Page 41 of Wolf's Prize

“And this is her husband, Henri.” Anne pointed to the man next to Eleonore.

He smiled, ducking his head in deference. “Mademoiselle Kathryn.”

“Henri is the stable master. If you like to ride, you can get him to arrange a horse for you. Elise loved to ride.”

A lightness bloomed in Kathryn’s chest. The wall hanging had not deceived her. “I can ride?”

“Well, of course, dear. The d’Louncrais are excellent horse trainers. Either Gaharet or his father trained all the horses in the stables. And the horses Gaharet’s vassals ride as well.”

That explained how they could ride, and she could not. Kathryn flicked her gaze to her father, and he had the decency to look ashamed. She rubbed at her chest. For all her satisfaction at his discomfort, it saddened her to see him this way.

“I would like that very much. Perhaps I will visit you in the stables tomorrow, if that is suitable for you, Henri?”

“No.” Aimon’s voice cut across Henri’s smiling agreement.

Kathryn raised her eyebrows at him. “No?”

“No.”

Kathryn’s cheeks heated.

“Not yet.” He softened the denial.

Kathryn stabbed at a piece of meat. “When?”

Aimon leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. “When I think you are ready.”

She opened her mouth to protest.

“And not before. Small steps, Kathryn. Remember?”

Kathryn shoved a piece of meat in her mouth, chewing on it with ferocious intensity. Her father ducked his head, rubbing at his neck. Aimon remained unfazed.

“Come now, love. No point getting worked up over naught,” said Anne. “There is time enough. The horses are not going anywhere. Now Henri knows you are keen to ride, he can ensure there is a horse for you when you are ready.”

“Of course, Mademoiselle Kathryn,” said Henri. “Have you ridden much?”

Kathryn swallowed her anger, her disappointment. “I used to ride all the time, but it has been some years since I have been on horseback.”

“I think I have just the horse for you. Josephine is a lovely mare. I will have her out in the yard tomorrow and start working her. She will be ready for when you need her.”

“Thank you, Henri.” She smiled at the stable master and cut a glare in her father and Aimon’s direction. Aimon shrugged it off. Her father dropped his gaze to his meal, his shoulders hunched over.

Not since her turning had so many options been open to her, and yet her freedoms were more confined and controlled than ever. She glanced at Aimon through her lashes. He talked to the people around him, smiling, eating and drinking his wine. He laughed at something someone said, relaxed, as though he belonged amongst them, as though he were as human as they were. To be a werewolf and to be so carefree. To have the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Make his own choices. To not hide away or restrain himself lest someone discover what he had become. She envied him.

Kathryn scowled at her meal, no longer hungry. She glanced back at Aimon. The pretty servant girl next to him had her hand on his arm, smiling up at him. The fluttering of her eyelashes would make Manette Chapet proud. A gentle laugh, a pretty compliment, and Aimon smiled down at the serving wench.

Kathryn’s lip curled in a snarl, and a low growl reverberated in her chest. Aimon’s blue eyes pinned her with a warning look, and he shook his head. She dipped her head and pushed uneaten food around on her plate.

Is that what Aimon preferred? Coy glances and simpering adulation? The servant girl played the part of the gentile, besotted lady better than she ever could. Could he find her behavior too bold? Had the rumors of her wild ways gone beyond the women of the court? He would not be the first person to disapprove of her. Was it any wonder Aimon had returned only to be her teacher?

The sense of someone’s regard lifted her head. Her father studied her, tight lines around his eyes. His gaze flicked to Aimon, then back to her. His eyebrows rose, questioning. Kathryn gave him a half-hearted shrug and stared glumly at her unfinished meal. Tomorrow she would try harder. She would keep her temper in check and behave as any lady of her station should behave. Then, maybe, Aimon might see her as more than his student. As someone he might wish to take as his wife.

Chapter Seventeen

“Are you going to tell me what all this is for?” Anne asked, wrapping a loaf of bread in a cloth and placing it with the other larder items Gascon had asked her to prepare. All the other servants had gone to bed—the fire banked down to coals, and the kitchen cleared and ready for the morrow. She stared at her brother, awaiting a response. Something was afoot, and she would know of it.

She eyed the items—fresh loaves of bread, rounds of hard cheese, salted fish, cured meats, boiled fruit and pots of wine. None of the estate retainers were in dire need. She would know if they were. Who did he intend to feed? And in secret, too, for he had asked her to prepare the items once all the servants had dispersed for the evening.

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