Page 46 of Wolf’s Return (The Wolves of Langeais #4)

D’Artagnon buckled the last of his armor on and stared at the walls of the Langeais village. It was no consolation his assumption Didier would bring Constance here had been right. He prayed to the fates he was wrong. That Didier was not taking her to Faucher.

Sniffing her out with the miasma of odors from the village would take time, even if all three of them walked the streets. But time was not on their side, so they had sent the boy, Remi, in to scout ahead. First to the chapel. If the witch hunter had her…

A gray wolf slunk out of the forest and brushed against his leg. He dropped his hand to Vladimir’s ruff, taking comfort in the old wolf’s presence.

“Friend of yours?” asked Edmond.

D’Artagnon jerked his head.

Edmond shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

“Here comes the boy,” said Aubert.

Remi ambled along with the other villagers down the road until he got further from the gate, then he slipped away, heading toward their concealment.

“Something is sure going on in the chapel,” said Remi, as he joined them in the forest. “Aum?nier Touissant is in a right state.”

A fist tightened around D’Artagnon’s heart. “Do they have Constance?”

Remi held out his hands. “If I had to guess, I would say yes. Aum?nier Touissant was on his knees praying as though the devil himself had paid him a visit when I entered the nave. When he saw me, he grabbed me. Told me to go find you.” He pointed at the twins.

“Said it was a matter of great urgency.”

D’Artagnon grunted. “We go to the chapel.”

“Do we need a plan?” asked Remi.

D’Artagnon unsheathed his sword. “I have a plan.”

“Very direct. Is he always like this?” Remi asked the twins.

Edmond and Aubert drew their swords.

“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 aum?nier 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 aum?nier wrung his hands, his expression troubled.

“Then, this very morn, a disgraceful man brought his daughter to us. Sold her as a witch to Eveque Faucher, for the crime of having eyes of two different colors. She begged him.”

So Didier was Constance’s father. Not much of one.

The aum?nier’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 aum?nier’s shoulder. “She is indeed under our protection. Tell me, are the women in the storerooms?”

Aum?nier 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 aum?nier 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 streaked with 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.”

He eased himself from her embrace and made quick work of the knots, rubbing her wrists and working the blood back into her fingers.

“How did you find me? How did you know I was here? You were yet to return, and Lance came to the keep, then—”

“We arrived at the keep not long after Lance. When I could not find you, when I thought you had left…”

“It was Didier. He took me from the keep.”

“I know. I tracked you through the forest.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I am so sorry, Constance, that I was not there to protect you. I gave you my vow, and I—”

Constance pressed a finger to his lips. “Confronting Lance was important to you.”

D’Artagnon took hold of her hand. “Nothing, Constance, is more important than you. Nothing will ever be more important than you.”

Her heart soared. “But Lance…?”

“Gaharet, and a few of the others, are hunting him. He has Lothair and a score of keep guards, too.”

A dark shape loomed behind them, and she cowered.

He pulled her into his embrace, cradling her against his chest. “It is but Aubert, my little healer. The twins and Remi came to help me save you.”

Remi? They had brought the boy here? This was no place for a boy. As if to confirm her thoughts, a low moan, faint and full of pain, reminded Constance she was not the only woman the priest had confined down here.

She tugged at D’Artagnon’s tunic. “You cannot leave her here. Please.”

“Hush now, Constance.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Edmond has her.” D’Artagnon picked Constance up, cradling her in his arms.

“I can walk. I am bruised, but not truly injured.”

D’Artagnon’s answer was to hold her tighter. She dropped her head against his chest and let him carry her, settling into the comfort and protection of his arms.

D’Artagnon swept out of the door, the faint light in the corridor little relief from the darkness. “We must hurry. Faucher will not be happy when he realizes he no longer has you, or the other woman, captive.”

He climbed the stairs and raced her through the sacristy and into the nave, Aubert behind them and Edmond bringing up the rear, a woman in his arms.

The aum?nier, another beggar boy beside him, rushed over to them. “Quick, quick. Remi is waiting at the gate with a horse and cart. You must go.” He ushered them toward the door.

“I am sorry about this, Aum?nier,” said Aubert as he crashed his fist into the aum?nier’s face.

The man crumpled to his knees, clutching his nose, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Tell Faucher you could not stop us. You tried, but we were too strong, too many,” called Edmond over his shoulder. “If you could not mention us by name, that would be helpful. But do not fear if you must.”

They pushed through the chapel doors and hurried down the hill, crossing the bailey and passing quickly through the gate. Remi waited with a horse and cart, and their horses he had fetched from the forest.

“We will split up. It will make us harder to track should Faucher try to follow us.” D’Artagnon turned to Edmond. “You and Aubert have the cart.”

Aubert jumped up to take the reins from Remi, and Edmond settled himself in the back, resting the woman against his chest.

Constance pushed to be let down, and D’Artagnon set on her feet. She hobbled toward the cart, but D’Artagnon pulled her back.

“I must go to her, D’Artagnon.” The woman needed a healer. She was in far worse condition than Constance. How long had she been in the clutches of the witch hunter?

“There is naught you can do for her here now, and we do not have the luxury of time.” He led her over to their horses. “Edmond will take care of her.”

D’Artagnon took two sets of reins off Remi and helped her to mount up.

She glanced at the cart. Edmond brushed the woman’s hair from her brow.

His lips moved. Words of comfort, perhaps.

They were too soft for Constance to hear them.

She did not like leaving the woman, but D’Artagnon was right.

She had no herbs with her to create a poultice or a tonic. Nor the time to prepare them.

Aubert flicked the reins, starting the cart off toward the square, Remi trailing along behind them.

D’Artagnon mounted up and gathered his reins. “We must go, Constance. We have a long ride ahead.”

Constance urged her horse into a trot, eager to be beyond the reach of the witch hunter.

They left the village of Langeais behind, hope fluttering in her chest. Faced with the priest, his burning devotion to stamp out witches more frightening for his saintly beauty, Constance had feared the worst. Yet, she had survived.

D’Artagnon had saved her. Had forsaken his vengeance to rescue her.

If one of her visions had come to pass, could the other?