Page 62 of Wolf's Keep

“I…”

She backed away from him, retreating down the corridor. She halted. No, she couldn’t go that way. She had to get past this chevalier.

“Erin. Look at me.”

He stepped closer, pulling her shoulders around so she faced him. “I am Ulrik, one of Gaharet’s men. You are safe with me. Now tell me, who are you running from?”

“How do I know I can trust you any more than I can trust the archeveque? He just tried to shove me in an underground cell.”

“Archeveque Renaud?” He snarled, and she shrunk away from him. He took a deep breath and let her go, holding up his hands, backing away from her. “Erin, I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

He cast a glance around the deserted corridor, and reached beneath his chain mail, pulling out a small gold amulet. As it swung around on the chain, she caught alternate flashes of the familiar Theban script and the howling wolf’s head.

She stared at it, mesmerized, until he tucked it away beneath his armor. One of Gaharet’s men. Ulrik. Gaharet’s childhood friend? He must be. Or another werewolf.

“Tell me what happened.”

She steadied her breathing, licked her dry lips. “The archeveque was supposed to be taking me for a tour of the keep. Look, Ulrik, I can’t stay here. I need to get to Gaharet. Once the archeveque recovers, he is bound to come after me.”

“Recovers?” His eyebrows shot up.

She held up her hand with the blood on it. “I think I might have broken his nose. And then I kneed him in the”—she looked down at his groin area—“you know.”

“You broke his—?” He barked out a laugh, though Erin, for the life of her, couldn’t imagine what he found so amusing. “Come. I will take you to Gaharet.”

Shaking his head, still chuckling, he took her by the elbow and led her down the corridor. “Gaharet is in for an interesting time with you.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Seated beside his comte on a raised dais at the end of the hall, Gaharet observed the festivities before him—drinking, bawdy jokes, tall tales of bravery, the usual. He had Erin safe, ensconced with the women. His men mingled amongst the ranks of chevaliers below, and Lothair, his deadliest opponent of all, sat by his side. Of Archeveque Renaud he saw no sign.

Raucous laughter and the stench of unwashed bodies filtered up to them. Glad to be away from the crowd, the cloying smell of meadowsweet failing to conceal the rankness of the hall to his sensitive nose, Gaharet waited.

After a long and uncomfortable moment, Lothair broke the silence. “You are keeping secrets from me, Gaharet?”

Gaharet turned to his comte, his eyebrows raised. “My betrothed? I assure you, Lothair, you were the first to know. Ahh, I understand. It vexes you she is not of your choosing.”

“Not my choice? Gaharet, I have never heard of the woman. Or her family. Nobody has.”

Gaharet shrugged. “I told you. It is an old family connection. She is of no threat to you.”

Lothair grunted. “We shall see.” He took a long drink from his goblet. “There is also this thing with Renaud.”

“You doubt me because of one of Renaud’s schemes now?”

Temper flared in Lothair’s eyes, but Gaharet refused to look away.

“I have served you faithfully for years, Lothair. I pledged allegiance to you and I have kept my vow.” He had not broken his oath, not yet.

Lothair frowned. “So you have, my friend, but will you continue to do so?”

An emotion he had not seen directed at him before shone bright in his comte’s eyes. Distrust. Curse you, Renaud. Gaharet looked away, his gaze flitting from one vassal to the next, picking them out of the crowd. He frowned. No Ulrik. More than likely, he entertained a young woman in some dark corner of the keep.

“There was a time I thought you would do anything I asked, Gaharet. Given me your all. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you have deceived me all this time.”

Gaharet hesitated, tugging on the end of his beard. “You have never asked for something beyond my capacity to give.”

“There are things you would deny me?Me? Your comte?”

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