Page 27 of Wolf's Prize

This was not a battle over land or territory. Nor was it some hunt to bag the largest, most noble beast in the forest. It was the story of her aunt and uncle’s courtship, and a testament to their love. Her aunt, as bold and as fiery as her red hair proclaimed, had tested her uncle, demanding he prove his worth. Uncle Jacques, had taken up her challenge, determined to make her his, and in the end, was victorious in his battle to claim her as his bride. Her father had the right of it. Jacques d’Louncrais had loved her aunt, and she him.

She leaned in, her eyes widening as she looked more closely at the figures. They rode horses. How was that possible? Since the day of her attack, no horse would bear her presence. Only the old plow horse, under sufferance, would allow her to sit behind him in a wagon. Was this evidence werewolves could ride? She rocked back on her heels.Wait.Her uncle, her cousins, they had all ridden horses. So did Aimon. So did all Gaharet’s men.

Kathryn reached out and ran her fingers over the embroidered figure of her aunt on a horse. Oh, how she missed riding—galloping across the meadow, the pounding of hooves, the wind in her hair.Is it possible?Could werewolves truly ride?Will I be able to ride again?Another question for Aimon.

Kathryn turned to the other wall hanging, the more recent addition to the d’Louncrais keep. Chevaliers on horseback on a battleground. A real battle. She picked out Gaharet, black-haired, in a red surcoat with his sword raised. And there, two figures larger than the others, they must be Edmond and Aubert. A chevalier, his sword clashing with the enemy, might be Lance, and behind him, Godfrey. But it was the figure in blue, with long white hair, unhorsed and wounded, that drew her attention. Aimon.

“The battle of Montsoreau.”

Kathryn spun around, startled, so engrossed in the scene she had not heard or scented anyone approaching.

“Good morning, Mademoiselle Kathryn. How are you feeling this morning?”

Kathryn flushed. “Well, thank you, Gascon.” She turned back to the embroidered scene. “This is when Gaharet…”

“Yes. When Mon Seigneur Gaharet turned Monsieur Aimon.”

Kathryn stared at the wall hanging, not really seeing it. It said something that one of only two wall hangings was of the injury that led to Aimon’s turning. The other being her uncle’s courtship of her aunt, which had also led to a turning.

“Is no one else awake yet, Gascon?”

“Seigneur Farren is in the library. I believe he has yet to sleep.” A slight frown crossed his face but smoothed out in an instant. “He has asked not to be disturbed. Monsieur Aimon left at dawn.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged. “Will he return? There were things… I wanted to talk to him. I thought he would be here this morning.”

She rubbed absently at her chest, the sting of disappointment hard to swallow. He had left with nary a word. Was it wrong to feel so abandoned? She had, after all, rejected him. It seemed he had taken her words to heart.

“Monsieur Aimon had pressing business elsewhere. He wanted you to know he would return as soon as he could.”

He is to return?Hope fluttered in her breast. “Well.” She lifted her chin a little and pasted on a smile. “Of course, he has important things to do. I have no claim on Monsieur Aimon’s time. Thank you, Gascon.”

“Mademoiselle.” Gascon gave her a half bow. “Monsieur Aimon did leave some instructions for you, that I might inform you of.”

Kathryn’s eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”Instructions? Not a note or a message.“And they are?”

“He has directed you not to leave the keep until he returns. You must not go into the forest without him.”

Heat rose up her neck, and her hands clenched. “Directed? He did not ask? Or suggest?” If Gascon noted the tightness in her voice, he gave no indication of it.

“Directed, asked, suggested, whatever word you would like to choose, Mademoiselle. For your safety, you are not to leave the keep.”

Kathryn snorted. “For my safety? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in the forest, Gascon. I have done so for years. Ask my father. Aimon is not master of this keep. He has no right to give orders to me or to anyone here, and I will not be abiding by them. I need the forest, the trees, the sun and the fresh air. I cannot, I will not, stay cooped up in here until he graces us with his presence once more.”

Gascon stood unmoved by her protestations, meeting her eyes. “Monsieur Aimon does not wish you to leave the keep until he returns. I have informed the servants and the gate guards. You will not be able to leave the keep even if you so choose.”

Kathryn heaved in a deep breath. First Anne and now Gascon. Did any of the servants in this keep abide by the social norms of class and status?

“Was there anything else I might assist you with, Mademoiselle?”

Kathryn fumed. So much for him feeling her rejection. Did Aimon think he could come into her life, issue orders, and she would simply obey? Howdarehe? She would see about this.

“That will be all, Gascon.” Shoulders squared, her body vibrating her displeasure, she stalked past him into the corridor. She would see her father about this nonsense. Aimon could not keep her from the forest. Sheneededit.

Outside the library, her hand on the door, she paused. From Gascon’s account, her father had not slept. And he did not wish to be disturbed. That did not sound like her father, but last night had been a shock. Perhaps her father needed time. She dropped her hand and eyed the heavy entrance doors. She could simply walk out, but chances were the gate guards would not let her pass. Not without someone to countermand Aimon’s orders.

Kathryn smirked.Anne.

Kathryn found Anne in the kitchen, seasoning a large pot of stew hanging over the fire. Her face red from the heat, her apron speckled with sauce, she turned as Kathryn stormed in.

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