Page 27 of Wolf's Redemption

Anger flared, but Lance kept a tight rein on his emotions, even more certain now that Godfrey was hiding something. What other reason would he have for avoiding his questions?

Lance leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand across his chin. “The d’Louncrais estate is in safe hands now. As is Kathryn. Do you agree?”

Godfrey gave a nonchalant shrug. “Aimon is young, but he is loyal. Through him, the estate has remained within the pack. As long as someone stronger does not challenge him for it.”

Lance met Godfrey’s stare. “And where would I find you standing if that were to happen?”

Godfrey did not flinch. “Where I should be.” He took a slow sip of wine, holding his gaze across his goblet. “With Aimon.”

The footfall of servants in the corridor and the scent of food stilled any further conversation. Unlike Gaharet, Lance hadnever trusted his people with his secret, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He quietly studied the other chevalier as the serving maids slipped into the hall and set platters of cooked meat and fresh bread on the table. As they ate, both he and Godfrey skirted around polite pleasantries, conscious of the servants hovering—bringing more jugs of wine, a plate of freshly churned butter, more bread.

Annoyed, Lance waved them off, determined to get to the heart of Godfrey’s behavior. “You have not answered my question, Godfrey. What is bothering you?”

“Pardon me,Mon Seigneur.Forgive the intrusion.”

Lance turned, concealing his frustration at the interruption from his steward. “Yes?”

“The villagers have reported a strange woman in the vicinity.”

“Strange?” Lance set down his knife. “How?”

“Unfamiliar to these parts, Mon Seigneur, but also…different. The villagers say she has unusual markings on her skin and in her hair, and she was wearing a chevalier’s surcoat.”

Lance glanced at Godfrey. The chevalier had straightened in his chair. What were the chances of two unknown women appearing in little over a month? First Erin, and now this one.

“What color was the surcoat?”

“Umber, Mon Seigneur, bearing the phoenix crest of the Voclains.”

Lance was on his feet. “Ulrik.”

He shared a glance with Godfrey.

Godfrey’s eyes narrowed. “He has escaped?”

“Where is this woman now?” he barked.

“Farmer Pierre saw her disappear behind the tanner’s hut. She was in the company of a man bearing a striking resemblance to Seigneur Ulrik.”

Godfrey rose. “How is this possible?”

“Does it matter? Now? He is here.” Lance slapped his hand on the table. “We mustfindhim.”

“I have prepared your horse for you, Mon Seigneur.And yours,Seigneur Godfrey. I suspected you would wish to investigate.”

Lance was at the door with Godfrey close behind. In the keep courtyard, they mounted up and rode the short distance to the village.

They dismounted at the tanner’s hut, and Lance grimaced. “We will find little trace of him beneath the stench of the tanning fluids and drying hides.”

Godfrey nodded. “Truly. He may well have been here when I rode through your village, using the tanner’s hut to camouflage his scent. For all his drunkenness and whoring, Ulrik is canny. It does not surprise me it is he who found a way to circumvent the effects of silver.”

Lance stalked around the hut, looking for signs—a scuff in the dirt, the tread of boots. Ulrik may be cunning, and he would use all of his wolf abilities to avoid detection, but that did not mean the woman had not left some sign.

“There!”

He pointed at a fresh print, small and leading away from the hut.

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