Page 58 of Wolf's Return
Erin’s smile was full of fondness. “Of course, Anne. Things wouldn’t have worked out so well if you hadn’t.”
Anne snorted. “Balderdash. Those boys know their mates when they see them, if it does take a while for them to acknowledge what they are feeling. All I do is hasten things along a bit.”
Constance still had her doubts. “But—”
Anne fisted her hands on her hips. “Now you listen to what old Anne has to say, child. D’Artagnon is no different from his brother. Or Ulrik and Aimon. Or many other wolves who have taken a mate. The wolf inside knows. So do I, and there is no doubt in my mind you are D’Artagnon’s mate. Make no mistake, hewillcome back for you.”
“Told you,” said Erin. To Anne, she said, “Constance was thinking of returning to her home.”
“What? D’Artagnon will expect you to be here when he returns. And you will be. I aim to see to that. I promised Gaharet I would keep you all safe within these walls.” Anne smoothed out her apron. “Now, there will be no more talk of leaving. Here, I have brought you a bite to eat. The men are not likely to return until after nightfall. Best we go on about our day as normal as we can.”
From their pinched expressions, neither Bek, Kathryn, nor Erin would find it any easier to view this as a normal day than she would. She twisted her hands in her lap. She could almost convince herself the fluttering in her stomach was concern for D’Artagnon’s wellbeing, his safety, and not a rekindling of hope. Her desire to remain rooted in the potential need for her healing skills upon the return of the men. Almost. She would be here when D’Artagnon returned.Ifhe returned. Then they would see if Anne was right. Or wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
D’Artagnon, his stomach pressed to the ground, peered out of the forest at the walls of Langeais. Beside him, Vladimir. He had barely left Constance behind when he had sensed the familiar presence shadowing him. It should not have surprised him. In truth, he was grateful for the older wolf’s company and his support.
The steady beat of the blacksmith’s hammer ceased and the heavy tread of boots along the streets slowed. Night would soon fall and darkness would creep through the streets of the village. The beginnings of a busy night echoed through the still air, but this part of the village had yet to come alive. When it did, it would with a furtiveness that would suit D’Artagnon’s purpose well. Soon he would make his move.
Lance had not been at his estate. It had taken D’Artagnon some time to establish the chevalier’s absence, skulking around the edges of the Vautour village until he had found an empty hut with some clothes they could steal, before sneaking into the keep.
The traitor’s scent had been everywhere, but there had been no sign of Lance. A captured conversation between two maids confirmed what he had suspected. They would not find his nemesis there. They had wasted more time listening to the gossip of the kitchen staff, the guards on the wall and the stable hands, hoping to glean where Lance would have gone, to no avail.
Their noses were of no help. Many a horse had left through the Vautour gates. Anyone of them could have carried Lance. In desperation, he had turned to Langeais, and it was there, at the base of the wall, backing onto a pleasure house, they had found Lance’s scent. Somehow, his enemy had gone over the wall.
He eyed the darkening sky. Gaharet would have made the same mistake, presuming Lance to be holed up in his keep. The most obvious place, but also the most defensible. He had time yet.
Vladimir rose, his ears pricked and his nose tilted to the breeze. With a soft chuff, he slunk away into the forest. D’Artagnon tensed, and sniffed the air. Coming toward him, the soft clop of horses’ hooves and the unmistakable musk of werewolves.
Merde. How did my brother get here so fast?
They rode out of the gloom—his brother, followed closely by Farren, Aubert, Edmond and a…aboy?
Gaharet dismounted, his nose twitching, eyeing the flattened patch of grass beside him. He circled D’Artagnon, scanning the forest. D’Artagnon ignored the question in his brother’s eyes. Vladimir was too wily to be found unless he wanted to be.
Gaharet shrugged and squatted in front of him. “Did you really think I would leave you to face Lance without me, brother?”
D’Artagnon huffed.
Gaharet dropped a sack in front of him that reeked of steel and sweat. “Will you shift, D’Artagnon? Shall we hunt him down together? Side by side.” He glanced over his shoulder as the others dismounted, gathering behind him. “They have lost loved ones, too, because of Lance’s treachery. Because of his alliance with Renaud. Vengeance belongs to all of us, do you not think?”
“Hedoes knowhe is talking to a wolf, right?” whispered the boy, sidling up to Edmond.
Gaharet ignored the boy and opened the sack, revealing breeches, a tunic, boots and his armor. “Come fight with us, D’Artagnon, like you once did. As a man.”
D’Artagnon eyed the hauberk, the vambraces and greaves, the padded gambeson. He had not worn such things since the day Lance had cut him down. Would he even remember how to use a sword?
The walls beckoned, his enemy’s scent lingering. Langeais was not like the Vautour village. Sneaking in as a wolf would be difficult, and any hope of confronting Lance on his own was long gone now Gaharet was here. The only way he could protect his brother was to fight beside him.
D’Artagnon closed his eye and called forth the change. He stood before his brother, eye to eye, man to man, for the first time in nine years.
Dark shadows shifted in his brother’s eyes. Then he was pulling D’Artagnon into a rough embrace. “Welcome home, brother.”
Emotion threatened to choke him. He was home. Truly home.
Edmond gripped his shoulder. “Welcome back, D’Artagnon.” He turned to the boy. “Come, Remi. Now is your chance to prove your usefulness.”
The boy’s eyes were wide, and he backed away from them. “I had thought you lot insane, but…but…” He eyed them all warily. “Are youallwerewolves?”
