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

Chapter Seven

Ulrik moved through the forest, his senses alert to his surroundings. He would not lead Lothair to the witch’s hut east of them. Gaharet and Erin might still be there. He could not make for his own demesne, or Gaharet’s, to the west. Chances were Lothair had reclaimed those lands, or at the very least had men watching them. To the south lay the River Loire.

He headed north, skirting villages and farms, angling toward the county of Blois. He would change course in a day or two. If Lothair tracked him somehow, let him think Ulrik had fled the county. Only then would he return and seek the witch. He hoped she would have news of Gaharet.

He slowed his pace, matching it with the woman’s. Her boots, a pale washed-out shade of gules and absurdly fluffy, were no good for traversing the forest. He had no clue what function the sewn-on ears and button nose performed, or if they were merely fashionable. Women’s customs in the future must be strange indeed.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Bek.”

“Beck?”

What sort of name was that? Maybe she came not from the same place as Erin. Erin, with her strange accent, though unusually defiant, had passed easily as a woman of their time. Beck, with her green-streaked hair, colorful and intricate markings on her arms and her ears and nose decorated with silver, would not.

“It’s short for Rebekah. Rebekah Clarke.”

“Rebekah.” The name rolled off his tongue. He liked it.

“Only my parents call me that.”

A familiar dull ache pressed against his sternum. His own family was lost to him. Chances were, hers were now, too. If Gaharet had not found a way to reverse the spell to send Erin back to her time, there was not one to be found. That Gaharet had been willing to search for one to help his mate leave confounded Ulrik. If he were ever to meet his mate, under no circumstances would he ever let her go.

“Family is sacred. I shall call you Rebekah.”

She gave an indelicate snort. “My sleaze bag of a boss calls me Rebekah, too.”

What a sleaze bag was, Ulrik could only guess. From her tone, it was nothing good.

“It irritates the hell out of me,” she said. “That’s why he persists in doing it.”

Ulrik smirked. Oh, he would definitely call her Rebekah now.

“So, Ulrik,” she said, as she trudged along beside him. “You’re really a knight?”

“I am a chevalier, yes.”

Perhaps not in name anymore. Lothair would be sure to relieve him of that title, along with his family estate and its title as well. A sobering thought. Gaharet’s father had fought hard to have it reinstated to him when he had returned from Bretaigne. Once again, his actions had been the cause for its removal.

“So then, if you’re a knight, what were you doing in the dungeon?”

“What was I doing in the keep?”

“Well, you weren’t just in the keep, you were locked in the dungeon.”

Ulrik stopped walking, his hand on her elbow jerking her to a stop with him. “Dun jen?” The word was unfamiliar to him. Something from her world, perhaps? “You mean donjon, as in the keep?”

She screwed up her face at him. “No, the dungeon. The oubliette. The tiny little room beneath the keep. Where you were a prisoner.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned. “You call that an oubliette?”

“Yeah. Oubliette. Like from the movie Labyrinth . It means a place of forgetting.”

Movie ? Labyrinth ? He knew naught of these things, but a place of forgetting was an apt description of it. Only, Lothair would not forget about him, nor stop hunting him. He would not let Ulrik get away easily. Ulrik grunted and continued walking, her soft footfalls in those ridiculous boots forced to keep pace with him.

“Why were you in the oubliette?”

Because Archeveque Renaud had set a trap to bind a werewolf. Because one of his pack had betrayed them. And because Lothair, Comte de Anjou, wanted a werewolf army and, perhaps, wanted to be one himself. None of which he could tell her.

“Did you kill someone? Commit treason? Are you a thief?”

He huffed. She was not going to let this lie. He had to give her something. “Because I had something the comte wanted.”

“And you wouldn’t give it to him? To get yourself out of there?”

“No.”

“Must’ve been something really important. Or valuable. Or precious.”

Yes, to all three.

“What was it?”

Defiant and tenacious. “Nothing you need concern yourself about.”

“Hey!” She poked him in the arm. “I’m trusting you here. Following you to God knows where. I think I have a right to know exactly what type of person I’ve hitched my wagon to.”

Hitched her wagon to?

Ulrik kept walking, but she pulled against his hold, digging her heels in. He turned. She stood her ground, her free hand on her hip, feet planted apart and her chin thrust out.

Stubborn woman. Glorious woman. He could not wait to get her beneath him. She promised to be all fire, and he wanted to feel the heat of her flames, but right now he needed to get her moving. He could throw her over his shoulder again.

As if sensing his intent, she scowled at him. He bit back a grin.

“My…lord has fled with his…wife.” He chose his words with care. “Lothair demanded something he had no right to ask for, and now Lothair wants him found. He wanted me to betray my lord.” All truths.

“Huh.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Can we continue on now?”

She gave a small nod and fell into step beside him. “Were they newly married? Your lord and his wife?”

Newly mated? “Yes.”

He had scented the truth of it the moment he had approached them in the clearing that fateful night. The night he had succumbed to wolfsbane and Renaud had bound him in silver. But Gaharet had not told Erin everything. She had known Gaharet was a werewolf, but little else. And she had not accepted Gaharet as her mate. Not fully. She had wanted to return to her world. A world Ulrik had not known she’d come from until that moment. Would she still want to return home? Even now that Gaharet had initiated her turning? Had bitten her to save her life?

“He was protecting her, then? Like William Wallace in Braveheart ?”

Brave heart? “I know naught of this William Wallace, but of course he would protect her. She is his…wife.”

Gaharet would do anything for Erin. Had Ulrik not intervened, Gaharet would have risked his life and the pack’s future for her.

“I don’t blame them for fleeing,” she said. “That first night rule thing is…ugh! I mean, what woman would want to have sex with some random lord on her wedding night? What man would stand for it? Would just let his wife be taken away?”

Ulrik peered at her through the darkness. What nonsense did she speak of? What first night rule?

“This lord of yours, he’s a good man then?” she asked.

He brushed her ramblings aside. “Yes, he is a good man.”

Another truth. One he had not been able to see for so long, his vision clouded by grief, anger and shame. He touched a hand to the scars on his neck. The welts from the silver shackles were gone, leaving nothing to show they had ever been there. These scars, years old now, would always remain. The wound inflicted too deep to heal fully, they were a constant reminder of that day. Of what he had done.

“And you’re loyal to your lord?”

“Yes.” Though Gaharet had doubted him. As had the others, he suspected.

“Does that make you a good man, too?”

Ulrik’s step faltered. Was he a good man? He was trying to be. To make amends.

He shook his head. Enough of her questions. He turned, ran his gaze over her from head to toe. Ulrik liked seeing her draped in his surcoat, though it covered all her curves. He would like her better naked.

He smiled down at her, letting his desire for her show. “Oh, I am good, Rebekah. You will not regret ‘ hitching your wagon ’ to me. That I promise you.”

Bek’s breath stuttered, and she stared up at him. Bearded, rugged and strong. God, the man was her own personal wet dream. And he’d made his intentions clear. Thrown down the gauntlet. She gritted her teeth and forcibly ignored the fluttering in her stomach and the dampening of her knickers.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Even if chevalier did sound sexier than knight. Biker had a nice ring to it, too. Better than outlaw gang member. Look where that’d gotten her. A stint in jail, that’s what. A victim of her own naivety. Unlike his lord, who’d defied this Comte Lothair for his wife, her man had used her, betrayed her, and thrown her to the wolves.

Ulrik might sound like a loyal, chivalrous knight. As Vice President of the Demons, Spider had shown a devotion almost religious to his crew. But self-preservation, and his crew, had proved more important to him than any connection he’d had with her. He’d walked away from her without a second thought. Left her to wallow in jail while he’d moved on with someone new. Bek had sworn never to be in that position again. That she’d get her shit together. Live a better life.

Ulrik tugged on her arm, and they started walking again. Getting her life back on track meant making good, responsible decisions. Sir Ulrik Voclain didn’t feel like a good decision. More like a feel-good decision. She’d made enough of those to last a lifetime. And she would never trust, nor give herself, to a man like him again.