Page 11 of Wolf's Return
Gaharet leaned against the door frame. “Nine long years you have been gone, and you think to leave already?”
L’enfer.His brother always had been too observant, too canny.
“Icouldconfine you in the training room. Force you to remain here,” said Gaharet. “But I will not. I am asking you, not as your alpha, but as your brother, to stay. Please. Whatever ails you, we can help you. Whatever burdens you bear, you no longer have to shoulder them alone. You are safe here. And we could use your help to find this traitor.”
The large door of the entrance loomed close, mere steps away. All he need do was pad down the corridor, push the door open and return to the forest. Would Gaharet follow him? Perhaps, but he had learned a few tricks over the years. It would be a simple matter to evade his brother.
“Will you not stay the night? A few days?” A shadow crossed his brother’s face. “I have missed you, D’Artagnon. We allhave.”
His brother’s words tugged at him. He had missed him, too. The steady calm his brother exuded. The feeling of having him at his back. His solid and unwavering support. And he had missed his pack. With Ulrik returned, it would almost be like it was before. He had been gone nine long years. What were a few days? It was a small thing. He could do this for his brother.
D’Artagnon turned, intending to reclaim his place by the fire. In the periphery of his vision, he glimpsed Constance before she rounded the corner of the stairwell—her slight frame and the gentle sway of her hips. He narrowed his eye on his brother. Gaharet wanted him to shift. Staying for a few days would give the little witch time to find some way to force him. Already she could be hatching a plan. Anyone wishing him to shift, or thinking they could use silver on him, was not to be trusted.
Best to keep my enemy close.His father had taught him that. Though it had not worked so well for him.
With a snarl at his brother, D’Artagnon loped up the stairs after the women, the scent of his brother’s relief following him.
He caught up to Constance and Anne at a doorway at the top of the stairs and pushed past them into a large room. His room. The aroma of old meadowsweet rushes hung in the chill air, giving it a stale, abandoned feel. Cold coals lay in the brazier in the corner. A half-burned candle sat beside an open book on the table by the bed, and his clothes remained haphazardly thrown about. Everything was the same as the day he had awoken, donned his armor and prepared for battle, answering the summons from Comte Lothair. As though not a single person had crossed this threshold since that fateful day.
So long ago. So many years living in the forest, sleeping on the ground and hunting for his food, yet he still remembered the feel of sinking into the soft downy mattress. It seemed only yesterday he had sat in bed reading into the late hours, having no inkling of the betrayal the following morn would bring.
Anne motioned Constance into the room. “Come, child. You will sleep in here.”
D’Artagnon leaped onto the unmade bed, the covers still thrust back as he had left them. He flopped on the cool linen sheets, rested his chin on his paws and watched her. The healer. Constance. The woman who had threatened to bind himin silver. He shuddered and his heart hardened. Even had his brother not rejected her suggestion, he would never allow it.
She had his brother and the other wolves charmed and had almost ensnared him, but he was awake to the danger now. He would keep watch. Ensure she did not attempt something despite his brother’s decree.
“This was D’Artagnon’s room,” said Anne. “Gaharet forbade me from touching it after… Well, that is all in the past now.” The old cook beamed at him. “He has returned.”
Constance moved about the room, her shoulders stiff. “Are you certain Seigneur Gaharet would want me to sleep here?” She turned in a slow circle, her gaze flitting from one open chest, the books haphazardly stacked, to another with tunics and breeches spilling out onto the floor. “I expected a sleeping mat in the hall, or in the larder or the grain store. Maybe an empty stall in the stables? Not a room as grand as this. Not…hisroom. Where is Monsieur D’Artagnon going to sleep?”
“Oh, heavens no, child.” Anne crossed to his chest of books and dropped the lid with athunk. “You are our guest. Here to help the young lad. If he insists on staying in wolf form, then he can sleep on the floor by the brazier.” She gave him a sly smile. “Or curl up on the end of the bed, if he must.” She picked up a tunic, shook it out, folded it then placed it neatly away. “Always such a messy boy, this one. Even as he grew, he never had a care for neatness and order.” She scooped up a pair of breeches. “Not like his older brother at all.”
“But—”
“Now, shall I have the servants bring you a bath, child? There is a marvelous barrel I can have the boys roll in and fill with hot water. You can soak away the rigors of your journey.”
Constance caught his stare, and color infused her face. “A jug of water should be ample, thank you.”
The flush of her cheeks stirred something within him. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. The woman was too beguiling for her own good.
“Mm, perhaps you are right. No need to give this young man more than he deserves. At least, not until he hasearnedit.” Anne shuffled about the room, scooping up the clothes from the floor, folding them and stacking them neatly in the chest. She made a shooing motion at him. “Come now, lad, the girl needs a rest before supper. Remove your furry self off the bed so I can straighten it.”
More color rose across Constance’s face and down her slender neck. “There is no need, Anne. I could not possibly sleep in this bed. A sleeping pallet with the other servants is all I require.”
“Nonsense, child. Youshallsleep in this bed. What say you, D’Artagnon?”
Constance, snug in between bedsheets thick with his scent? It appealed to him far more than it should.
He glared at Anne. He was not keen to cower to her demands. She was but the cook. In this, though, they were in agreeance. The little healer would sleep in his bed. Where better than in his territory so he could keep a close watch over her, a witness to whatever plan she made? And that was the only reason. He rose and slipped off the bed.
“Now, there will be no more talk of sleeping pallets, or whatnot.” Anne straightened the covers. “Gaharet has ordered it so, and you have D’Artagnon’s permission. That is enough for me.” Anne shifted his unfinished tome aside. “You can put your precious book on the table there. None will touch it, I assure you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Constance set her grimoire down on the table beside the half-burned candle.
Anne picked up the empty water pitcher and a crumpled, used linen. “I shall send a maid up with some warm water and a cleancloth for you to freshen up. And since our furry lad here refuses to shift and prove useful, I will send one of the boys with fresh coals for the brazier.”
D’Artagnon ignored Anne’s dig at him. It would take a lot more than a snide remark from an old woman to prompt him to shift. She waddled out of the door, pitcher in hand, then he was alone withher. The woman from the cottage. In his room. Soon to be sleeping in his bed.
