Page 22 of Wolf's Keep

“I was in the village. Gascon would have told you I was there. I have only just returned. You know I always return late when I visit there, Gaharet.” She tsk, tsked at him. “You should have seen to her comfort hours ago, tended to that wound. You disappoint me, Gaharet.”

Erin struggled to translate the conversation from Old French, but the tone could not be mistaken. The old woman hadscoldedGaharet d’Louncrais! Oh dear. Erin’s gaze flicked between them, waiting for the reprimand, the outrage.

“Speak slower, Anne. Franceis is not her native tongue,” said Gaharet, with no hint of rebuke in his voice.

“Oh. Lovely to have visitors from afar again. The name is Anne, dear,” she said, turning her back on Gaharet, speaking slower, enunciating her words clearly, to allow Erin time to translate. “Now love, I will take care of you and I will get you a poultice for this.” She touched a gentle hand to Erin’s forehead. “Pay no mind to our young Gaharet. He is a good boy.” She pursed her lips, shooting him a dark look. “Most of the time.”

Erin’s gaze settled on d’Louncrais, not really sure what to expect, but his wry smile and resigned expression surprised her.

“I have brought you some clothes, love, and Gascon is organizing a nice hot bath for you down the hall in Gaharet’s chambers. Come dear, let us get you warm.” She turned to Gaharet. “And you, young man,” she said, wagging her finger at him, not at all intimidated by his size and the fact her continued employment rested solely at his discretion, “need to have a think about your behavior.” She huffed. “Leaving the poor girl all alone in the cold and dark… I’ll not have this keep slipping into disrepute or have the villagers gossip about our poor treatment of guests.”

What Anne lacked in height and titles she sure made up for in attitude. Erin liked her. She may prove a useful ally.

Gaharet sighed, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, but his smile held genuine affection for the old woman. “Yes, Anne.” He turned to Erin. “Go with Anne. She will see to your needs, and I will await you both in the hall for the evening meal.”

What an intriguing exchange between servant and Lord. Lost in thought, Erin let Anne lead her from the room and down the corridor to another chamber, one with a large tub in the corner.

“Can I help you with your clothes, love?” asked Anne, placing the armful of garments she held onto the bed.

Erin eyed the room. Gaharet’s personal chamber. What secrets could it reveal? “Perhaps after I bathe?”

“Of course, dear. I will return in a while to assist you. Then we will adjourn to the hall for the evening meal.” With that, Anne left her.

Waiting until the door was firmly closed, Erin stepped farther into the room, moving around it, running her hands over the covers on the bed, fingering the clothes laid out for her and touching the solid wood bed frame. Apart from the deep barrel that served as a bath, steam rising above its lip, this room was much the same as the one she’d come from. The same shutters over the narrow window, a similar brazier sat in the corner full of hot coals and the ever-present meadowsweet rushes covered the floor.

There were some differences, though. In the corner his sword rested in its scabbard. His hauberk lay where he’d thrown it over a chair and above it on a hook, hung his surcoat and his padded gambeson. Reaching out, she ran her fingers over the leather surcoat. Blood red. On the left side his family crest. A bold choice, blood red and black—gules and sable—the colors of a warrior, military might, wisdom and constancy. The motif unmistakable on the battlefield and easily identifiable as the crest on the little gold disc, the amulet, she’d found.

Erin dropped her hand to his sword. The scabbard—deep-red tan leather decorated in wolf motifs and capped with an elaborate, metal tip—rested against the wall. One of her bucket list destinations, the Museum of Medieval Warfare at Château de Castelnaud, she’d planned to visit at the conclusion of the dig. Here, now, she could go one better. She could handle a sword. His sword. Grip the pommel, feel its weight. A well-cared for, still in use sword. Her fingers rested on the grip. An opportunity like this may never present itself again.

Unclipping the leather strap holding the sword in place, she grasped the plain, functional grip and withdrew it, holding it aloft in front of her. Beautiful. And lethal. Just holding it had her pulse racing. Not too heavy and well balanced, it’d still require a decent amount of strength to wield it during a fully fledged battle. To use it to maim and kill. She resisted the urge to wave it around, pretend she was in a skirmish, thrusting it, swinging it, defending herself against an imaginary foe. She’d probably slice her foot off.

She tested its edge, running her finger along the tip of the sword. She winced as it cut her finger. Sharp. Of course. He wouldn’t be much of a chevalier if he didn’t keep it so. She stuck her finger in her mouth to stem the small drops of blood, sliding the blade carefully back in the scabbard before she cut herself again. Twice now something of his had made her bleed. First the amulet and now the sword.

Careful. These things come in threes.

Turning her attention to the chain mail, she picked it up off the chair. A little on the weighty side. She plunked it back down, but it slithered onto the floor. Rescuing the hauberk, she bunched it up and dropped it on the chair, adjusting it a little, tugging at the edges of it. She couldn’t quite get it back into position without risking it falling on the floor again, but a man with the luxury of servants to wait on him shouldn’t notice.

Her gaze shifted to a chest beside the bed, a candle and a book perched on top. She flicked the cover of the book open to reveal letters in Greek. He read Greek, spoke Old French, LatinandAnglo Saxon. A well-educated man. She thumbed through a few pages. A philosophical treatise? A history? No illuminations suggested so.

She paused. To have such a thing in his possession hinted at an interest in other disciplines like the sciences, rather than relying solely on the religious thought and practices of the time. Unusual, but hardly surprising. Judging from his keep, the man was insanely wealthy and, therefore, powerful. He could probably do almost anything he pleased, be granted any privilege.

Kneeling, she shifted the candle and the book then lifted the lid of the chest. Books—dozens of them, titles in several languages. A well-traveled man. He’d said as much. The variety of tomes suggested he may have journeyed as far as Constantinople. She closed the chest, replacing the candle and the book.

It all begged the question as to why would a man who’d every access to knowledge and advanced scientific thought own something like the amulet? An object more in line with the old religion, a practice more prevalent amongst peasants and illiterate farming folk. Could Gaharet d’Louncrais be a secret pagan at heart? It might explain why she’d encountered him in the middle of the night. Why he’d been naked. Had she caught him returning from a celebration, a ritual of some kind? And where did the Theban script fit in with all this?

She stood, mulling over this new information. She approached the tub and dipped her fingers in. Nice and hot. Scented, too. Stripping off her clothes, she climbed into the barrel-like bath. Immersing herself in the water up to her shoulders, she closed her eyes, letting her head drop back against the rim.

“Oh yes.”

Wealth certainly had its advantages. His keep may not have all the mod cons she was used to, but it had this. Unlike her experience with the garderobe,thisshe would enjoy.

Chapter Ten

Erin entered the noisy hall. Dressed as a noblewoman, layers of fine wool with embroidered motifs covered her from neck to toe. Servants and farmers gathered at the enormous table, the hum of their conversation, their muted laughter, filled the hall. Gaharet sat by the fire, his head turned in her direction. He flicked his gaze up and down her body and licked his lips. At his hungry gaze, her steps faltered.

Ignore him.

She turned to the table, taking a step toward an empty seat. She froze, her gaze snapping back to his face.Did he just…growl?Her face flushed as they locked gazes. He rose, striding in her direction, the curiosity of his servants in the periphery of her awareness. The urge to flee, to barricade herself in the bedchamber and invent her own version of a chastity belt with flashing, red lights and an air-raid siren surged through her. Quashing the instinct, pretending she had a backbone the consistency of steel rather than of Jell-O, Erin stood her ground, her chin thrust forward.

---