Wolf’s Redemption (The Wolves of Langeais #3)

Chapter Five

“Be a good girl now, while I get us out of here,” Ulrik cajoled, his hand still carrying the memory of her lush ass beneath his palm.

“Be a good… Oooh! Go to hell.”

Ulrik halted on the stairs, grinning at her indignation, and slapped her hard on the ass. Again.

“Stop doing that.”

He did it once more, wishing he had the time to strip her bare right here, right now. Would her ass be nice and pink? He stifled a groan at the erotic image that flashed through his mind.

“I swear you’re going to pay for that.”

He chuckled. “Oh, sweetness, I will hold you to your vow. And I think I shall much enjoy paying your price.”

She punched him in the kidney, one handed this time, and he grunted. She had a surprisingly good arm on her. Gael had found that out to his detriment. But it had not come without cost, if the scent of her blood and the way she favored her right hand were any indication. He would see to her injury once they were clear of the keep.

“Careful, little one. You do not want to hurt your other hand.”

On impulse, and because it was beyond him to resist taunting her, he turned his head and bit down on her hip.

She stiffened against him, the bitter scent of her fear lacing the air.

He froze. L’enfer. He was such a fool. Only moments ago she had faced down Gael, prepared to fight as he had never before seen from a human woman, rather than have the guard’s base intentions forced on her. Now, here he was, taking liberties and touching her in ways that could only constitute sexual interest. He was behaving no better than the dead guard. Were his mother alive, she would have strung him up by his innards.

He heaved in a breath and released it on a heavy sigh. “My apologies. It was uncouth of me to touch you as I have. You have every right to protest. I am sorry. I vow to you it will not happen again.”

Silence weighed heavily between them. He could only imagine the confusion on her face. She shifted uneasily, her thighs clamping together.

Ulrik suppressed a grin. “Unless you ask it of me.”

“Dream on,” she muttered.

Ulrik chuckled. No matter her words, her body did not lie. He continued his ascent, amused by her curses. Curses inventive and crude enough to make even the coarsest of brigands blush.

He paused at the top of the stairs and reached out with his senses, his wolf’s familiar presence once again filling his mind. The skin on his wrists and neck tingled as they healed, the welts on his fingers from handling the silver key already gone. Around his neck hung the familiar weight of an amulet. Not his, but the binding amulet he had scooped up from the floor. Lothair might come to regret throwing it at his feet.

Tilting his nose up, he scented the room above. Empty. He had doubted there were more guards. If there had been, the ruckus they had made below would have drawn them, but it never hurt to be cautious.

Ulrik pushed on the grate, its hinges screeching in protest, and stepped into the lit room. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with fresh, if pungent, air and the intoxicating scent of the woman over his shoulder. It felt good to be out of that hole, no longer bound in silver. Even better with his present company. He rubbed his hand against the back of her leg, careful to keep it low, near her knee and away from the enticing aroma wafting from between her thighs. She rewarded him with another shriek all the same.

He grinned. He was beginning to see the appeal of a woman with attitude. This one breathed fire.

He glanced about the room. An interrupted game of dice lay spread on the table with a few coins and a wineskin. In the corner sat his sword and scabbard, his mail, his surcoat and his daggers. It had taken four men, even in his weakened state, to wrest him from his armor. He may have chosen to step into the wolfsbane trap, but he had not been willing to go down without a fight.

He hastened over, exchanging the guard’s sword for his own of far superior quality, and palmed his best dagger. As an afterthought, he grabbed his surcoat. Barely dressed, it would keep her warm. His hauberk, gambeson, greaves and vambraces, he left behind. Taking them would mean putting her down, and they did not have the time for the struggle that would most definitely ensue.

He slung his surcoat over his shoulder, over her.

She wriggled about. “What the—”

“Grab the coins.” He swung around and dipped at the knees so she could reach them. “We may need them. And the wineskin.”

He definitely needed that. She may, too, when she truly appreciated where she was. From what he remembered of the things Erin had said, future living was a very different affair.

“Geez, when did your last slave die?” But she scooped up the coins, and the weight of the wineskin thumped against his back as she grabbed that, too. “What the hell place is this? Who uses wineskins anymore?”

He huffed out an impatient breath. “As I told you before, you are in Frankia. In the keep of Lothair, Count of Anjou.”

There was little point in saying more. She would have no choice but to believe him soon enough. She went strangely quiet. Had the reality of his words, and her surroundings, finally sunk in?

He exited the room and made his way down the corridor. Getting out of the keep would not be easy. He did not know if his imprisonment was common knowledge, but he must assume it was. If he tried to leave by the gate, he risked being recognized. He also suspected the spirited woman over his shoulder, though quiet for the moment, would not be so for long.

She had proved herself defiant and smart, using him to dispatch the lecherous guard. She had made use of her failed magic light to her advantage, too, throwing it away from her as a distraction, and trying to escape him in the darkness. Had he been an ordinary man, it might well have worked. It now sat tucked snuggly in the band of his breeches, a hard shape against his skin. Was she quiet because she was biding her time, looking for a way to escape him? He would not put it past her.

He paused at the end of the corridor. Left or right?

A familiar scent caught his nose—older and overlaid by the more recent passing of servants and chevaliers. Gaharet’s. He sniffed again. And Erin’s. Gaharet had fled the keep with Erin not so long ago. Had he known of another exit? A secret one? Ulrik would trust his nose. And his alpha. Turning left, he followed the scent.

The hour was late, and they passed no one in the corridors. Gaharet’s trail led him to a storage room and ended at a stack of chests. He frowned, taking in the room. No second doorway.

He sniffed again. Gaharet and Erin had come this way. He eyed the chests. Did they hide a passageway under the walls?

Ulrik tucked his shoulder against the side of the stack and pushed. The chests shifted as one and a cool draft of air hit his face. He pushed a little harder, revealing a narrow tunnel. If his sense of direction did not lead him astray—and it never did—it should bring them out underneath the keep wall close to the postern gate. Ulrik grinned.

He set her down and his surcoat slid to the floor. The moment her feet touched the floor, she lunged away from him.

“Not so fast, sweetness.”

With an arm around her waist, he slammed her back into his chest. She shrieked and kicked out at him, but her small feet and soft shoes were ineffective weapons, barely enough to raise a bruise on his shins. He kept a grip on her wrist and turned her around to face him.

He picked up his surcoat and draped it around her shoulders. “Put this on. It will warm you and go some way to conceal you.”

She gaped at him as if he were the village idiot. “You’re insane if you think I’ll just go along quietly.”

He chuckled, backing her up against the wall and crowding her with his body. “I do not expect you to go quietly at all, petite cracheuse de feu. ”

She stared at him, eyes wide but flashing defiance.

“Scream all you like. Down here, the chance that anyone will hear you is negligible. And if they did, they would be unlikely to come to your aid. But screaming or no, come with me, you will.”

“You’re just saying that to keep me quiet.” The look she gave him was all scorn. “As if I would believe you?”

That she did not take his word as truth rankled, but he would add it to the long list of slights slung his way over the years. He had a tarnished reputation, and he was well aware he could lay much of that at his own feet.

“I am many things, but I assure you, a liar is not one of them. Test my word if it pleases you.”

She scowled and clamped her mouth shut, but she did not make it easy for him. He guided her struggling arms into his surcoat, buttoning it up at the front, covering up her delectable bosom. Warmth was not the only benefit to be gained by her wearing it. Ulrik needed all his wits about him, and those bountiful attributes he longed to have bare and cupped with his hands were quite the distraction.

“Why don’t you just leave me here?” Dark eyes challenged him. “I can make my own way out, and then you won’t have to worry about me giving you away or attracting attention.”

Leave her here? At Lothair’s mercy? Lord, no.

He tilted his head to the side, regarding her. “What do you think the lord of this keep will do when he finds one guard dead, another unconscious and his prisoner missing?”

She stopped struggling and her gaze grew wary.

“And that unconscious guard will not be so for long. Once he wakes, he will tell Count Lothair of the woman he saw. The woman who appeared to be working with the prisoner and helped him kill that guard.”

Her breathing stuttered and her face paled.

He shook his head. “No. I cannot, in good conscience, leave you behind.”

Taking her from the keep against her will was for her own good. She would not fare so well in the hands of Lothair. No matter what she believed about him, he was doing it for her. And also for himself. He wanted this woman in his bed.

Ulrik crowded her in, the wall at her back and her way forward barred by his body, giving her nowhere to go. She let him, going limp, her worry reflected in her expressive brown eyes. He released her hand to buckle his scabbard and sword around his hips and she made no attempt to move. He did not like the acrid scent of her fear, but he would use it if it meant he had her obedience, even if it was only temporary.

“You have saved me, sweetness, from Lothair’s underground chamber. Now I will keep you safe.” He stepped away from her. “Come. We need to leave. Once they discover my escape, we will have the entire keep guard to contend with.”

Her eyes widened further.

Good. Perhaps she would see him as the lesser of two evils. “Keep your head low.”

He took her arm and guided her into the tunnel. She did not protest. He pulled the stack of chests back into place behind them, plunging them into darkness. This hidden passageway had served their pack well, twice now. They could not afford to reveal this advantage, nor lose it.

Ulrik pushed past her, crouching low and taking the lead. Each brush of his shoulders against the damp walls released the musty smell of moss and algae. He traversed the short distance, following the tunnel as it took a turn first to the left then the right. He kept a firm, but gentle, grip on her arm. The darkness was no hindrance to his enhanced vision, but it would all but blind her. He halted at a second door and pushed it open. His sword at the ready, they exited into the clutches of a prickly bush.

Ulrik surveyed their surroundings, getting his bearings. As he suspected, they weren’t far from the postern gate. Had Lothair thought to post a guard there after Gaharet’s escape? Their kind were stronger, faster, and had all the enhanced senses their wolf gave them, but they could not climb the ramparts unaided. With the concealed entrance the only other access to the bailey, other than the main gate, Lothair would have reasoned this was how Gaharet had evaded him.

His ears pricked at the shuffled movements from above—the keep guard on patrol. They did not walk the ramparts as they should, rather they stood, huddled together. One yawned. Another muttered about the chill in the air, wishing to be at home in bed. Imbeciles. Lothair would have them flogged for their inattention, but it suited his purpose well.

He pulled the woman against him, banding his arm about her waist. She barely reached his chin, and she tilted her head back to look at him.

“We are going to run. You are going to keep quiet. No screaming. Agreed?”

The brief flash of defiance in her eyes faded and she pressed her lips together in a thin line.

She gave him an abrupt nod. “Let’s do this. I’m not going to be held accountable for something I didn’t do. Not this time.”

There was hurt and betrayal beneath the squaring of her shoulders and the determined thrust of her chin. Her pain clung to her, as visible to him as the pinched expression on her face.

Something shifted within his heart. He wanted to… What? Take it away? Wrap her up in my arms and protect her so she would never feel such pain again? Kill the one who had betrayed her?

His wolf pushed to the surface, and he tightened his grip, pressing their bodies together, her lush curves soft against the hardened planes of his chest. She swallowed, and an unexpected scent caught his nose, sending a pulse of heat straight to his cock. Arousal. He leaned in and ran his nose along the curve of her throat. She trembled. A growl rumbled in his chest. Her scent deepened. Oh, he would definitely have her in his bed soon. Or any bed. Or on the forest floor. He did not care where, but he would have her.

A muffled laugh from above broke the spell. Right now, he needed to get them beyond the grounds of Langeais Keep and into the forest.

He touched a finger to her lips. “Not a sound.”

She nodded. He released her from his embrace and grabbed her uninjured hand.

“ Mon Dieu . Would you look at that?” A guard’s voice rang out.

Ulrik stilled.

“ L’enfer. The moon.”

Ulrik’s spine tingled. What about the moon? From their position flush against the keep, he could not see it. He could feel it, though, and sense its fullness. Was that what had caught their attention? It mattered not. With the guards focusing on the moon, this was their chance.

Keeping low and hugging the wall for as long as possible, he ran down the slope, her hand clenched in his. He only slowed as they approached the postern gate, the scent of two men, and steel, coming from mere feet beyond the entrance.

Merde.

If Lothair had informed the keep guard of his confinement, he would need to kill them, too.

He slipped through the opening with the woman in tow. These two guards were more alert, but fortune favored him again. He recognized them. Two recently invested chevaliers. They were no match for him, though he had not the desire to kill them unless they gave him no choice. They were mere boys.

He pulled the woman in behind him, keeping his sword arm free.

The guards snapped to attention, eyeing his torn shirt and the woman behind him, draped in his surcoat. “Seigneur Ulrik.”

One boy peered around him and grinned. “And Ma Dame.” He nudged his fellow guard.

“Looking for somewhere quiet?” asked the other guard, grinning.

It seemed Lothair had kept knowledge of his imprisonment to a trusted few.

Ulrik pulled the woman against him, snaking his arm around her waist and giving the boys a smirk and a wink. “And somewhere a little private.”

It would not be the first time his reputation with the ladies would come in handy.

Ulrik pressed his fingers against her side in warning. She may not understand Franceis, but his meaning was clear, and it was reason enough for her to want to run.

He leaned down, and kissed her cheek, like a lover. “Play along,” he whispered in her ear. “I do not want to have to kill these boys.”

She shivered, but she leaned into him and placed her hand on his naked chest. At her touch, Ulrik almost forgot his purpose. A snigger from the boys snapped him out of his lust-filled daze.

“Take care in the forest, Seigneur Ulrik,” said one lad. “There have been wolves prowling about of late.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

It was a timely reminder. The keep guards were not the only threat. Wolves could mean actual wolves. They would be of little hindrance to him. But if members of his pack were roaming the forests, he would do well to be cautious. With a traitor in their midst, he could not risk trusting any of them.

With a cheeky grin at the boys and a firm grip on the woman, he cleared the entrance, not stopping until he had them well concealed within the trees. He looked back at the keep. No one had raised the alarm. No one had followed them, but now he could see what had the guards on the ramparts so transfixed.

The full moon hung above Langeais Keep, and it glowed a deep, dark red.