Page 72 of Wolf's Keep

“You underestimated him.”

They both had. He turned away, stalking back and forth along the outer wall, hands gripping the pommel of his sword, itching to use it. He could make Renaud’s nose the least of his problems.

Lothair paused in the act of drawing his weapon. Logic prevailed, and he shoved it back into its scabbard, dropping his hand to his side should the temptation prove too great. He did not need swarms of churchmen descending on his county because he had disemboweled an archeveque. Not right now.

“You think d’Louncrais will give you what you want if you ask him?”

Lothair clutched his fist at his side, resisting his bloody impulses. “Not now, youimbecile!”

He spun away, focusing on the darkened buildings of Langeais, the forest beyond, anything other than Renaud, and the pleasure he would derive from gutting the archeveque. He leaned his forearms on the wall. Below him, the keep guard changed watch.

Gaharet had yet to defy him, but how far would he go to protect the woman? He had thought her important enough to wed despite her ignominious circumstances. Would he betray his comte for her? Betray him?

He cursed the curiosity that had prompted him to allow Renaud’s petition for a private audience. The archeveque’s plans only ever benefited the archeveque. He knew that. Gaharet had long tempered Renaud’s influence, thwarting his many schemes. He had become complacent, relying on Gaharet. But in this, he could not trust Gaharet to stand by his side.

He glanced at Renaud. He would get what he wanted, one way or another, and if Gaharet opposed him, then so be it.

“Gaharet has locked himself in a bedchamber. He is having a pleasurable time with his betrothed. His vassals are out there somewhere, presumably,” he said, gesturing out into the forest. “I have men standing guard in the hall outside Gaharet’s room, and the guards at the gate are under my orders not to let him pass. As yet, Gaharet has made no effort to leave.” He glared at Renaud. “It is your stupidity that is forcing my hand.”

He called to his men, hovering behind him. “Assemble the guard.” He faced Renaud. “I will take the chamber and its occupants.”

He turned to Renaud, tapping his chin. “Do you think the woman is one of them?”

“Definitely not. She would have killed me if she was. Why?”

“I am curious to know what Gaharet finds so special about this woman. Once we have him in my underground cell, he will have no need of her.” He readjusted himself in his breeches. “I think I might keep her. Taste her wares myself.”

Renaud grunted, turned on his heel and stalked away, muttering something about base intentions and the work of the devil.

Lothair’s smirk twisted into a scowl as he stared after the retreating archeveque. What game was Renaud playing? As Gaharet had pointed out, an archeveque had no business suggesting he work with an unholy creature. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword. One day, he would lose all patience with Renaud and his schemes, and with every interaction with the conniving weasel, that day drew closer and closer.

* * * *

Below the parapet, pressed up against the keep and hidden in shadows, Aimon stood, listening to the comte’s footfalls fade away. Determination flashing in his bright blue eyes, he peeled himself away from the wall. He must warn Gaharet. He owed his life to him and would sacrifice it to protect him without a second thought.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Erin lay beneath the covers, curled against Gaharet, his arm draped over her, her emotions unsettled. He’d burrowed under her skin. This man, this tenth-century chevalier. It had started with their first kiss, but with each day that passed, with each act of generosity, each revelation of the man beneath the warrior, he’d broken down her defenses. She hadn’t wanted it to happen, had resisted its insistent pull, but the intimacy they’d shared had let him slip into her heart and take up residence.

She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the feel of his body against hers. She’d fallen for him. Fallen for the wrong man. Wrong not because he was an arrogant womanizer, all looks, charm and no substance as she’d once thought him to be. Nor because he was the type of man to bail the moment things became too hard, too much or when a better offer presented itself. Not Gaharet. The man defined responsible—unfailing and steady in his duties to those who trusted him and depended on him. He was everything she could ask for and more, with depths to him she’d barely begun to understand. And she desired him with an unexpected fierceness that took her breath away. Perversely, Gaharet was the right man in all ways but one.

He lives in the wrong damn century.

He dropped a light kiss on her bare shoulder, and she opened her eyes.

“You are frowning,” he said, his voice rumbling against her skin, sending a shiver up her spine. “What is troubling you?”

You. How I feel about you.Knowing they could never be anything more than what they’d just shared. Because she’d be leaving soon. If she wasn’t, could they become something more? He desired her, told her she was amazing, vowed to protect her, but would that be enough? Who was she to him? And where would she fit on his long list of responsibilities? First or somewhere further down the line? Questions she hadn’t asked because she wasn’t staying. There wasn’t any point in knowing the answers. She’d not even asked him about the archeveque’s accusation.

“Nothing. Just—”

Gaharet pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. Someone is coming.”

He flung back the covers and was on his feet, reaching for his breeches. Her eyes skimmed over his nakedness, watching the play of muscles across his chest. His dark hair fell in disarray about his shoulders, and an ache settled in her chest. He caught her staring, and his gaze softened. She looked away, her throat squeezing tight.

A scuffling of feet and a muffled groan from beyond the door reached her ears, and she bolted from the bed, hurriedly dressing. Had the archeveque come for her? The comte? Now was not the time to get all doe-eyed and emotional.

“Gaharet?” A whisper. Urgent. A soft knock on the door.

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