Page 57 of Wolf's Keep

“The woman?”

The question seemed innocent enough, but… Understanding dawned and he hid his disgust behind a mask of indifference. Finding a woman prepared to lie with a beast such as them, to bear their devil’s spawn, could not be easy. It would stand to reason then why d’Louncrais would fight for her.

“You want the woman for yourself, I take it?”

“Yes,” he said, a slow nodding of his head. “Yes, I would. I, too, am in need of wife and”—his eyes flashed, his lips paring back to reveal extended canines—“it will give me great satisfaction every day, for the rest of my long life, knowing what once was d’Louncrais’ will belong to me.”

Renaud studied his accomplice. The chevalier’s thirst for vengeance ran deep, whatever the cause, and it would cloud his mind and make him blind to all else.

He held up his hands as a sign of acquiescence. “I have no use for the woman. I will not stand in your way.”

There would be no need. What happened to the woman was of little consequence to him, but this man, his accomplice… He knew too much. He could not let him walk away.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Erin stood, her lips forming a tight, polite smile, gaze darting from face to face as the women stared back at her with open curiosity. She licked her lips and inhaled a deep breath through her nose, steadying herself. She’d chant an ohm if she thought it would help.

Custom dictated she greet Comtesse Marguerite first, but… Her gaze slid around the circle of women, searching for a clue, a suggestion of rank amongst the women, a feature she might recognize from documented descriptions. Nothing. Only a sea of indistinguishable high necklines and long dresses with embroidered trim and matching headscarves.

“Come, my dear.” An older woman gestured to a spare stool. “I am Dame Adeline. Welcome.”

Erin moved with studied calm, resisting the urge to sprint across the room, sliding onto the vacant seat.

“Comtesse Marguerite is indisposed today,” said Dame Adeline. “She will not be joining us.”

Sniggers tittered around the circle.

“Indisposed? Is that what they call it?” muttered someone.

A stern look from Dame Adeline and eleven pairs of female eyes focused on their needlework with conscientious concentration.

“Here.” The woman to her left offered her a friendly smile, handing her a piece of cloth and a needle, pointing to her basket of thread. “You can use some of mine. Nothing I create will have any use in the near future. Needlework is not my finest skill.”

“Thank you.” Erin took the proffered items, grimacing at the needle and cloth.

This should be interesting.

Give her a trowel, a string line, a brush or even a pencil and paper and she would be in her element. Embroidery, any form of sewing really, had always confounded her.

“I am Kathryn,” the woman offered, leaning toward her. “Kathryn of the family Beauchene.”

“Erin of the family Richardson.”

Erin glanced from the blank cloth in her hands to Kathryn’s piece, dainty purple violets and green leaves weaving across the cloth. Somehow, she would have to create something similar.

Oh boy.

She selected cotton from Kathryn’s basket. First step—thread the needle. That she could do.

“Mademoiselle Erin, is it?” A sharp voice cracked across the hum of conversation, chatter fading to silence.

Erin dropped her hands into her lap, seeking the owner. An imperious face stared at her from across the room, eyes skimming over Erin from head to toe, distaste twitching her lips and marring her brow. Erin shifted on her stool. Gaharet thought she’d be safe here. He didn’t have a clue.

“Yes, I’m Erin.”

Most of the women had their eyes down, hands busy with their stitches, but the conversation didn’t resume. Two women on either side of the speaker made no pretense at embroidery, openly staring at her.

Here we go.

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