Page 34 of Wolf's Return
But hewouldtrack down the man who had betrayed him, and he would avenge his parents. Beyond that, D’Artagnon had no plans.
D’Artagnon had promised his brother a few days. He had fulfilled his promise. It was time to return to his hunt for the traitor. Alone. He would rid the world of this traitor, or he would die trying. Nothing would prevent him from that. Not even the call to mate.
Chapter Nineteen
Constance groaned, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Had her unsatisfied yearning of her body not kept her awake all night, the anguish on Monsieur D’Artagnon’s face as he had fled the bedchamber would have. She rubbed her hands over her face. In all her years tending to people and what ailed them, not once had she doubted herself. Not once had her visions left her so bereft of guidance she did not know what to do, what course of action to take.
She rolled onto her side and met the blue-eyed gaze of the black wolf. She sat up.
Monsieur D’Artagnon? When had he come back?
Constance could have sworn she had not slept a wink, awaiting his return, the grip of guilt churning her stomach when he had not. But there he was, by the brazier, watching her, as though he had slept there all night.
Her bare skin prickled and—L’enfer! Her chemise!Constance clutched the covers to her chest, hiding her nakedness.Heat rose over her chest, neck and face. “I did not hear you come in. I…”
The one-eyed wolf fixed her with his haunted gaze. Could she do it? Force him to shift? Itcouldbe a good thing. Anne certainly believed so. As did Seigneur Gaharet. He would not wish his brother harm. Perhaps it was a kindness, a way to help him heal. The evidence of his injuries was impossible to ignore, but some scars were invisible—those written large across one’s heart and soul. Constance suspected, for Monsieur D’Artagnon, those cut the deepest and had caused the most damage.
Her gaze skipped to the bowl on the table containing the deadly nightshade potion. She could be doing more harm than good.
Constance turned back the covers, careful to keep the torn edges of her chemise covering her nakedness, and slipped from the bed. She hunted around amongst the clothes Anne had left her and found a fresh chemise. With her back to Monsieur D’Artagnon, ignoring the prickle of his regard, she shrugged out of her ruined one and quickly dressed. Her old chemise, she bundled up and shoved beneath the mattress. She did not want anyone—Anne or any of the other servants—to think less of Monsieur D’Artagnon. To assume he had forced himself on her.
“Good morrow, child.” The old cook ambled in, bustling over to the shutters and banging them open. “Good morrow, D’Artagnon. I see you are dressed already, Constance. Good. It is to be a busy day today,” said Anne, prodding the coals in the brazier to life. “You will be taking up residence in the old farmer’s cottage.”
“The old farmer’s cottage?”
Anne beamed. “Yes, child. It is a lovely little cottage in the woods. Just delightful.”
“Oh.” Constance banked her disappointment. She had been enjoying her time with Erin, Kathryn and Bek—the companionship, the way the women had included her in their conversations, asked her opinion.
“Nice and quiet. No one to bother you out there.” Anne rubbed her hands together. “Just the two of you.”
“Just the two of us?” Was that wise? After what had happened last eve?
“Why yes, child. You did not think we would send you out there all on your own. Tsk, tsk.Of courseMonsieur D’Artagnon will be going with you. It is the perfect place for you”—Annejerked her head at D’Artagnon—“to work on his furry self’s little problem.”
Constance swallowed. “I…” What could she say without revealing the happenings of last eve? Events Constance had been an active participant in.
“Come now, child.” She gestured Constance to a seat, running a comb through her hair. “There is a cart and a man servant down in the bailey awaiting to take you.”
Constance stared at the grand bed with its soft covers and divine mattress. It had been nice while it had lasted. An experience few peasants would ever have, sleeping in such a bed. Having servants wait on her, helping her dress, tend to her hair, cook her meals and stoke the fire.
“Now this cottage you are off to has a gorgeous little pond.” Anne pinned her head veil in place. “I have heard told the young ones found it quite romantic. That they would go out there when the moon was full and do what lovers are wont to do.” She heaved out a big sigh. “Oh, to be young again.”
Constance risked a peek at Monsieur D’Artagnon, the feel of his mouth on her breast and his hand between her thighs fresh in her mind.
“He was a handsome lad, was our D’Artagnon,” said Anne. “I imagine those scars of his would only add to his appeal.” Anne leaned in close. “If I was young and slim like you, with a wolf like D’Artagnon sleeping in my bed…” Anne gave her wink and a sly smile. “That is not an opportunity to be wasting.”
Constance gaped. Was Anne suggesting…? Had the old cook guessed what had happened last eve? Did she suspect Constance’s deepest desires?
“Off you go now. Both of you.” Anne made a shooing motion with her hands. “I have made sure you have all you need.” Mischief twinkled in Anne’s eyes. “For as long as you need. There is no cause for you and D’Artagnon to rush back.”
The wolf’s eyes narrowed. No, he did not like the idea one bit. Lord, had her potion, and the…incident last eve made things worse? Her stomach churned. Never as a healer had she set out to cause a patient pain.
Constance scooped up her things, and with one last look at the room and the luxury she would likely never experience again, she headed down the stairs, D’Artagnon trailing along behind her.
The hall was empty, save for Seigneur Gaharet, sitting by the fire. He looked up as she paused in the doorway.
“Good morrow, Constance. The women are in the library as usual. I believe they wanted to say goodbye before you leave.” He turned to the black wolf. “D’Artagnon, a word.”
