Page 19 of Wolf's Return
Erin worried her bottom lip. “I wonder what happened to her? Did she find her way home, or was she stuck here somewhere? And accent broad and round. Maybe an American?”
American?What was that?
His brother’s mate was a knowledgeable one. Curious, and forthright in her opinions, too. A good match for his brother. Beside her, Constance seemed almost timid. Yet there was a quiet strength in her, a persistent resilience. She was a survivor, navigating life’s vagaries with a fortitude more common of a seasoned warrior.
“Here’s something about the witch Old Tumas said the villagers cast out.” Erin looked up from the journal. “She was young. As in, young enough to have an infant.”
Constance gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. His brother recoiled, his distaste thick in the air.
Ulrik shifted in his seat. “If yourgrand-pérewas anything like your father, I do not see him taking such a course of action without reason, Gaharet.”
Neither did D’Artagnon. He had only heard of one person cast out from the village. By his father. A slovenly stable hand named Didier. He had attacked Marie, dragged her to the stables and tried to force his attentions on her. Didier was lucky her mate Victor had not killed him. And fortunate his father had decreed his punishment banishment and not death.
“And it says here her name was also Cordelia.” Erin cocked her head. “That’s an uncanny coincidence.” She shared a look with Gaharet. “We should talk to Old Tumas. See what he remembers.”
Unease prickled up D’Artagnon’s spine. Itwasan uncanny coincidence. Two women of different generations, both mentioned in his father’s journal. Both named Cordelia. It was not a common name. It might mean nothing, but the clench of his gut and the discordant clang in his mind had his instincts screaming. Did his brother feel it, too?
“We have enough trouble without borrowing more.” Gaharet nodded at the little healer. “But I see no harm in Constancetalking to Tumas if she wishes. There might be, as you have suggested, a family connection.”
Anne lumbered into the room, a covered bowl scenting of herbs and honey in her hands. “If you need to speak to Old Tumas, I have the perfect excuse for you to go see him.” Anne set the bowl in front of Constance. “This is the paste for the old grouch’s boils.”
D’Artagnon wrinkled his nose. He did not envy Old Tumas.
Gaharet’s steward stepped into the room and handed a parchment to his brother. “From the Langeais Keep Guard, Mon Seigneur.”
Gaharet snapped the seal and opened the missive.
His brother grunted. “It seems our time is up. Comte Lothair has summoned us all to Langeais Keep to renew our vows of fealty in three days hence.” Gaharet stood. “Farren and Aimon, I leave it to you to ensure this keep is well fortified and the men are prepared. If we are to leave my pregnant mate, along with the other mates, I would know they are safe. Ulrik, get word to the others that we are to meet outside the keep. We will enter together. United. Send messages to the others, including Godfrey, if he has returned. If not, have our man ask around the Lagarde estate. See if anyone knows anything. And have him talk to Godfrey’s steward and find out if Lance has been there.”
Ulrik got to his feet with a scrape of his chair. “Perhaps I should go to the Lagarde estate in person.”
D’Artagnon half rose.
“No,” said Gaharet. “I am not willing to risk another member of our pack, nor leave Rebekah without a mate.”
D’Artagnon eased himself back to the floor.
“But you sent Lance to check on Godfrey,” said Ulrik. “After we rescued Rebekah from Langeais. It surprised me you did, since we cannot be sure we can trust him.”
“I had little choice. I had to send someone. Lance and Godfrey were childhood friends. If I sent anyone else, he would have suspected something was amiss. If Godfrey is the one who has betrayed us, then Lance is match enough for him.”
Ulrik raised an eyebrow. “And if Lance is the traitor and Godfrey has fallen afoul of him?”
Gaharet scrubbed a hand across his face. “Then sending Lance to the Lagarde estate will change nothing.”
“But what about Godfrey?”
“There is little we can do for him now.”
The downturn of Gaharet’s mouth, the tightness around his eyes a measure of the cost such decisions were taking on his brother.
“D’Artagnon, take Constance to see Old Tumas. He needs his boil poultice. I do not need him any grumpier than usual.” Gaharet tapped the missive from Comte Lothair on the table. “Two women named Cordelia…”
His brotherdidfeel it. D’Artagnon would go with Constance. He would hear what Old Tumas had to say. Perhaps he might learn something more and put to rest this uncertain feeling surrounding these two women. This was one burden he could relieve his brother of. Soon, he would relieve him of another.
Gaharet crumpled the parchment from Lothair as Constance, the bowl of pungent herbs in her hand, followed his brother from the hall. He wanted this traitor caught and held to account for his crimes. Needed the threat to the pack gone. But he wanted his brother back more. Constance was the best hope his brother would shift forms, and not because of her skills with herbs, her knowledge of their kind, or her second sight.
As the men departed and the women retired to the library, Anne came to stand beside him. “It is not my place, Gaharet, but…”
