Page 14 of Wolf’s Return (The Wolves of Langeais #4)

Constance was at a loss for words. When had a villager ever asked her to sit at their table?

She made tinctures and poultices. She tended their illnesses and their injuries.

They only called on her when they needed her skills.

No one had invited her to join them for a meal.

Not ever. Not when she had helped birth the tanner’s son or splinted the Fournier boy’s leg when he broke it falling from a horse.

Nor when she had saved the life of the Bassett girl who had eaten the berries of the deadly nightshade.

Perhaps it was the dress, or the presence of Monsieur D’Artagnon, but Constance longed to believe it was because this village was different, that being in the care of the d’Louncrais, of werewolves, made the villagers more tolerant of each other.

Monsieur D’Artagnon leaped onto a seat, and Constance smiled at Georgette.

“That is very kind of you. Thank you.” Constance slid onto the bench seat next to him as Georgette applied the sticky paste to her father’s neck.

Would what she learned here change how she viewed this village, these villagers?

She shored up her courage. “Your father mentioned a witch at supper yestreen. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about her?” Her gaze flicked between Tumas and Georgette. “If you do not mind.”

“Of course. And you have come to the right place. Father is the oldest in the village. I doubt anyone else would remember her.” Georgette gestured to the bowl. “How often should I apply this?”

“Three to four times a day is best. And leave it on for as long as possible.”

Constance pursed her lips to hide her smile as Tumas groaned and Georgette rolled her eyes.

“I will make sure he follows instructions this time,” said Georgette. “Thank you. Although why my father was willing to risk Anne’s wrath is beyond me. No one else in the village would.”

“That old harridan,” grunted Tumas. “I am not afraid of her.”

Georgette poked her finger at her father. “Well, you should be.”

Tumas crossed his arms. “No old woman is going to bully me.” His expression softened, and a smile tugged at his lips.

For all his rough words and denials, it seemed Tumas had a genuine affection for Anne.

Beside her, Monsieur D’Artagnon cocked his head and studied Tumas.

He lifted his muzzle and sniffed the air.

He yipped once, twice, then his jaw dropped open and his tongue lolled out.

Was he… laughing? His grin widened. Yes. Yes, he was.

Tumas scowled at the black wolf. “Now, yer see here, boy. Do not go saying a word of what yer think yer know.”

D’Artagnon yipped again.

Tumas threw his hands up in the air. “Argh! Cannot hide a damn thing from a wolf.” He wagged a gnarled finger at Monsieur D’Artagnon.

“Yer keep your mouth shut, yer hear? Anne is a good woman. She does not deserve to be the subject of gossip in the village or up there in yonder keep.” He turned his astute gaze on Constance.

“And I will have yer keep any vision you might have to yerself, girlie.”

“Oh, Father. Everybody in the village already knows about you and Anne.” Georgette plopped the bowl of poultice on the table, and turned to the pot over the fire. “You are a fine pair, the both of you. Do you think the villagers care if two old fools find some happiness together?”

Tumas huffed. “Well…well…”

Georgette ladled stew into four bowls and set them on the table. “I, for one, am happy you two finally decided to do something about the feelings you have for each other, instead of dancing around it like you have for the last score years.”

Tumas’ face flushed a deep shade of red and he fixed his gaze on his stew.

Georgette set a loaf of crusty bread on the table and carved it into chunks, then placed two pieces in front of D’Artagnon and the rest on a platter in the center of the table. “Now, you said you have some questions?”

Beside Constance, the black wolf licked at the bowl of stew with studied care.

A wolf with manners? Constance shook herself.

“Ah, yes.” She swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat.

“The woman…the witch…with eyes…eyes like mine…” She took a deep breath, rubbed her sweaty palms on the soft wool of her dress, and faced Tumas.

“You said she had the second sight, and that she used her ability for evil. That the villagers cast her out. We…that is… I would like to know more about her abilities. If you could tell us all you remember about her. Please.”

Eyes full of a sharp intelligence glittered at her across the table.

“Yer cannot fool me, girlie. I may be an old man, but I can see the truth of things. Yer wants to know why we cast her out.” He jerked his head at Monsieur D’Artagnon.

“The young wolf here wants to know, too. As keen as any lad for the harvest festival, he is.”

Monsieur D’Artagnon abandoned his stew and fixed his gaze on Old Tumas.

“I may not have your senses, young wolf, but I have lived a long life. I have your measure.”

Monsieur D’Artagnon sniffed and resumed eating.

Constance nodded, her hands shifting from her dress to the smooth timber of the table, so unlike her own rough, splinter-ridden one so far away in her humble little cottage.

She dipped her head. “I…I confess you are right.” Monsieur D’Artagnon wanted to know?

Because Seigneur Jacques would not have cast a woman and a babe from the village without just cause?

What had this witch done? Constance had more personal reasons for learning all she could about this witch, and after what Dame Erin had said, she could not help but wonder if the woman did bear some relation to her.

“I have never met another woman…witch…with the gift of second sight. Nor someone with different colored eyes like mine. I did not realize there was a connection between the two.”

Tumas nodded and dropped his spoon into his bowl.

“I was only a boy at the time, but I remember the talk in the village.” Tumas sighed.

“It did not sit well with my parents, and many other villagers, that they had cast her out with a babe in her arms. But in the end, after what she did, the fear she brought to the village, she left ‘em no choice.”