Page 84 of Wolf's Keep

Chapter Thirty-Two

When Gaharet stumbled upon the little, wooden cottage deep in the forest, he was near exhaustion. Carrying Erin in his arms for leagues had tested even his strength. He had stopped periodically, settling and soothing her as she slipped deeper into the turning. Her shuddering had increased, and her moaning had gotten louder. At one point she had struggled against him so much he had come close to dropping her. With some relief, but also trepidation, he approached the cottage.

He had found it, heading due east from the clearing, courtesy of his sensitive nose, the wolfsbane’s impact lessening the more leagues he traveled. A curl of smoke puffed from the chimney, but the overall scent was one of herbs, some pleasant, some not so. That he remained in human form the closer he got convinced him of the absence of wolfsbane.

The door opened before he could knock, and a small woman stood in the doorway. Uncertain of what he had expected, this young, somewhat pretty woman with startling eyes—one blue, one green—did not fit with his idea of a healer or witch.

“I have been expecting you.”

Her soft voice welcomed him, and she stepped aside so he could enter. Small, but warm and brightly lit, shelves laden with jars of powders, herbs, rocks, crystals and things he could not recognize lined the cottage walls. On the table, a large book lay open. The smell, more pungent in close quarters, came from a large pot over the fire, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Put her over there.” The woman motioned to a small cot by a shuttered window, and Gaharet complied as she moved to stir the concoction in the pot.

“You were expecting me?”

She smiled, nodding, the hint of disappointment that flashed in her eyes gone before he had a chance to wonder at its cause.

“You know who I am? What I am?” He knelt beside Erin, brushing his hand across her forehead. She was burning up, and he was loath to leave her side. Gaharet had no sense they were in any danger, but he did not know this woman or what she might be capable of.

“You are d’Louncrais,” she said. “The Black Wolf. We knew, in time, you would come back to us, that you would need us again. That is why my family has always stayed close to Langeais Keep.” Ladling liquid from the pot into a bowl, she brought it over to him. “When members of your pack approached me for hemlock, I sensed you would soon seek me out.” Reaching up, she touched the amulet that lay against his chest. “Centuries ago, your kind came to us for help, and we provided these.”

“You have knowledge of the amulets?” He never expected to feel such conflicting emotions upon finding the ones he sought—elation that help was nigh, but dread that it could only hasten Erin’s departure.

“Oh, yes.” She frowned. “You did not know of our connection? Of your origins?”

Gaharet shook his head. “Our origins? You know this?”

She nodded. “You must have many questions, but first we must tend to her.” Her smile softened, and she laid a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Fear not, Black Wolf. While her mind is in turmoil, her heart is not.”

Erin moaned, a shudder rippling through her body.

The woman rested a hand on Erin’s forehead. “The fever has started. It will not be easy, not with the added complication of this wound, but I sense she is strong. And she has you. Here.” She handed him the bowl. “You will need to get her to take it. Just wet her lips with it. Anything you can get her to swallow will help.”

“Hemlock?”

“Plus a few other herbs.” She squeezed his arm. “I will make a poultice for the wound. She will have a scar, but it will heal.”

Nodding, grateful, Gaharet returned his attention to Erin. Dipping the spoon in, he raised it to her lips, dribbling small amounts into her parted mouth. There was no going back now.

* * * *

Watching Gaharet enter the little cottage, Aimon sat down to wait, to watch and to guard. The door swung open and standing in the doorways was not Gaharet, but a young peasant woman. Could this be the witch that Aubert and Edmond spoke of? He had envisioned an old crone. She came toward him on quiet feet, and he slunk down low in the long grass.

Stopping a few yards away, she looked straight at him. “I know you are there, wolf,” she called out. “There is no point hiding. I have come to tell you your alpha is well, as will his mate be in time.”

Aimon popped his head up. How had she known he was even there? He sniffed the air. She was human, not wolf. Perhaps being a witch gave her extra abilities.

“Strange he has not the bloodstone amulet in his possession.” She frowned, her eyes going unfocused. “Ah, the friend who was no longer is a friend again.” Her gaze sharpened, boring into him. “Heed my words, wolf. That which was thought lost you will find. Hidden in plain sight, it is time for its presence to be felt. Guard it well and the reward shall be yours.”

Aimon shook his furry white head. The woman spoke in riddles.

She smiled at him. “You are welcome to stay. Guard your alpha if it pleases you. He is caring for his mate. Her injury has forced the turning, but I will inform him of your presence.”

She re-entered the cottage. The door closed behind her, and Aimon was once again alone. He scowled at the closed door. He planned on staying, whether he had her permission or not. He had no intention of leaving Gaharet unguarded.

Aimon rested his head on his paws, settling in for the long wait. His turning had taken three days—a blur of pain, heat, cold, thirst and hunger—but with the witch’s help, perhaps Erin’s transition would be easier. He hoped so. For Erin and for Gaharet.

Gaharet had saved his life, so Aimon would stay here, however long it took. Aimon owed Gaharet everything and he would stand by him until the end. Gaharet would always be his alpha, no matter who held the bloodstone amulet. Ulrik be damned.

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