Page 70 of Wolf's Return
“It saves time,” said Edmond. “We do have this, too.” Edmond held up a piece of parchment with a wax seal on it. The comte’s seal. “Lothair gave it to us as we were leaving. He said to show it to the guards at the gate and tell them by his order we are to keep our weapons. It should get us through without fuss.”
Another boon from Lothair, but D’Artagnon did not have the time nor the care to wonder at it.
He strode out of the forest toward the gate, Edmond and Aubert flanking him and Remi trailing behind. Vladimir remained behind in the forest, guarding their horses. They marched through the square, villagers darting out of their way. The gate guard tried to stop them, demanding their weapons, but Edmond thrust out Lothair’s seal and the guards stepped aside.
At the chapel, D’Artagnon threw open the door and stormed toward the nave.
A startled aumônier appeared from the sacristy. “Praise be you are here, Mon Seigneurs. I did not know what to do.”
“Where is she?” D’Artagnon growled.
“Which one?”
D’Artagnon halted.Which one?
“The first young woman is so sickly I cannot imagine her a witch, but Eveque Faucher insisted she had appeared in front of him from thin air.” The aumônier wrung his hands, his expression troubled. “Then, this very morn, a disgraceful manbrought his daughter to us.Soldher as a witch to Eveque Faucher, for the crime of having eyes of two different colors. She begged him.”
So DidierwasConstance’s father. Not much of one.
The aumônier’s face flushed an unhealthy shade of red. “I spied on the eveque when he took her below. I am not proud of it, but I heard her say Seigneur d’Louncrais would vouch for her. Then Remi came to the chapel, and he has done work for you before, and I thought…” He glanced at the twins, his eyes pleading. “You are Seigneur d’Louncrais’ vassals.”
“You did the right thing,” said Edmond, squeezing the aumônier’s shoulder. “She is indeed under our protection. Tell me, are the women in the storerooms?”
Aumônier Touissant nodded and pointed to the sacristy doors. “Through there, to the end of the corridor and down the stairs.”
D’Artagnon was off running.
“Please hurry,” the aumônier called after him. “Eveque Faucher will soon return from the keep.”
Aubert tossed his purse at Remi. “Find us a horse and cart.”
The twins were at his heels as he descended the stairs. Two doors greeted them, both barred. He lifted the timber from the first one and dropped it to the floor. He swung it open. The room was dark and dank and empty, save for one thing. Lying in the corner was a sickly looking young woman, dark curls matted to her forehead and shivers wracking her body.
“Take her,” he growled at Edmond, and went to the second door, lifting the timber plank and tossing it aside. He flung open the door.
Her scent hit him, earthy and of the forest, layered with his own, but now tainted with fear and misery. She scrambled back into the corner, her hands bound, her face grimy and streakedwith tears. His heart bled. He could have lost her. In his thirst for vengeance, he had put her life at risk.
Never again. She was his. His wolf had known it from the moment he had first laid eyes on her. He should have claimed her then. Or at his family’s keep. Or at the cottage. He had almost missed his chance.
Faucher and Didier would suffer for every bruise, every scrape they had given her. He gazed down at her disheveled blonde hair, her tear-stained cheeks smudged with dirt, his wolf hovering perilously close to the surface.
Mine.
Constance pressed back against the cold stone wall as the large shape kneeled before her. The priest? A keep guard sent to fetch her for her execution? Or perhaps someone to torture her. The priest had seemed in no hurry to send for firewood or a long coil of rope. No. He had been too curious about the Langeais wolves, about Lance Vautour, and about her abilities. Constance had never been so grateful her grimoire remained at the keep. Their lore, her spells, were safe from him.
A hand reached out and gently brushed away a tear. She flinched.
“Constance, it is I, D’Artagnon.”
D’Artagnon? But…?
He took her bound hands and raised them to his face. With trembling fingers, she traced the familiar puckered flesh where his eye had once been. “D’Artagnon?” she breathed.
“Yes, Constance.”
She flung her bound hands over his head, and he pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest as she sobbed.
“Ssh, ssh. I have got you, little healer. Come, let me untie you, and we will leave this place.”
