Page 29 of Wolf's Return
Gaharet crossed his arms and regarded the woman who had been a constant presence in his life since he was a boy. “You have come up with a plan, Anne?”
Anne set aside the ladle. “I believe I have.” Mischief danced in the old cook’s eyes. “Now that you and Erin are here, the farmer’s cottage is empty. A perfect place for them to…well…do what mates will do given the opportunity. They would be close enough to keep an eye on, and yet have the privacy they need. And there is that lovely pond with the waterfall. I may have overheard that Ulrik and Rebekah used them both to great effect.”
Mm. A good plan. It could work in more ways than one. Lothair’s summons came to mind. At the bottom of the parchment were several lines he had not shared with the others.
Gaharet. The church has appointed Eveque Faucher to stand in Renaud’s stead until such time as his whereabouts can be determined. I need not tell you of Faucher’s reputation, but I must warn you, Faucher has been asking questions about you and your men. I will do what I can to keep him preoccupied here in Langeais, but I fear he may take it upon himself to visit your demesne unannounced.
Faucher, the witch hunter, in his keep? With D’Artagnon refusing to shift and a witch with eyes of different colors? D’Artagnon could slip away into the forest, but then he might never return. And Constance… Never was there a more vulnerable woman. And she, his brother’s mate. Yes, sending them to the cottage could work well. “That is a truly excellent idea, Anne. How long do you need to prepare supplies for them?”
“A day at most.”
“Good. They shall leave over-morrow.”
Anne clasped her hands together. “I shall see it done.”
Gaharet shook his head at his cook, smiling. “Remind me, Anne, never to cross you. For I do not think I would win.”
Chapter Sixteen
D’Artagnon lay in the corridor beyond the library doorway, resting his head on his foreleg. From his position, both the conversation between the men and that of the women in the library were within earshot. A night and one full day had passed since Constance had made her potion. Two since he had shed his wolf in his sleep. He had followed her everywhere, listening into conversations and sniffing his food with extra caution.
Nothing. No mention, much to his relief, of his shifting at night. Nor of the kiss he had stolen as Constance had slept. No hint that either Anne or Constance had used the noxious concoction. The bowl Constance had taken from the kitchen sat untouched on the table beside the pitcher in his bedchamber. What were they waiting for?
“Are you truly teaching Kathryn how to use that sword you gifted her?” The rasp of Ulrik’s voice, still so foreign, filtered to him from the hall.
D’Artagnon sniffed. If Aimon did not train her, someone would have to. He was in as much danger of being skewered by Kathryn and her sword as he was from Constance’s potion.
“Of course,” said Aimon. “I gave her my word I would teach her anything she wished.”
The sincerity in Aimon’s voice, the devotion, slid under his fur, and his thoughts, unbidden, turned to Constance. The flutter of her eyelashes against her sun-warmed cheeks as she slept, her blonde hair loose and tousled from sleep, the way she lookedat him when she thought he was not paying attention. Full of wishful longing.
“She is a werewolf. She has teeth and claws,” said Ulrik. “Personally, I would rather spend my time teaching my mate something else. Perhaps something a little more…intimate. If you need some ideas…”
The hint of curves beneath Constance’s thin chemise. The feel of her body beneath him and the taste of her lips on his.
Someone choked on their wine. “That is my daughter you speak of, Ulrik.”
“My apologies, Farren.” Ulrik did not sound sorry.
“Given what has happened to her in the past, perhaps it gives Kathryn some comfort, having another means to defend herself,” said his brother, backing the young chevalier.
Should Constance have another means to defend herself? Of all the women in the keep, she was the most vulnerable, especially when she returned to her forlorn little hut in the forest. Not so long ago, he had hidden in the shadows of the forest as tendrils of smoke filtered through the hole in the thatched roof of her humble little cottage. Had not the storm raged around them, it might have looked less small, less sad, but even on a sunny day the poorest cottage of any village would have outshone it. The thought of her leaving, returning there, did not please him at all. As it should. Rather, it lodged in his gut, a discomforting unease.
“You would not think to train your mate to defend herself, Ulrik?” Incredulity crept into Aimon’s voice. “She is from another century. One where men do not wear chain mail, nor carry swords. It must be daunting, nay, frightening for her.”
L’enfer.How had Constance survived out in the forest all alone? At the mercy of nature and the capriciousness of villagers.
Ulrik snorted. “Bek was dangerous when she had only her fists to defend herself with. The woman knows how to use them. Nearbroke a guard’s nose when she first materialized in Lothair’s godforsaken chamber. Now she is a werewolf. Trust me, Bek does not need lessons with a sword to be lethal.”
Though, Constance was a witch. The berry potion in his bedchamber was testament to the fact she was not without means to defend herself. And she had her wards.
Gaharet chuckled. “Erin did a similar thing to Archeveque Renaud. She is also fairly handy with her knees and feet.” His brother shifted in his chair, his discomfort sharp in the air. “I can attest to her ability to defend herself. It took everything I had to stay on my feet after she kneed me in the groin. That isnotan experience I wish to repeat.”
But still, knowing how to use a sword was an added layer of protection. Although, if Constance knew of spells like the one Cordelia had used on Brun, she would have no need of one. Constance might be more powerful than any of them realized.
“And yet,” countered Aimon, “a mercenary stabbed Erin, and the keep guard captured Bek and threw her back into that underground chamber beneath Lothair’s keep.”
“That was before either of them were werewolves,” refuted Ulrik.
