Page 77 of Wolf's Keep

Renaud shrugged.

Lothair eyed Renaud through slitted lids. “When this is all over and Gaharet is in my cell, you and I are going to have a long discussion, Renaud. A very long, and possiblypointed, discussion.” He raised the tip of his bloodied sword, tapping it against Renaud’s chest. “I am not happy you have taken it upon yourself to kill some of my men for your own purposes. I will expect a detailed explanation of your actions.”

Renaud smiled, all teeth and jutting cheekbones, pushing the tip of the sword away with his fingers. “As you wish, Mon Seigneur Comte, but perhaps we should apprehend d’Louncrais first.”

Lothair grunted, striding past Renaud. “You.” He pointed to a guard. “Saddle my horse and assemble two score of mounted men in the bailey.”

“At once, Mon Seigneur.”

“Come, Renaud. Show me this trap of yours.” He swept from the room.

Renaud was most definitely scheming, but what was his end game? Now more than ever he needed Gaharet’s support, his council, and he cursed his lack of it. His step faltered.

Oh, I see.Divide and conquer.He almost laughed.Well played, Renaud. Well played.

He continued down the corridor, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

I have your measure now, Renaud, and you will not win.

Chapter Thirty

Erin guided the reluctant horse after the black wolf, heading farther into the forest and away from Langeais Keep. She kept her distance, Gaharet’s shadowy form barely visible amongst the moonlit trees. If she got too close to him, the horse balked, refusing to move. She wasn’t an experienced enough rider to compel it against its will. Still, she kept the horse at a steady trot or canter for most of the journey. By the time Gaharet stopped at the edge of a small clearing, her legs were quivering with fatigue and her fingers had gone numb from gripping the saddle and the reins so tight.

She slid from the horse, stretching her limbs, and turned to see the last vestiges of Gaharet’s wolf disappearing with a shake of his head. The threads of desire stirred at the sight of him standing tall, proud and naked. She sighed, turning back to the horse, hitching the reins to a tree and grabbing an armful of his garments.

“I think you should put these on.”

She handed him his clothes. She wouldn’t be able to resist temptation if he stood around naked for too long. His nostrils flared and his gaze burned hot, and she backed away before she took him up on the promise in his eyes. After retrieving the sword and his hauberk, she turned, startled to find Ulrik standing beside him.

Erin approached the men, placing Gaharet’s armor and weapon on the ground. “Is he…? You know… Like you?” She couldn’t bring herself to utter the word werewolf.

Gaharet nodded. Of course. He had an amulet. So, too, did Gaharet’s other vassals. All his men then—Aimon, Godfrey, Lance, Edmond and Aubert were all…like him. He’d all but told her about Aimon when he’d explained about the horse.

“Ulrik was the wolf we encountered by the creek.”

“Oh.” Erin studied Ulrik. Sandy hair, sandy wolf. Hair color matches wolf color.Interesting. “Can I see?”

Ulrik looked to Gaharet.

Gaharet frowned, then shrugged. “Go ahead, but partial only,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

Partial?

“Very well.”

Ulrik held out his hand, keeping an anxious eye on her. Slow and steady, his hand changed. Just his hand. Erin reached out with hesitant fingers and touched the paw. Moments ago, it had been human fingers. It felt… It felt real. Running her hand along the paw, she touched her fingertip to one of his sharp claws, jerking her hand away in an instant.

“I do not frighten you?” asked Ulrik, his face registering his surprise.

Erin swallowed, keeping her breathing steady. “A little,” she said, “but not because I think you will hurt me. It’s just…” She shook her head. “I can’t believe this is possible. It’s all supposed to be a myth, superstitious nonsense, and yet I’m seeing you change before my eyes, touchingfurthat should be skin.” She ran her hand over his paw again, turning it over, brushing her fingers over the soft pads, marveling at it.

Gaharet growled, stepping in closer to her. Ulrik snapped his hand away, returning it to human form. She raised her brows at Gaharet.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It is a wolf thing.”

“A wolf thing?” She glanced between Gaharet and Ulrik. It seemed more a primitive display of proprietorial male behavior to her, but as much as the modern woman in her rebelled at his chest thumping, a part of her heart thrilled at it.The tenth century must be rubbing off on me.

“You have not told her much, have you?” asked Ulrik.

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