Page 19 of Wolf's Keep

His eyes widened a little, his Adam’s apple jerked up and down. “What year are you from?” he asked, his voice strained.

She bit her lip.

Here goes nothing.

“Two thousand and sixteen.”

He gasped, jerking upright on his stool. Erin tensed.

“That is more than a thousand years!”

It took a moment for him to recover his composure, a primitive, almost feral look flashing in his eyes as he stared at her, his warning about running from him and its consequences fresh in her mind. He made no move toward her, save to focus on her mouth. It took all her willpower not to lick her lips again.

“You are telling me you are from over a thousand years in my future?”

Sucking in her courage, she nodded.

“So your language, your accent, it is not foreign at all. It has…evolved over time.”

“Basically.” Close enough. Now was not the time to introduce him to the, as yet undiscovered, continent of Australia.

His attention shifted to the doorway, and he beckoned a man in. The servant leaned in and whispered something in Gaharet’s ear.

“Send them up to see me, Gascon. I will deal with this myself. Old Tumas is a good man, but he can be difficult. We do not need any squabbles between the farmers right now.” He turned back to her. “What is your name?”

“Erin. Erin Richardson.”

“Erin,” he said, nodding. “I think you know I am Gaharet d’Louncrais. I welcome you to my keep. We have much to talk about, but first I have something that needs my attention. I think also,” he paused, eyeing her up and down, “I need to procure you something more appropriate to wear, something more suitable for this…century. Gascon will escort you back to your bedchamber. And Gascon,” he said, turning to the servant. “Get Anne to see to some clothes for her. I believe my mother’s dresses are stored away in chests. They will be most suitable.”

“Of course, Mon Seigneur. Anne is currently in the village. I will inform her the moment she returns.”

“Very well.”

Released from his company, her thoughts in a whirl, Erin followed the servant to the dubious safety of the bedchamber. And so began the battle of wits. What would she have to give to get the answers she needed? Instinct told her she’d need every ounce of her resolve to come out of this unscathed.

Chapter Eight

Gaharet sat waiting for his farmers to arrive, staring into the fire after he let Erin retreat from the room. Watching the play of emotions across her face as they had talked, he had noted every expression, every gesture. The shine of pride in her green eyes when she’d explained her work. The tensing of her muscles and the thinning of her lips as she’d spoken of the inscription, the amulet and its capabilities. Her direct stare as she denied finding anything else. No matter how insignificant, he added it to his compilation of knowledge, storing it away, using it to inform his growing understanding of her.

As an archaeologist, a studier of history and past civilizations, she would require skills in discipline, research and analysis. She was a learned woman, more educated than any woman he had ever known. That such a woman could exist—a foreign woman, really foreign, from another placeandtime—from over a thousand years in the future! He shook his head, his mind shying away from such numbers. How had this happened? The amulet was never meant as a means to transverse time.

He could appreciate the risk she had taken telling him the truth. Had she revealed her story to another, less accepting man, a man who was not his own walking, talking myth… He pinched the bridge of his nose. That consequence did not bear thinking about. She had every right to fear he would label her a witch.

How different would her world be from his? Mayhap she had seen and experienced many things which he, and all in his world, would find astounding. What other things might she readily accept? Things like him. And he desired her like no other woman before her.

He inhaled, taking in her lingering scent. His body heated, and he shifted in his seat, attempting to ease the throbbing in his groin. Could this be what his father experienced when he had first encountered his mother? This heat that burned through his loins, this uncontrollable urge to claim her, imprint himself on her at the earliest possible opportunity? What he wouldn’t give to experience a love like his parents had had.

Gaharet eyed the doorway through which Erin had departed. He needed to take a wife. He could takeheras his wife. His beast roiled beneath the surface. It liked that idea, pushed for it to happen. Now. He tamped the urge down, rubbing his hand over his jaw. Would she take the turning?Couldhe inflict it on another? She looked healthy enough, though slight.Perhaps.

She certainly had strength of mind, a boldness tempered with uncertainty, but defiant in the face of it. So unlike the usual insipid women at court who simpered at him, all fluttering eyelashes and coy glances.Shehad called him an ignorant savage. He chuckled. No one had ever dared do that. He glanced at the doorway again. Her swaying hips hugged by that tight fabric were still fresh in his mind.Mon Dieu. He tugged on the end of his beard, smiling. For once, the needs of the pack aligned with his own. For once, he would not be forced to choose.

“Mon Seigneur Gaharet.” Gascon, his head servant, stood in the doorway. “Farmers Tumas and Brenton are here to see you.”

“Show them in, Gascon.”

Two men, skin weathered from years of working in the elements, strode into the hall. Tumas, the elder of the two, a man in his fourth decade with graying hair and beard, wore a thunderous expression. It never took much to rile up old Tumas. If his farming skills and knowledge had not been what they were, Gaharet would have moved the old farmer on years ago. Thankfully, Brenton had a more jovial nature. Grizzled and worn, but a good ten years younger than Tumas, he had an easy smile, always ready with a kind word, a laugh and a joke. Brenton fixed a wary glance on Tumas, as though expecting a blow from him at any moment. With Tumas that was always a possibility.

“What seems to be the problem?” asked Gaharet. Tumas scowled at Brenton.

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