Page 66 of Wolf's Return
D’Artagnon sought the tentative voice, his gaze landing on Aimon’s redheaded mate, Kathryn. “Why would she have left?”
Erin and Kathryn shared a glance.
“Because she thought you didn’t want her as a mate,” said Bek, stepping forward. “Ridiculous, I know, but that’s what she thought. That she wasn’t enough for you.”
Not enough?No.She was…She waseverything.
The crowd parted, allowing Lothair, flanked by his guard, through. “We need to hunt Lance down. We cannot have him on the loose.”
“He’s injured,” said Erin. “Tumas skewered him in the side with a pitchfork. Won’t that slow him down?”
“It will,” agreed Gaharet. “That should give us an advantage.”
Lance. The traitor to the pack. His nemesis. He should want to go after him, be eager to exact his revenge, but he could not dredge up any enthusiasm for the task, or any of his old rage. Constance had gone. She was his everything. How had he not seen that?
Constance’s riddle, her vision. He clasped his head in his hands. She had warned him. He had misunderstood. Chosenwrong. It was not her that was never meant to be his, butrevenge.L’enfer.Constance was right. His brother was right. Revenge belonged to all of them. The greater reward, if he had the courage in his heart…
The realization sliced through him, cutting away his years of exile, his anger and his sense of failure, leaving but one thought. The only thing that truly mattered. Constance. His mate.Shewas the greater reward. And with his driving need to take his vengeance gone, therewasroom in his heart for her. For them. And a life they could forge together.
He spun away from the crowd. The noise, the people, the ache in his chest and the deep well of emotions that boiled up in him too much. He had lost her. Constance was gone. D’Artagnon eyed the doorway leading to the back stairs of the kitchen, and he stumbled toward them. He needed air. He needed the forest. The weight of his brother’s gaze tracked him across the hall. D’Artagnon paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, an apology on his lips.
He stilled.Wait.There was that scent again, familiar and yet wrong. It was strong, pulling him into his memories. Of a time before Lance had cut him down. When he was but a young lad. It teased at him, brought to mind a stable hand with lank hair and a greasy smile. Didier. Overlaying it all, the fragrance he would,could,never forget. Constance. It carried the taint of her fear. And the coppery scent of her blood. He spied a sword on the steps.
She did not leave. She was taken. By Didier. And she was injured.
D’Artagnon unbuckled his scabbard and dropped it to the floor. He wrenched at his vambraces.
Gaharet strode across the hall toward him, a curious Lothair right behind him. “D’Artagnon?”
“She did not leave, Gaharet. Didier took her.”
Lothair quirked a brow. “Didier?”
“A miscreant stable hand my father threw off our estate when I was a boy,” said Gaharet.
D’Artagnon firmed his resolve. “I am going after her.”
“What would this Didier want with this Constance? Is she your witch?” asked Lothair.
D’Artagnon paused.Her vision. Constance bound and pleading before a priest. Faucher.From what he remembered of Didier, he could believe him capable of selling Constance out for money. How had he known she was a witch? How had he known she was here? What was Didier doing here, back in the keep?
“I think he has taken her to the witch hunter.”
Gaharet blanched. “Go, D’Artagnon. Find Constance. Save your mate and bring her home.”
D’Artagnon stripped away his greaves, and removed his hauberk and gambeson.
“Everybody out! Now!” Gaharet roared, his voice layered with alpha command.
The villagers, the keep guard, the servants all turned and fled. Lothair flinched, but remained where he was. D’Artagnon ignored him, stripping off his boots, tunic and breeches.
“Aubert, Edmond, take fresh horses and go with him.” Gaharet scooped up D’Artagnon’s armor and clothing and shoved them into Aubert’s hands. “You don’t know what you’ll face, or where Faucher will be.”
Lothair’s curiosity blazed in his eyes. “Go to the chapel. There are storerooms beneath it, perfect for holding prisoners. That is where I would keep her if I were Faucher.”
D’Artagnon nodded, surprised the comte had offered the information.
“Try not to kill him, if you can. The last thing I need is for another high-ranking churchman to gomissingin my county.”
