Page 74 of Wolf's Return
“My spies in the keep guard tell me my husband has interfered with your work.” She pouted her pretty lips. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Constance and D’Artagnon rode in silence through the forest, his words to his brother ringing in her ears.I cannot give her what she wants.Had she misread his meaning when he had said there was nothing more important than her? Had he meant important to the pack? As a healer? No. Erin, Kathryn and Bek all said D’Artagnon was her mate. And Anne, too. And he had said, back at the cottage, he had wanted her then. But… She had wondered when she had first set eyes on him, that first day in the keep, if he was too far gone, too wounded. Mayhap he would never fully heal.
Hewastaking her to the farmer’s cottage with him, not leaving as she had first suspected.
Oh, Constance. How can you think of yourself at a time like this?
Tumas was dead. Anne, Georgette, the entire village was grieving and the man who caused it all, the man who had robbed D’Artagnon of his parentsandhis eye, still roamed free. He had told her she was his everything. That should be enough. Could be enough. Far more than she had had living alone in the forest. Their days spent in the farmer’s cottage had been wonderful. If that was to be her life, she had no cause for complaint.
The little cottage sat waiting, expectant, as they rode into the clearing. D’Artagnon dismounted, helped her from her horse and strode inside without a word. Constance sighed and followed him. She must be patient. He would speak when he was ready.
Nothing had changed since they had left it. It seemed an age ago Aimon had come to fetch them. So much had happened she could forgive herself for thinking everything would be different.
He lit the fire, and with a brief nod at her, headed for the door. “I must tend to the horses.”
She rinsed the mugs from the table, and set them on the shelf, then straightened the linens on the cot, left tangled from their night of passion.
The door closed behind her and D’Artagnon’s presence filled the room. Gentle hands grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. She stared at his chest, at his surcoat with the d’Louncrais crest, wanting to know what this was, fearing it might not be what she was hoping for.
He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Look at me, Constance.”
The rumble of his voice sent shivers up her spine. She did as he asked.
“You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met. Kind and generous and selfless.”
He thought her extraordinary?Her heart was fit to burst.
“You giveeverythingof yourself to others with no thought of your own needs. You deserve to take your rightful place as my mate at the keep amongst the other women—Erin, Kathryn and Bek—but…” He bowed his head. “I am not the man I used to be, Constance. Too long have I been in the wild living as a wolf, surviving on instinct alone. I no longer belong in a fancy keep, dining off pewter plates and drinking wine from bejeweled goblets. Nor do I belong in any village, surrounded by civilized people.”
A solid lump lodged in her chest, all but choking the breath from her lungs. Would he stay here with her? Or… She could not bear to finish her thought.
He raised his head, his eye full of anguish. “I know you wished for a life in the village, to live as others live, surrounded by people, by friends, but I cannot give you what you want, Constance. What you deserve.”
Constance swallowed, waiting.
“I cannot exist as I once had, but… I also cannot not exist without you.” He cupped her face in his large hands, his blue eye blazing with emotion. “You are my mate, Constance. My heart is yours, but I cannot offer you more than a life lived here, in the forest, in this cottage. Is that enough for you?”
Constance’s face crumpled. Tears pricked her eyes and ran down her cheeks. His heart was hers? He wanted her as his mate?
D’Artagnon’s sigh was heavy, and his hands slipped from her face. “I understand. It is too much to ask of you to set aside your dreams of a diff—”
Constance grabbed his face, pulled it down to hers, and kissed him. “Yes.”
D’Artagnon opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Yes, I will stay. Yes, I will be your mate and live here in the forest with you. I can visit the village, or the keep, any time. What I want most isyou.”
“You will? You do?” A slow smile spread across his face, then he swept her up in his arms and held her tight. “Constance, my love. You have me. All of me. And I will do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman in this county.”
Constance closed her eyes, a vision of a cottage—this cottage—dancing across the back of her eyelids. A one-eyed black wolf lounged in the grass as two little girls placed garlands of wildflowers in his fur. And there she was, a little boy balanced on her hip, her stomach already swelling with another pup. Constance hugged D’Artagnon closer and smiled. “I know.”
He set her back on her feet. “Make your potion, Constance. The one to ease the turning. Hurry! I want you.” His canines peeked out beneath his upper lip. “I need to make you mine. Now.”
* * * *
Lothair squeezed the grip of his sword so hard he might leave an imprint of his hand on the metal. On the table before him, his meal fresh from his kitchen. Dead at his feet, the keep guard who had tasted his food. A man he knew to be in the employ of his wife. If he did not loathe Marguerite and her simpering stares, or fear her reach and her connections, he might have found their little dance a challenge. But too many times she had come too close to succeeding.
