Page 47 of Wolf’s Return (The Wolves of Langeais #4)

D’Artagnon rode in silence but kept a close watch on Constance.

Without complaint, she rode beside him. L’enfer , her first thought upon escaping had been for the other woman.

In truth, the woman would most likely not survive.

Something was very wrong with her. The pallor of her skin, the sheen of sweat on her brow and the underlying sickness tainting her scent were a sign of something beyond her visible injuries.

Something he doubted Constance could heal.

Had he let her, she would have tried all the same despite her own ordeal first at the hands of her father, then Faucher.

Constance might not be as determined as Erin, as fiery as Kathryn, or as bold as Rebekah, but she had a quiet strength about her that would outlast them all. She was a survivor. Like him. D’Artagnon could not have asked fate for a better mate.

They pressed on, keeping a steady pace so as not to tire the horses.

From the moment they had entered the forest, Vladimir had joined them, keeping stride beside them.

He was glad the old wolf had stayed. Another wolf against Lance.

An experienced wolf with an age of wisdom.

If they must fight against the witch Cordelia, too, every extra wolf would be a boon.

The sun was at its zenith, Constance’s shoulders sagging with fatigue as they rode beneath the portcullis of his family’s keep.

A few of Lothair’s keep guard milled around the bailey and they stared at him, at the old gray wolf at his side.

He ignored them, helping Constance from her horse, handing the reins off to a stable hand.

“Come meet my brother, my alpha,” he said to the gray wolf.

Vladimir jerked his head and followed them inside.

D’Artagnon found his brother and fellow wolves in the hall, and Lothair sprawled at the head of the table. The women crowded around a forlorn figure bundled in a blanket by the fire. Anne.

Gaharet was already walking toward him. “D’Artagnon, Constance. It is a relief to see you both.”

“Constance.” Erin rushed over and flung her arms around his mate. “I’m so glad you’re back and you’re safe.”

The other women crowded around her, drawing her into their circle as though she were one of them. She was one of them.

“Anne?” Constance queried.

The corner of Erin’s mouth turned down. “She is taking Tumas’ death hard.”

Constance went to the old cook, wrapping her arms around her, offering her solace. Her heart was so big for those in need, he marveled at it.

“She will make you a good mate,” said Gaharet.

“Did you find Lance?”

Fatigue and concern reflected in Gaharet’s eyes.

“No. We have searched the entire estate. Nothing. Lothair has sent men to the Vautour demesne and back to the pleasure house. He has them scoring the forest between here and Langeais. Lance is injured. He will need to go to ground for a while and heal. Avoiding Lothair’s men should keep him quiet for a while.

Give us a chance to rest, to regroup.” His brother clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“We will find him, D’Artagnon. He will pay for his crimes. ”

Yes, he would, but this time, it would be different. No more hunting alone. He would fight beside his brother.

The old gray wolf, Vladimir, pushed past him and padded over to Anne, resting his big head on her knee.

“Who is your friend?” Gaharet tilted his nose into the air and breathed in. “He has the scent of… Is he a Rus wolf?”

“Yes.” D’Artagnon cleared his throat. “They took me in, sheltered me when I needed it most.”

“Then they have my thanks.”

Ulrik sidled over to join them. “So that’s where you were hiding?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Why did you not visit?” D’Artagnon had both dreaded and longed for the day when Ulrik would turn up in Rus, but it had never happened. Not once in all those years.

Ulrik shrugged. “Why would I? What cause would I have to visit the Rus wolves?”

Did he not know? “Because your parents are there. And your sisters.”

“What? My…?” Ulrik spun to face Lothair.

The comte had straightened in his chair.

“You did not…?”

Lothair grimaced. “Seems like no one’s secrets stay buried forever. Not even mine.”

“My family is alive?” Ulrik spluttered, lunging toward Lothair.

D’Artagnon caught him and held him back. Attacking Lothair would not be wise.

The comte threw up his hands. “So now you know. I made a deal with Jacques d’Louncrais to spare your family. And now I know there is another pack of werewolves in Rus. I wonder, is there, perhaps, a third pack in Bretaigne?”

Ulrik struggled against him. “You let me think…”

Lothair got to his feet and sauntered over to stand before Ulrik, unfazed by Ulrik’s snarling. “I let you believe what I wanted you to believe. What I wanted everyone to believe.”

Ulrik fought against D’Artagnon’s hold and he tightened his grip.

“I made a mistake.” Lothair pulled a sour face, as though admitting he was not infallible left a foul taste in his mouth.

“Introducing that tax was stupid. I was young, inexperienced and too trusting of my father’s advisers.

But once it was done, I could not change it.

Repealing it would have made me look indecisive.

Would have left me open to challenges from other comtes.

Letting you go unpunished for your hand in the uprising would have made me seem weak.

Ruling a county is no simple matter, Ulrik.

It is much easier when everyone thinks you are a monster. ”

Ulrik’s face turned a mottled red. Rebekah glared at Lothair with a fury that could topple mountains.

“Enough,” said Gaharet. “We are all weary. Let us leave this for another time when we will not make hasty decisions we will come to regret.” He gave Ulrik a stern look. “We will rest and convene again in the morn. After we have buried Tumas.”

Ulrik looked as though he would argue, but Gaharet growled at him, and Ulrik clamped his mouth shut. He shook him off, and D’Artagnon let him go.

“Gascon,” Gaharet called over his steward. “See that Lothair’s men are settled and prepare a chamber for Lothair.”

“Give him mine,” said D’Artagnon. “I am not staying.” His neck prickled with the heat of Constance’s regard. He smiled at his mate. “Constance and I are returning to the farmer’s cottage.”

The concern in her eyes faded, and she smiled back.

Gaharet nodded. “Very well. Gascon, show Lothair to D’Artagnon’s chamber.”

Lothair waved him off. “I must return to Langeais. This county will not rule itself.” He beckoned his man over. “Let us rally the men, Capitaine . We ride for Langeais.”

D’Artagnon tracked Lothair’s retreat from the hall.

“There is more to that man than I once thought,” said Gaharet. “The days ahead may prove interesting indeed.” He turned to D’Artagnon. “Will you return on the morn?”

Constance’s blue-green gaze fixed on him. It would all depend on what Constance was willing to settle for.

“She loves you, D’Artagnon. Everyone can see that.”

“I cannot give her the life she wants.”

“Are you certain of that?” His brother rested a hand on his shoulder. “Forget about Lance for now, and our talks on the morrow. Go. Make things right with your mate.”

D’Artagnon nodded. If she rejected what he had to offer… He could only hope she would not. For he could no longer imagine a way forward if she were not in his life.

* * * *

Faucher clenched his fists and with considerable effort, throttled his rage. It was all he could do not to add to Touissant’s battered face. He had had her. The d’Louncrais’ witch. Right there in the storerooms below the chapel, and the aum?nier had let them go. Let both witches go.

Worse. From his talk with the gate guards, he had more than the d’Louncrais to contend with. He had Lothair, Comte Anjou.

“Argh!” He released his rage on the altar, scattering the heavy cross, the candlesticks and the chalices across the nave.

“Have I come at a bad time, Your Grace?”

There in the doorway, resplendent in a gown of deep red and gold, stood Comtesse Marguerite. He straightened, his chest heaving, and got his temper under control.

“My spies in the keep guard tell me my husband has interfered with your work.” She pouted her pretty lips. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance.”