t imagine Comte Lothair being any more restrained in private than he was on their journey.

She yelped as Gaharet pulled her into his arms, the curve of the stairwell blocking them from curious eyes in the hall below. He ducked his head, nuzzling at her neck, and Erin melted against him, tipping her head back, giving him better access.

“I do not care if you are a virgin or not.” His whispered words were hot against her skin. “But if you are one,” he murmured, running his hand down her back to her hip, pulling her in tight against him, “that will change tonight.”

Desire exploded in a rush of sparks and heat. “Don’t end up in Lothair’s underground cell because of me, Gaharet.” Her words were little more than a breathy whisper, her mind struggling to stay on track. “You can revoke our betrothal. Tell Lothair I’m barren. Blame me. I’ll be back in my world soon and he won’t be able to touch me.”

An emotion flickered across his face, gone so fast she barely had time to register it. Regret? Sorrow?

A door opened down the corridor, feminine laughter cascading down the stairs. Heavy footsteps approached, and he released her.

“Our betrothal stands. I have no intention of rescinding it. Let me worry about Lothair. Come.”

He held his hand out to her. It hung there between them, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at it. She reached out, slipping her hand in his. His nostrils flared, his eyes darkened and with a smile curling up the corner of his mouth, he led her up the stairs.

He swung open a door to a room, revealing a dozen giggling, gossiping women seated in a semi-circle, hands busy with needles and thread. With a gentle brush of the back of his hand against her cheek, he promised to return, and left her standing in the entryway alone, facing unfamiliar women and an afternoon of embroidery.

Oh boy.

Playing the part of a well-bred tenth-century lady might be a little more difficult than she’d expected. With all attention focused on her, she could only hope Gaharet wouldn’t leave her here for too long.

* * * *

Gaharet took the stairs back down to the hall, a spring in his step and a smile on his face, as he sought out his men. He had things to discuss with them before Lothair monopolized his time. Weaving through his fellow chevaliers, smiling, nodding, accepting congratulations on his betrothal as he went, he searched the crowded room for his vassals. He found Ulrik and Aimon on the far side of the hall, talking, heads close, mugs of mead in their hands. They beamed at him as he approached. He joined them, and they patted him on the back, congratulating him.

He shook his head at their exuberance. “Do not get too excited yet.”

Aimon held out his hands. “Are the rumors false? Are you not betrothed to the woman you found wandering around your keep?”

Ulrik smirked. “You looked damn betrothed to me before Lothair arrived.”

Gaharet clenched his jaw, itching to erase the smug expression off Ulrik’s face. Not here, not now. Not in the hall.

“You and I need to talk.” Gaharet pinned Ulrik with a glare, his words little more than a growl, and Ulrik stiffened, a snarl curling on his lip. Aimon shook his head and turned away. Ulrik would get no support from him. “This is not open for debate, Ulrik, and is long overdue.”

Ulrik sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Very well, we will talk, but for now, tell us why we should not find your betrothal reason to celebrate?”

Casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, Gaharet leaned in, lowering his voice. “She does not yet know what we are, and I am uncertain how she will view such information.”

“From whatIobserved, she is strong, feisty and bold enough to make demands of you. Perhaps she will accept it better than you think.” Ulrik took a sip of mead, a glint of mirth in his eyes.

How long had Ulrik been following them?

“You are satisfied she has no connection to Lothair or Archeveque Renaud?” Aimon’s words cut through the tension.

“There is no possibility of her having any connection with either.”

Ulrik’s eyebrows rose. “Truly? Whereisshe from?”

Two pairs of eyes regarded him with open curiosity.

Gaharet shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

“Congratulations, Gaharet.” Edmond clapped him on the back, his voice booming as he and his twin joined them. “Today is a day of good news.” He raised his mug in salute and drank it down, grinning. “We also have something to share.”

---