Page 73 of Wolf's Keep

Gaharet pulled on his tunic, gambeson and armor and removed the plank of wood barricading the door. A chevalier with white-blond hair slipped into the room. Aimon? The injured vassal from the wall hanging? The man Kathryn wanted for a husband? An icy, Nordic warrior against Gaharet’s enigmatic darkness, Erin could see why Kathryn favored him. Bright blue eyes shifted beyond Gaharet to the disheveled bed, to her, and a smile broke out on his face. She flushed, as embarrassed as any teenager caught canoodling behind the school stadium.

He returned his attention to Gaharet. “The keep guard is coming for you. Lothair will no longer wait till morning. He will not risk you leaving, not after what Renaud tried with your betrothed. Here. Take my sword.” He handed the weapon to Gaharet. “You will not be able to retrieve yours. Lothair has ordered the gate guard to prevent your departure. He believes the rest of us are already beyond the walls.”

“Oh, God.”

Both Gaharet and Aimon turned to her.

“All will be well, Erin. I have another way of leaving the keep, but we need to move fast. Aimon, can you get us a horse? From the village?”

“Of course, but…” His eyes flicked to her. “It will be difficult to find one that will allow—”

Gaharet shook his head. “Not for me. For Erin.”

What? Was he sending her back to his keep?

Aimon nodded. “I will meet you beyond the walls. Be safe, Gaharet.”

Opening the door, Aimon peered into the corridor. With a final nod to them both, he slipped from the room.

“Come, Erin.” Gaharet attached his greaves, slipped on his surcoat and buckled on his vambraces. “We must leave. Do not worry about your headscarf.”

He took her hand and led them from the chamber. Two steps into the corridor, she encountered a body sprawled on the floor, his mouth open and eyes unseeing. Gaharet barely gave it a second glance. Another lay around the bend, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath his head. A chill ran through her body. Aimon had done this? She focused on keeping up with Gaharet, on his broad shoulders and the comforting feel of his large hand wrapped around hers. If she thought too much about the bodies, she’d lose her nerve.

They rounded a corner, coming to a set of stairs, voices echoing up from below, and Gaharet whisked her past them. Another long corridor, another set of stairs and more swift footsteps coming in their direction. Gaharet pulled her into the stairwell, hastening her down and out of sight. They continued on to the next floor, weaving along corridors, around corners and down more stairs. She hoped Gaharet knew where he was going.

“Halt!”

A man stood below them, blocking their way.

“By order of the Comte de Anjou, I must detain you.”

Gaharet released her hand, taking purposeful strides toward him. The guard’s eyes widened, and he attempted to draw his sword. Gaharet was too fast. He raised the sword and swung it at the guard’s head.

Erin recoiled.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

But she couldn’t look away as the man’s head separated from his shoulders. The head, eyes agape, hit the floor with a sickening thud. It rolled toward her, the body collapsing at Gaharet’s feet. A whimper escaped her, and she clasped her hand over her mouth, bile rising in her throat. His bloodied sword in his hand, Gaharet propelled her past the grisly scene.

He hadn’t even flinched.

Her stomach roiled, the urge to vomit strong. She fought against it.

If, even for one moment, she’d had any doubts that Gaharet was first, and foremost, a tenth-century chevalier, they were gone. The trail of blood dripping from Gaharet’s sword as they wound their way through Langeais Keep drove that point home.

Keep yourself together, Erin. Be thankful he is capable of such brutality. Lothair le Diable certainly will be.

They encountered no one else, and after several more corridors, with a cautious look in both directions, Gaharet pulled her into a darkened storeroom. He released her hand and the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor reached her ears. A hinge creaked, and she breathed in stale air. Gaharet found her hand again.

“Duck.” He placed a gentle hand on her head, forcing her to hunch over, steering her forward. Again, the sound of something heavy sliding along the floor. Disoriented by the darkness, Erin swayed a little and her shoulder brushed against a wall. She reached out to steady herself, her fingers settling on mossy rocks. She couldn’t see a thing. Were they in a tunnel? How on earth could he see two feet in front of his face?

Erin crouched low, trailing along behind him as he led her first to the left, then to the right. The creak of another hinge, a slight breeze and they were outside the keep, under the moonlit sky, hidden from view by a prickly bush.

“Does Lothair know of this secret exit?”

Gaharet shrugged. “I do not know. It is possible. It is his keep, but Aimon’s warning bought us some time.”

“Right. Now, how do we get beyond the walls? Without anyone noticing?” She didn’t think she could handle another severed head.

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