Page 87 of Wolf's Prize

A man stepped forward, grinning, giving Kathryn a lascivious stare. Aimon growled and snatched a folded parchment from the man’s hand. It had the comte’s wax seal stamped on it.

“Off with you now,” said the gate guard. “You have fulfilled your duty. Delivered your message. There is a celebration down in the village tonight. All the men are there. And the women. You may find a welcome there.”

With a shrug, and one last lecherous glance at Kathryn that had Aimon’s wolf pushing to the surface, the messenger departed.

“Mademoiselle Kathryn, Monsieur Aimon, Mon Seigneur Gaharet awaits you in the hall.”

Aimon nodded his thanks, and he made his way to the keep, Kathryn in tow. Upon entering the hall, Erin raced to Kathryn and enfolded her in a hug.

“I’m so glad it all went well.” She pulled away. “It did all go well, right?”

Kathryn smiled up at him and clasped his hand in hers. “Yes. It went very well.”

“That’s a relief.”

Gaharet smiled at him across the table and raised his goblet in salute. “Congratulations Aimon, Kathryn.”

Aimon took in Farren’s relief at his daughter’s return. “Thank you. But…”

Was he going to challenge Gaharet on his decision to let Kathryn go to the clearing? Now it was over, and Kathryn was safe? Aimon let the matter drop.

“You have a dispatch from Lothair, I see.” Gaharet’s astute eyes missed nothing.

“Yes, I—”

“Come, come, now everyone. Sit down at the table,” said Anne, shuffling into the room with trays of bread and meat. She placed the platters on the table as everybody gathered around. “Time to eat. Time to celebrate.” She beamed. “Two of my young men mated. I was wondering if I would live to see the day.”

“All thanks to you, Anne.” Erin grinned and took a seat at the table. “Mmm.” She leaned forward, sniffing the tray of barely cooked meat.

“Now, now, I cannot take all the— My dear, why are you so pale?”

Erin shot up from the table and raced from the hall, one hand clutched over her mouth and another on her stomach.

“Erin?” Gaharet pushed his chair back.

Aimon shared a look with Kathryn. Was something wrong with Erin? Werewolves did not get sick. Was it something to do with her turning? Or the herbs the witch had used?

The sounds of Erin retching in the corridor reached their ears, and Gaharet shoved past a startled Gascon.

Anne’s enormous girth blocked his way. “Now you just sit down, Gaharet, and eat your meal. I will take care of Erin.”

Aimon tensed. Standing between an alpha and his mate was not advisable for anyone, not even Anne.

Gaharet’s lip lifted, revealing large canines, and a growl rumbled deep in his chest. A shiver ran up Aimon’s spine and his wolf slunk into the depths of his mind. Kathryn shifted closer.

Gaharet towered over Anne, his musky scent strong and pungent. “My mate is ill, Anne. I would be with her.”

Anne stood her ground, and Aimon’s respect for the old cook grew.

“She will be fine. Nothing a bit of ginger brew will not fix, I suspect. Sit down. I will fetch it now.”

She bustled off toward the kitchen.

“Ginger brew?” Gaharet called after her.

Anne stopped at the door and smiled. “I believe, if her reaction to the smell of the meat is anything to go by, your mate is with child, Gaharet. You are going to be a father.”

Gaharet slumped into his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I am going to be a father.”

---