Page 30 of Wolf's Return
D’Artagnon’s heart did a little skip. Constance was not a werewolf. She did not have the healing abilities their blood afforded them.
“He does have a point. Gascon.” His brother called out for his steward. “Speak to the blacksmith. We will need swords for both Erin and Bek. Given our current circumstances, we should not neglect anything that may keep our mates safe.”
Constance was not one of their mates. He should speak… No. That would mean he would have to shift.
“Shall I ask the blacksmith to make a sword for Mademoiselle Constance as well, Mon Seigneur?” asked Gascon.
The ruff on D’Artagnon’s neck prickled as his brother’s gaze slid his way through the open doorway.
“Thank you, Gascon. Yes. Constance should have one, too.”
D’Artagnon breathed easier. Yes, Constance should have a sword, too.Thank you, brother.Though why it was so important to him…
“If D’Artagnon does not come to his senses and shift, I will train Constance myself.”
A growl rumbled up in D’Artagnon’s throat, and he was almost on his paws before he realized. He eased back to the floor. A simple taunt from his brother should not goad him so.
D’Artagnon snarled at Gascon as he passed him in the corridor, and the conversation in the hall turned to preparations for their journey to Langeais Keep. D’Artagnon let their voices drift into the background. He swiveled an ear in the women’s direction.
Erin passed by the library door, flipping through the pages of his father’s journal. “Any luck with that memory spell that Constance and Anne made for you, Kathryn?”
The swishing of a sword through the air paused. “Not the kind of progress I was hoping for. And the herbs… My apologies, Constance, but they tasteawful.” Kathryn made a gagging sound.
Interesting.Should his nose fail him, his sense of taste should warn him if Anne or Constance had tainted his food.
A book slapped shut. “What progress?” asked Erin. “Anything could be helpful.”
The swishing of the sword resumed. “Well…”
A footfall, a grunt. A lunge, perhaps. Kathryn’s lessons were proceeding well, from what D’Artagnon could tell.
“I have been having nightmares, but not about the attack. More about what followed. My turning.”
D’Artagnon breathed easier. If Kathryn remembered who her attacker was, D’Artagnon would need to leave before his brother took it upon himself to hunt him down.
“You’re getting…well at using that sword, Kathryn,” said Bek. “It looks fun.”
“It is. You should try it. And your Franceis is getting so much better, Bek,” praised Kathryn. “It must be all your practicing. You used the correct word for sword this time, too, instead of dagger.”
“Thank you. Maybe I will ask Ulrik for a sword. Erin, what…think you? You want to learn to be a chevalier, too?”
He sniffed. Kathryn was a long way from being a chevalier, but Gaharet was right. All the women should have a sword. Including his…including Constance.
“Mmm, maybe not,” replied Erin. “I was never really sporty. I’m more likely to cut off my own foot than do any harm to an enemy.”
“Not if Gaharet teaches you properly…to use it,” countered Bek.
“Maybe. Anyway, can we get back to Kathryn’s memory? Constance, can you tweak the spell slash herbal mix you gave Kathryn?”
The whooshing of the blade stopped, and the slide of a sword being sheathed cut through the air. “Is there something that would make it work better? And taste better?” Kathryn’s voice held hope. “Or maybe target specific memories, Constance?”
“I…well…yes. There are other herbs and things I could try that might work.”
D’Artagnon turned both his ears toward the library. Constance rarely said anything unless directly spoken to. When she did speak, her words held weight. She knew things, had generations’ worth of knowledge, and she had experienced a lot in her life. For all their incessant chatter about their mates, andhow things were different in the future, the other women always paid attention when Constance spoke. As did D’Artagnon. She was a good healer. An asset to any community. Did the villagers in Langeais not realize how lucky they were to have her?
“You have experienced a traumatic event, Kathryn. Could it be you do not want to remember? That you are blocking it from your mind because it frightened you so?”
Agitated footsteps paced the room. “But Idowant to remember. Iwantto help find who did this to me.” Distress laced Kathryn’s words. “Could I really be blocking my own memory?”
