Page 20 of Wolf's Return
Amusement rippled through him, and he raised an eyebrow at his old cook. “Since when has that ever deterred you, Anne? From saying what is on your mindortaking action?”
“I…” She brushed at the flour on her apron. “Well…I confess I may have meddled a little with you and Erin.”
Gaharet chuckled. “I know.” He gave the old woman an indulgent smile. “And you have my eternal gratitude. Without your actions, Erin and I may not have sorted out our differences.”
Anne beamed. Gaharet could afford the little untruth. Nothing would have prevented him from claiming his Erin.
“And I…uhm…”
Gaharet had never seen the old woman flustered like this.
“I may have meddled some more with Kathryn and Aimon.”
He bit back a grin. “Mmm.”
“But I have noticed D’Artagnon is rather fond of Constance. He has barely left her side since she got here.”
“I have noticed that myself.”
“He slept on the bed with her last night. Covered the blankets in dark fur that the maids had a devil of a time getting off.”
“He did, did he?”
“For whatever reason D’Artagnon remains in wolf form, perhaps he just needs the right…encouragement?”
“I was thinking much the same.” Gaharet crossed his arms and looked down at the woman who had been a constant presence in his life since he was a boy. “What do you have in mind, Anne?”
“Well, I had not thought of anything in particular…”
Gaharet doubted that was true. The old woman was a bigger schemer than Archeveque Renaud had been, but with Anne, none of her actions were self-serving. “Anne.”
She harrumphed. “Well, I… I must confess, Ihavebeen givingsomethought to D’Artagnon’s problem. I think the only thing that will make that boy shift is that girl.”
“You think so?”
“Are you telling me you do not think Constance is D’Artagnon’s mate? What, with the way he follows her, unable to leave her side. How he looks at her when she is not paying attention.” She pointed a flour-dusted finger at him. “The same way you look at Erin. The way your father looked at your mother.”
“I will tell you no such thing, Anne, for I believe you are right. ConstanceisD’Artagnon’s mate.”
She fisted her hands on her hips. “Of course I am right.”
“Then what is your plan, Anne?”
“Leave it with me, Gaharet. I will come up with something.”
“Good.” Gaharet turned to leave. “Oh, and Anne, from now on, you have my permission to meddle to your heart’s content.”
Chapter Eleven
Constance exited through the large entrance doors of the d’Louncrais Keep, her grimoire tucked beneath her arm, the bowl of boil poultice in her hand and Monsieur D’Artagnon at her heels. She was grateful for the reprieve on her task, if a little surprised. For all that Seigneur Gaharet wanted her to find an answer to Monsieur D’Artagnon’s inability to shift, he seemed to lack any sense of urgency.
She brushed away her puzzlement. Who was she to question the ways of the nobility, of the alpha? And he had granted Constance her wish. She was getting to talk to Tumas. She shivered and tightened her white-knuckled grip on the bowl of poultice. As much as she wanted,needed,to know about the witch the villagers had cast out, this Cordelia, her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of what she might learn. Would she like what he would tell her? About this woman with the different colored eyes? The witch who had the second sight like her? Could there be, as Dame Erin had suggested, a family connection?
The gate guard smiled at them as they passed through, and they followed the road down the hill to the village. Tendrils of smoke curled from chimney holes in neat and sturdy cottages and farmers were returning from the fields for the midday meal, some with their baskets full of their harvest. The scent of cooking food and the murmur of voices filled the air. It was like any other village. And yet, it was not.
In every village Constance had lived—and there had been a few—there had always been a clear division amongst the peasants. Between those less fortunate than others. No less noticeable than the differences between comtes and kings, or merchants and nobles. A poorly thatched roof, clothes more worn with signs of constant mending and a pinched expression, the worry of where their next meal would come from difficult to conceal. Constance looked for the signs, the people and the cottages that mimicked her childhood. She could not find them.
A child waved as they passed, no fear of the big black wolf by her side. Constance waved back, and a smile lit up his little face. No hesitancy, no strange look. Only a smile. The little boy went back to playing his game of pickup sticks. Another young child joined him, and they giggled over their game. Not the whispered conversations and finger pointing she was used to.
