Page 17 of Master Wolf
Alighting from the carriage, they approached the stout front door which, on being rapped, was opened by a harried woman in a floury apron. She regarded them with a wary expression. A small girl with a grubby face peeped at them, wide-eyed, from behind the woman’s skirts.
Francis began to speak in rapid French that Drew could not follow very well, however, he got the gist of it. The woman’s husband, the tenant of the farm, was away somewhere. Francis offered her an absurd sum of money for the use of the farmhouse for one night. She was understandably suspicious, but when Francis produced a heavy purse of coins, her keen gaze sharpened. After a few moments, she invited them into her kitchen, where she served them cups of warm, frothy milk and coarse bread to dip in it.
After eating, Francis leaned his elbows on the scrubbed wooden table and began to bargain in earnest. Unable to follow the woman’s heavy accent, Drew had no idea what agreement they reached, but whatever the terms were, they appeared to be mutually satisfactory. Francis handed over the purse he’d already pulled out and extracted another from inside his coat, counting six additional coins into the woman’s work-roughened hand. She opened the purse and checked all the coins carefully before tucking the money into the sizeable pocket of her apron. Then she went to the kitchen door and yelled a series of names.
That caused children to appear—five of them in all. They appeared one by one while their mother packed a capacious basket with food. She sent them off with sharp words to fetch hats and shoes and shawls, and within fifteen minutes they were all squeezing into the carriage Drew and Francis had vacated such a short time ago.
“We will return tomorrow morning at seven,” the farmer’s wife said crisply—Drew was able to make out that much at least. “Don’t break anything.”
“Any breakages will be paid for,” Francis replied, executing a small polite bow.
Her answering stare was hard, but finally she nodded and Francis gave the coach driver the signal to pull away.
“I thought you wanted me to go ahead to Paris?” Drew asked Francis as the heaving conveyance trundled away. “How am I supposed to get there now?”
He hoped Francis didn’t expect him to make his way to the city in his wolf form. It was only a few miles, but it was daytime and he would not be able to navigate the city as a wolf. Not to mention he had no control over the beast. Besides, how was he supposed to find Lindsay and Marguerite, using only his nose? He’d never met Marguerite and hadn’t seen Lindsay for four years.
He was worrying needlessly.
“Madame’s brother is the blacksmith in the village,” Francis explained. “He will be supplying your mount. It’s probably a nag, given what I’ve paid for it, but Paris isn’t too far away.” Francis clapped Drew on the shoulder. “Take your trunk inside and change into your riding clothes. I’ll find some food for you.”
By the time Drew had changed, Francis had found bread and a round of hard sheep’s cheese which he was busy slicing and wrapping up for Drew to carry in his pocket. Hungry, Drew hacked off a chunk of the crumbly cheese and crammed it into his mouth while Francis worked.
Quite suddenly, Francis stilled. He set down the knife in his hand and lifted his head, inhaling.
“What is it?” Drew said.
“He’s here,” Francis said, and went to the door, yanking it open and stepping outside. His own scent was curiously energised.
Drew cautiously followed him, peering over Francis’s shoulder at the farmyard before them. It was quiet, only a pair of chickens scratching at the ground to disturb the peace.
And then, at the periphery of his vision, Drew caught the slightest flutter. He and Francis turned their heads at the same moment, just as a man emerged from behind a rickety shed. He was dressed all in black but for a red and gold waistcoat and a red cockade on his tricorn hat, which he swept from his head as he performed a low bow, one leg stretched gracefully out before him.
“Good day, Master Eunuch,” he said in a deep voice that dripped sarcasm. His gaze ate Francis up, even as his eyes burned with resentment.
He was astonishingly handsome, Drew saw when the man straightened. Taller than perhaps anyone Drew had met before, with wide shoulders, thick thighs and a muscular neck. He reminded Drew of a stallion, all rippling power and beauty, and his scent was like a stallion too, a very male musk.
This was Duncan MacCormaic then.
“You summoned me,” Duncan said. He had not yet acknowledged Drew’s presence, his eyes fixed on Francis. His scent was all bright angry joy.
“I thought you’d be pleased. You always complain when I ignore you,” Francis replied. His voice was cool, but Drew could smell his nervous excitement.
Francis raised his arm and made a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Come here,” he said mildly.
Duncan glared. “I don’t like being ordered around like a dog,” he gritted out, even as his feet began to move.
Francis ignored that. When Duncan was just over an arm’s length away, he said, “Stop there,” and Duncan did. So abruptly he stumbled a little. His eyes flashed with temper.
“Listen to me,” Francis said quietly. “You will come inside the farmhouse. You will follow me into the parlour where you will sit down. You will keep your hands by your sides. You will not touch me or my friend in any way.”
Duncan stared at him, his expression malevolent and resentful. He towered over Francis but could only vibrate with impotent rage.
Francis turned on his heel and walked back into the house. The big man followed, his whole body radiating fury. Drew brought up the rear.
When they reached the parlour, Francis pointed at a high-backed wooden chair next to the fireplace. “Sit.”
Duncan’s eyes burned, but he did as he was bid, crossing the floor and dropping into the chair while Francis sat on an identical chair on the other side of the fireplace, angled towards him.