Page 28 of Wolf's Return
Gloves? To handle berries?Did this plant have thorns? Or was there something about these black berries?
A little pale, the girl departed.
“Anything else you need, child?” asked Anne.
“Bowls.”
Anne set three bowls on the bench.
Constance turned to the doorway. “I shall fetch my ceremonial knife from my…thebedchamber.”
She was coming to consider his bedchamber as hers? The thought pleased him, though he could not think of a reason why.
Constance disappeared to fetch her blade, leaving D’Artagnon alone with Anne.
The old cook fixed him with a stare. “Now, young man. You are not going to make this more difficult than it is for the young lass, are you? I believe life has been harder than most for the girl, living alone in the forest as she does. Not much goes in her favor in the Langeais village neither, I would suspect. Not with those eyes of hers. The villagers there are not as accepting of the unusual as they are here.”
He flattened his ears against his head.Empathizewith the little healer? After she suggested using silver on him? And now hatched some nefarious plan involving black berries?
Anne planted her hands on her hips. “Mmm. I see. You have your mind set on thwarting her. Even though shifting is for your own good, and for the good of the pack. Harrumph. You always were a stubborn one. Well”—she leaned closer, and pointed a stubby finger at him—“I am warning you, I will not stand for it. I will help that child in any way I can.” She stared him down. “And you know from experience, I am not one to be trifled with. That young girl deserves some happiness in her life, and I aim to see she gets it.”
A growl rumbled in his chest. The old woman was as stubborn as he was. And she was right. Shewasa force to be reckoned with. She had been when he was younger and, it appeared, nothing had changed since then.
Anne had never cared much for rank and title, charging through accepted courtesies with all the subtlety of a battering ram. Even his father had trodden carefully around her. D’Artagnon would have to do the same. The villagers, the other servants, the chevaliers and his brother, all held her in such high regard. Were she to be disrespected, were harm to come to her at his hand, he would most likely find himself locked in the training room. His brother had made that clear.
And what does Constance’s happiness have to do with me shifting?
Constance returning, followed by the servant girl, broke the standoff between them. Anne took the basket of herbs the kitchen hand had collected, shooed the girl away and sorted them into two piles on the bench. In one, he recognized common herbs for cooking and some sort of mint. For Kathryn’s memory potion? In the other, foul smelling gray-green foliage, and a rosette of oval-shaped leaves attached to a root. Henbane and mandrake root?
Next to them, Anne placed a small linen bundle, opening it to reveal purple-black berries. He stilled. No wonder Constancehad not named them. Had she thought he would not know them by sight? But he did. There was no mistaking the fruit of the deadly nightshade, ripe with poisonous promise. Nor the care with which Anne handled them.
These herbs—the berries, the root and the gray-green leaves—the little healer meant for him. Planned to slip them into his food or drink. His werewolf blood made him immune to the poisonous nature of the berries, but she believed they would have some effect on him and would precipitate his shift from wolf to man. She most likely had the right of it. Constance knew more of their kind than anyone beyond their pack. Perhaps even more than they did. He would have to watch her closely.
No. He would have to watch thembothclosely. Anne was her ally, not his. The old cook would not risk every human in the keep by putting anything in the cooking pot. She would have to put it in his food alone. With his sense of smell, that would be difficult, especially now he had the pungent scent of those leaves. He sat back on haunches. Thwarting their plan should be easy.
But as Constance mixed up her potions, pricking her finger and casting her spell, the significance of thethreebowls became apparent. One bowl for Kathryn’s memory concoction. Two bowls containing deadly nightshade berries.
Anne slid one bowl toward Constance. “Off you go, child. I will see Kathryn has her herbs. And this”—she picked up the second bowl containing the purple berries—“I will keep with me.”
Constance gathered her book and the bowl. “Thank you, Anne. Are you coming, Monsieur D’Artagnon?”
D’Artagnon sat, unable to move. Both women had the deadly mixture. Anne, by far, was the more cunning of the two, but if he stayed in the kitchen, it would give Constance ample time to plant her portion. Perhaps somewhere he might not expect. Yet Anne had access to all the food in the keep. Unless he planned tohunt, he would need to eat the food she prepared. But that would leave Constance alone to plot and plan.
Constance shrugged and headed for the doorway. The pull to follow her was too strong. His instincts were telling him the little witch was the greater threat. D’Artagnon jumped off the stool, ignoring Anne’s smug smile, and followed Constance from the room. He would have to rely on his nose to tell him if his food was tainted. He had survived in the wilds for nine long years, with only his werewolf instincts to keep him safe. Two human women could not outsmart him.
* * * *
Gaharet stepped into the room from the bailey, the smells of the kitchen enveloping him, but not enough to hide the foul-smelling henbane leaves, or the bitterness of the deadly nightshade berries. “How do you plan to get that into D’Artagnon’s food without him smelling it?”
Anne wiped her hands on her apron, unsurprised by his sudden appearance. “Perhaps his sense of smell is not as good as you, or he, thinks. He did not catch a whiff of your presence.”
Gaharet shrugged. “There is enough of a breeze to carry my scent away. And with Constance by his side, D’Artagnon is distracted.”
“Mmm, maybe. But you are right, Gaharet. Getting that potion past a werewolf’s nose will be nigh on impossible.” She handed him the bowl. “Place that on that high shelf for me, will you? It will not do to have some fool think it is a new seasoning and add some of it to tonight’s meal.”
Gaharet blanched, and did as he was told, pushing the bowl to the back behind numerous pots of dried herbs.
Anne took up a ladle and shuffled to the pot over the fire. “All we need do is keep him close to that girl, and nature will take its course.” She stirred the pot’s contents. “Needs thickening.” Shemotioned to the kitchen hand. “Go fetch some more potatoes from the store.”
