Page 71 of Wolf's Keep

“She wanted to be your wife.”

He paused. He had not considered that Erin might not be familiar with the scheming of court women. “Erin—”

“If you stop now, I’m going to hit you like I hit the archbishop,” she said, lapsing into her native tongue, and he chuckled.

“You actually hit the archeveque. I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

She arched her back, grinding her hips against his, and he thought he’d never seen a more delightful sight—her beneath him, tousled blonde hair framing her face in a halo of gold, her lips parted in a silent moan and her face expressive with her need. Her need for him.Merde, she was beautiful. He resumed his circular motion with his hips.

“Gaharet.”

Her voice, husky and thick, tore through him, a bolt of heat shooting straight to his testicles. Manette forgotten, his breath coming in sharp gasps, he continued his patient onslaught. With his slow, purposeful love making he was laying claim to his territory, branding her as his. This time he would take it slow—watch her beautiful face as she came clenched around him. He continued to move inside her, deep thrusts allowing her not a moment to think, only to feel.

Her soft cries spurred him on. She arched against him, her face flushed with passion, mouth open and her head flung back. Her body shuddered, her walls clamping around him, his name bursting from her lips. His own release burned through him, hot, hard and laying waste to the shreds of his control. He threw back his head, a howl rising in the back of his throat. She was his, and he wanted to proclaim it to the world in the most primitive and primal way he knew how. With gritted teeth, he restrained it, breathlessly whispering her name over and over again.

He rolled off her, pulling her against his chest, cradling her in his arms. Soon he would have to tell her all else he had yet to disclose. His other lies by omission. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she snuggled closer. For now, though, while she was content to not question him any further, he would enjoy this time, this moment that he had longed for since he had first set eyes on her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cold night air swirled about, whispers of fog followed the river, and the distant glimmer of the moon cast a pale light over Langeais. The sounds of revelry, faint and muffled, floated through the still air as he stood on the parapet. A wolf howled close by, a mournful sound, filled with longing, echoing across the village, and he turned toward it. Another, deep in the forest’s gloom, answered the call, its long, drawn-out howl fading into eerie silence.

“Do you think it is them?” He kept his voice low. His keep guards stood a respectful distance away, but he had no desire for them to be privy to this conversation.

“I believe so, Mon Seigneur Comte,” said Archeveque Renaud. “The night calls to them. They are unable to resist it.”

“Right under my nose and I didn’t even know. Gaharet, Gaharet, Gaharet.” Lothair sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You know? That d’Louncrais is—”

“Of course I know, Renaud. You were not subtle. You told me a tale of a beast raised from childhood, able to hunt as wolves and fight as men. The intelligence of man wrapped up in the body of a predator with excellent hearing, perfect eyesight, an extraordinary sense of smell, along with strength, speed and agility. And damned difficult to kill. You forget I have fought many a battle with my men. There are very few who fit the description you gave me.”

Very few indeed. Seven of them, and six of those had vowed investiture to the seventh—Gaharet. How many times had he seen Gaharet and his men in action on the battleground? Superior chevaliers, all of them. Stronger, larger and fearless. Coordinating their attacks, surviving injuries that should have killed them. He had dragged Gaharet off the field himself on one occasion, fearing him mortally wounded, and yet he had survived.How was I so blind?Now knowing of their existence, Gaharet’s family crest—the howling black wolf—worn proudly, taunted him.

He peered closer at the archeveque, frowning. “Renaud, what is wrong with your nose?”

Archeveque Renaud raised his hand to his face, touching it gingerly. “The wench hit me.”

“What wench? And why did she hit you?”

“D’Louncrais’ betrothed, Mademoiselle Richardson. D’Louncrais has a strong attachment to her, and I believed he would make any attempt to secure her safety. I thought to confine her in your little underground cell—”

He rounded on the archeveque. “Youwhat?”

“Your cell is a rather useful addition to the keep, I must say. Quite diabolical. I had hoped to get the woman into it. Force d’Louncrais to trade his life for hers.”

Lothair closed the distance between them, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth might crack. “You attempted to confine the betrothed of one ofmyvassals inmycell withoutmypermission?”

Renaud shrugged, standing his ground, a look of smug superiority flashing across his face. “You required proof. I was merely providing it.”

Lothair snarled, and Renaud dropped his gaze, bowing his head. “My apologies, Mon Seigneur Comte. I thought only in furtherance of our plans.”

Renaud’s sudden obsequiousness did not fool Lothair. The man thought he could play him? He had made a serious miscalculation.

“I no longer need your proof, Renaud. Gaharet himself has confirmed your tale.”

“He has?”

Renaud’s whole body radiated shock, and Lothair derived gleeful satisfaction from it.

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