Page 18 of Wolf's Prize

Kathryn forced a smile. “Thank you, Anne.”

“Now, I have organized for a nice big barrel to be brought in from one of the other chambers. I will have it filled with hot water so you can bathe, relax and wash away the weariness of your journey here. Nothing like a good soak to ease the old bones, I always say.” She chuckled, and busied herself around the room, straightening the covers on the bed, stoking the coals in the brazier and lighting the candle. “The boys from the yard will bring up your belongings soon so you can get settled and make yourself right at home.”

Kathryn’s gaze followed the rotund woman’s ministrations to her chamber. Would she not leave? She was the cook. Did she not belong in the kitchen? She was behaving as if she were Kathryn’s personal maid. Kathryn wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone.

A sharp rap, and her attention snapped to the open doorway. Another servant entered—tall and slender, with graying hair at the temples. The same man who had shown her to this chamber.

“Mademoiselle Kathryn.” He gave her a slight bow. “I am Gascon, head servant of the keep. Monsieur Aimon Proulx wishes to speak with you in the library. May I escort you there?”

Kathryn gripped the mug. She could not face Aimon, not yet. Perhaps never. She had barely settled the beast. She remained resolutely in place, sipping her drink.

“Oh, here it is,” said Anne, beckoning in yet another servant.

Kathryn’s eyes bulged. Her room was becoming a veritable thoroughfare of unfamiliar faces. This would not do.

Gascon stepped aside as the servant rolled an enormous barrel into the room and placed it by the brazier at Anne’s direction. This must be what she would bathe in. Despite herself, Kathryn smiled. It did look appealing. She had never had the luxury of an actual bath before.

“Shall I escort you to the library now, Mademoiselle Kathryn?”

Kathryn’s shoulders sagged. “I…I cannot…”

Anne held up her hand. “One moment, Gascon.” She poured water into the washbasin, dipped a linen in and began fussing over Kathryn’s tear-stained face.

Startled, Kathryn moved to pull away.

“Keep still, child.” Anne grasped her chin, not unkindly. “It will take but a moment. You want to look your best. He is a handsome one, is Aimon Proulx.”

Kathryn blushed.

“You noticed that, too, did you?” Anne smiled, dabbing the cool wet cloth around her reddened eyes. “He is a good man.”

“You know Monsieur Aimon?” asked Kathryn, looking up into Anne’s face, her motherly attentions not entirely unpleasant.

“I have known him for a few years now. When Gaharet brought him here, wounded from battle, I cared for him. He nearly died. Would have been a damn shame if he had. He has a good heart, has Aimon Proulx. You would not find one more loyal than he. You could trust that young boy with your life.”

Kathryn considered Anne’s words. Could she trust Aimon with her secret? She stared down at her mug. Maybe, but what use would it be if his very scent triggered her curse? The mere thought of being in the same room with him, or kissing him again, heated her face and her body. It stirred a hope for a marriage based on more than security, wealth or titles.

But if she could not control the beast in his presence, it could never be. Tears threatened to form again. If, as Anne professed, he was a good man, would he be an honorable man and accept her rejection? Her father would think she had gone mad.

“There, much better. Now you go talk to that handsome young man, and I will bring you some more chamomile and honey brew.” She shuffled toward the door, turning back to look at Kathryn. “And if Aimon upsets you, you tell me. Old Anne will take him to task for certain,” she said, before disappearing down the corridor.

Kathryn finished the brew and set the mug on the table, aware of Gascon’s presence behind her. Staring at her hands, she brought to mind an image of Aimon. No changes, no shifting bones or fur sprouting from her knuckles. Her hands remained human. She inhaled a tremulous breath. Best to finish this now. After what had happened in the forest, Aimon would be certain of a welcome reception. Who knew what her father had already promised him, believing he helped her cause by encouraging Aimon’s favor. She would need to put a stop to that before things were beyond retrieval. She squared her shoulders and turned to Gascon.

“Please show me to the library, Gascon.”

“Of course, Mademoiselle Kathryn.”

Gascon led her from the room and down the stairs to the library. Pausing at the doorway, he turned to her.

“No harm will come to you here, Mademoiselle Kathryn.” His voice was kind and his expression sincere. “We will look after you and your father, as my family has done for the d’Louncrais for centuries.”

“Thank you, Gascon.”

Lifting her chin, Kathryn entered the room.

A small, cozy space with chests stacked full of books and scrolls, the library seemed to shrink further when her gaze fell on Aimon Proulx. He sat in a chair near her father, regarding her. She struggled to prize her gaze from him, from his broad shoulders and his white-blond hair. A powerful physical presence, he dominated the room. But it was his eyes that captivated her. Piercing and direct, they stared into her soul as though laying her every secret bare.

He had removed his mail and sword and looked relaxed in a black tunic and breeches. Seeing him without his armor softened him, made him appear less intimidating.

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