Page 72 of Wolf's Return
D’Artagnon mounted up and gathered his reins. “We must go, Constance. We have a long ride ahead.”
Constance urged her horse into a trot, eager to be beyond the reach of the witch hunter. They left the village of Langeais behind, hope fluttering in her chest. Faced with the priest, his burning devotion to stamp out witches more frightening for his saintly beauty, Constance had feared the worst. Yet, she had survived. D’Artagnon had saved her. Had forsaken his vengeance to rescue her. If one of her visions had come to pass, could the other?
Chapter Forty-Three
D’Artagnon rode in silence but kept a close watch on Constance. Without complaint, she rode beside him.L’enfer, her first thought upon escaping had been for the other woman. In truth, the woman would most likely not survive. Something was very wrong with her. The pallor of her skin, the sheen of sweat on her brow and the underlying sickness tainting her scent were a sign of something beyond her visible injuries. Something he doubted Constance could heal. Had he let her, she would have tried all the same despite her own ordeal first at the hands of her father, then Faucher.
Constance might not be as determined as Erin, as fiery as Kathryn, or as bold as Rebekah, but she had a quiet strength about her that would outlast them all. She was a survivor. Like him. D’Artagnon could not have asked fate for a better mate.
They pressed on, keeping a steady pace so as not to tire the horses. From the moment they had entered the forest, Vladimir had joined them, keeping stride beside them. He was glad the old wolf had stayed. Another wolf against Lance. An experienced wolf with an age of wisdom. If they must fight against the witch Cordelia, too, every extra wolf would be a boon.
The sun was at its zenith, Constance’s shoulders sagging with fatigue as they rode beneath the portcullis of his family’s keep. A few of Lothair’s keep guard milled around the bailey and they stared at him, at the old gray wolf at his side. He ignored them, helping Constance from her horse, handing the reins off to a stable hand.
“Come meet my brother, my alpha,” he said to the gray wolf.
Vladimir jerked his head and followed them inside.
D’Artagnon found his brother and fellow wolves in the hall, and Lothair sprawled at the head of the table. The women crowded around a forlorn figure bundled in a blanket by the fire. Anne.
Gaharet was already walking toward him. “D’Artagnon, Constance. It is a relief to see you both.”
“Constance.” Erin rushed over and flung her arms around his mate. “I’m so glad you’re back and you’re safe.”
The other women crowded around her, drawing her into their circle as though she were one of them. Shewasone of them.
“Anne?” Constance queried.
The corner of Erin’s mouth turned down. “She is taking Tumas’ death hard.”
Constance went to the old cook, wrapping her arms around her, offering her solace. Her heart was so big for those in need, he marveled at it.
“She will make you a good mate,” said Gaharet.
“Did you find Lance?”
Fatigue and concern reflected in Gaharet’s eyes. “No. We have searched the entire estate. Nothing. Lothair has sent men to the Vautour demesne and back to the pleasure house. He has them scoring the forest between here and Langeais. Lance is injured. He will need to go to ground for a while and heal. Avoiding Lothair’s men should keep him quiet for a while. Give us a chance to rest, to regroup.” His brother clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We will find him, D’Artagnon. He will pay for his crimes.”
Yes, he would, but this time, it would be different. No more hunting alone. He would fight beside his brother.
The old gray wolf, Vladimir, pushed past him and padded over to Anne, resting his big head on her knee.
“Who is your friend?” Gaharet tilted his nose into the air and breathed in. “He has the scent of… Is he a Rus wolf?”
“Yes.” D’Artagnon cleared his throat. “They took me in, sheltered me when I needed it most.”
“Then they have my thanks.”
Ulrik sidled over to join them. “So that’s where you were hiding?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “Why did you not visit?” D’Artagnon had both dreaded and longed for the day when Ulrik would turn up in Rus, but it had never happened. Not once in all those years.
Ulrik shrugged. “Why would I? What cause would I have to visit the Rus wolves?”
Did he not know?“Because your parents are there. And your sisters.”
“What? My…?” Ulrik spun to face Lothair.
The comte had straightened in his chair.
