Page 43 of Wolf's Return
Gaharet stood on the ramparts overlooking the bailey, Lothair by his side. The morn had gone as well as he could have expected. Every peasant, every merchant, every chevalier within a day’s journey had been there to bear witness to his and his men’s public humiliation as Lothair had forced them to renew their vows like stripling lads, all legs and beardless chins. His men had chaffed at it, but it had been necessary. Though he doubted Lothair trusted him entirely, the spectacle in the hall had ensured they were no longer on opposing sides.
Beside Lothair had stood Renaud’s replacement, Eveque Faucher. It was difficult to reconcile his reputation with the baby-faced youth, but there was a hunger in this new eveque. A thirst for power and a dark thread of obsession that wound through his scent, coating it like oily scum on an untended moat. Faucher either had not the experience to conceal it, or did not care to. A man who had no cause to hide his ambitions or his intentions was one to watch.
“This new eveque could pose more of a threat than Renaud,” said Gaharet as Faucher, black robes billowing about his legs, made his way across the bailey to the chapel.
Careful to remain hidden amongst the bustle of servants, chevaliers and merchants, a little beggar boy trailed behind him. Edmond’s habit of rescuing strays might well prove useful.
“Faucher has high connections,” cautioned Lothair.
“And a reputation as a witch hunter.”
“Do you think he knows?” Lothair turned to Gaharet. “That werewolves exist? Here? In Langeais?”
“Oh, I know so.” Gaharet pointed at the beggar boy. “I believe we have our young spy to thank for that.” Gaharet leaned his elbows on the stone ramparts. “Renaud gave Faucher a name. The name of the werewolf he was working with.”
“The traitor?” Lothair snorted. “Typical of Renaud to double cross his accomplice. Godfrey? It did not escape my notice that he, once again, did not respond to my summons. I recall demandingallyour men renew their vows.”
Gaharet ignored the hint of steel in Lothair’s voice. “If I knew where Godfrey was, I would have ensured he was here.”
“Godfrey is missing? In hiding, fearing your wrath, or missing like Renaud?”
Gaharet watched his men make their way to the stables to collect their horses. Was it Godfrey? Is that why he was missing? Or had he fallen afoul of someone?
“I do not know. But he is not missing by Faucher’s hand.” The eveque did not have Renaud’s accomplice in custody. Of that, Gaharet was sure. Nor had he killed him. “Werewolf musk is unmistakable. I caught no hint of it on Faucher, nor the certainty that came with one who believes himself victorious.”
Lothair’s eyebrows rose. “Your senses are that good? Interesting.”
Gaharet did not deign to reply.
Lothair paced. “Faucher is not subtle. If it were Lance, he would have denounced him the moment he entered the hall this morn.”
“Or,” said Gaharet, “Faucher, seeing us all together, seeing the differences between us and Farren, recognized Lance is not theonlywerewolfin your county.It would take a brave and foolish man to proclaim six of your highest-ranking chevaliers as werewolves in such a public manner. He is young, he is greedy,but he does have a reputation for getting results. That does not come about by being foolish or rash.”
His gaze slid to Lance, and to the jewel on the pommel of his sword. Unanswered questions hung over his friend and confidant.
“So, Lance then?”
“As yet, I cannot be certain,” Gaharet admitted. “Renaud was cautious in giving Faucher the identity of his accomplice, refusing to speak it aloud. The boy has yet to get us that name.”
If fortune favored them, Constance’s presence and their time alone together would have an impact on D’Artagnon, and they would have their answer soon enough. If his brother proved too stubborn, perhaps Kathryn would remember something, or Faucher would lead Edmond’s spy straight to their betrayer.
Lance halted and turned, scanning the bailey. He raised his nose to the air. They were all on edge. It was only natural he would sense when he was being watched. He searched the bailey, then raised his gaze to meet Gaharet’s. His body stiffened and his nostrils flared and for a long moment they stared at each other, then Lance tipped his chin at Gaharet, turned away and caught up with the others.
“Lance or Godfrey. It keeps coming back to those two.” Lothair leaned against the ramparts, his arms folded across his chest. “I want this traitor, Gaharet. We cannot let Faucher get to him first.”
“I want him as much as you do, Lothair. Perhaps more.” Gaharet straightened, the ache in his chest as fresh as when he had first discovered the truth. “He murdered my parents. Cut them both down. For that alone, I would rip out his throat. But his crimes against our pack did not stop there. He attacked a child, Kathryn, and left her to die. It is by the grace of whatever God you believe in, she survived.”
Lothair’s eyes lit up. “But shesurvived. Achildsurvived the turning. I am stronger than a child.”
Gaharet grimaced. There it was. Confirmation this was not only about Lothair creating a supernatural army. The comte wanted to become a werewolf himself. “Children are resilient. Aimon was young, too, when I turned him. While you do not have the advanced years of Renaud, you have almost a score years on Aimon.”
Gaharet was not going to tell Lothair they now had a means of tempering the pain of a turning. The last thing Gaharet—or the pack—needed was Lothair as a werewolf. The pack already had an alpha. It did not need another, and there was no doubt in Gaharet’s mind Lothair would be anything less.
Lothair’s gaze slid past Gaharet’s shoulder, and his face flattened of all expression. A sickly miasma of pungent floral fragrance underscored by a dark note of deceit hit Gaharet’s nose. He did not need to turn to know Lothair’s wife, Marguerite, and her entourage of maids had appeared on the ramparts.
“You know what I want, Gaharet. And perhaps, at another time, we might discuss why I want it.Needit. For now, I have awifeto attend to.” He clapped Gaharet on the shoulder. “Take care of your betrothed. If Kathryn and Aimon are anything to go by, she is devoted to you. Not every man is that lucky.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
