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

Chapter Twenty-One

They sat at the table, steaming bowls of hare pottage in front of them. As he ate, Ulrik mulled over what Constance had told him. Gaharet’s mate, Erin, had survived the turning. With the mortal wound she had sustained, that information came as a relief. As did the fact she yet remained with Gaharet. Good tidings. The last time he had spoken with them, Erin had been determined to leave Gaharet, because leaving her career and her life in the future was too much of a sacrifice. Losing a mate could break a man. Had broken Gaharet’s father.

But the witch knew more. How much more?

“Gaharet was searching for something when I last saw him? Did he speak to you of this?”

As he spoke, he reached out with his senses. He would catch her in a lie if she dared to offer him one.

Constance tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into her pottage. “You do not trust me. That is understandable. Know that Seigneur Gaharet did.”

Ulrik could scent no deceit, but he remained cautious.

“He was searching for the reverse spell for the amulets. His mate had come from the future. She is not the first, nor will she be the last.”

Erin was not the first? He glanced at Rebekah. And there would be more women like her appearing in this century?

As if sensing their regard, Rebekah stopped shoveling food into her mouth. “What?” She wiped at her mouth. “Do I have food on my face?” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Is there hare stuck in my teeth?”

He kept his amusement in check. She was hungry. Lord knew they had eaten sparsely on their journey here. He would not deny the woman enjoyment in her food.

“All is well, Rebekah. Eat your food.” Her eyes narrowed, but she complied, though he did not think for a moment she was not listening to their every word. To Constance, he said, “Did Gaharet find what he was looking for?”

She studied him, and he shifted a little in his seat. Her eyes had a depth to them, a wisdom uncommon for one so young, and the feeling she could see right through him and into his soul unnerved him. He knew what she would find there.

She gave him a smile, full of mystery and knowing. Had he come up wanting in her estimation? Unredeemable? He brushed the thought aside. It is no matter what a lone witch in the woods thinks of me.

“Sometimes,” she said, “not finding that which we seek is what we are truly seeking.”

Ulrik grunted. He could well imagine Gaharet not wishing to find the answers with Constance. But was she talking only of Gaharet? How much had his alpha told her?

“You know of the…”

Constance’s gaze dropped to his chest where, beneath the tunic, lay the binding stone. “The amulets? Yes. It is many years since any of my family has seen one. It was my family, generations ago, who created them and the binding stone.”

Ulrik dropped his chunk of bread into his bowl and stared at her. Her family had created… Did Gaharet know this?

“Hm. That shocks you. It surprised Seigneur Gaharet, too. We have long had a relationship with the d’Louncrais.”

Ulrik had no recollection of any of the d’Louncrais having a connection with this woman. Or her family. Or any witch.

Constance regarded him with sad eyes. “We lost the connection upon the death of Seigneur Jacques. I have reaffirmed it with his son.”

“Then you have the reverse spell? We can send Rebekah home?”

A strange twinge of… something …pinched at his heart. He rubbed his chest. Indigestion, perhaps?

She shook her head. “As I told Seigneur Gaharet, there is no reverse spell. We never thought there was a need for one. Nor can I create one. Not alone.”

The tightness in his chest eased. Strange. “Why not?”

“The amulets and the binding stone required a full coven of witches for their creation. Thirteen witches. For a reversal spell, there would need to be the same. I am the last surviving member of my family and of my coven. You would need to find twelve more witches and trust them with your existence.”

Ulrik rubbed his chin. Twelve more witches. Not an easy feat, when he knew of only her. Then they would need to entrust them with the knowledge of their kind. Gaharet would never sanction such a broad dissemination of their secret.

He glanced at Rebekah. Her dark eyes watched them, flicking between him and Constance. For all her self-deprecation about her lack of education and her inability to speak Franceis, she was smart. How much of their conversation could she understand? He refocused his attention on his food. No need to give her reason to suspect him of sharing something more than polite pleasantries with Constance.

They continued eating as the storm raged outside, Constance watching him with those strange eyes of hers.

Constance broke the silence. “You wear the binding amulet.”

Ulrik stiffened. “For now.” He pushed the remnants of his meal away, the rich, gamey taste of it turning to dust in his mouth. “I am not the alpha.”

“I know.”

There was no harshness or judgment in her words, but a mere statement of fact.

He dropped his head. “I am not worthy of it. Not after what I have done.”

“And yet, in your alpha’s eyes, you have redeemed yourself twofold.”

His head snapped up. I have?

“You saved his mate. And him. You were willing to sacrifice your life for them and for the pack. He will not forget.”

Ulrik swallowed, the enormity of her words crashing over him. He had not thrown himself at the mercy of Lothair and Renaud to regain Gaharet’s good opinion, but knowing he was no longer viewed with suspicion lifted a weight from his shoulders.

“The white wolf also knows of your worth.”

Aimon?

“Beware of the others. Some wish to kill you for what they think you have done. One wishes to kill you for what he knows you have not.”

The traitor . Who was it? Could it be the other wolf he had scented in the forest? No. He had been alone. It had been the perfect opportunity to ambush him, yet the wolf had not taken it. He was not the traitor.

And what of Rebekah? Warm, dry and her hunger satiated, her eyelids drooped and her body sagged against the table. How would she react to the news she must remain here? Indefinitely. Erin had not reacted well at all. Best to leave the telling for when Rebekah would have the comfort of another who would understand her predicament.

Their meal finished, Constance cleared the table and stoked up the fire. “Rest now, Seigneur Ulrik. You have an arduous few days ahead of you. You will need to fortify your heart and mind to make the sacrifices required before you reach your journey’s end.”

She bid them goodnight and disappeared behind a heavy sack cloth to a bedding nook, leaving them alone. Ulrik stared after her. The woman spoke in riddles. Why did he get the feeling she spoke of more than their proposed walk ahead of them?

“What did she say?” Rebekah asked. “Anything that can help us?”

Ulrik shrugged. “Only to take care in the forest. She has seen many a keep guard of late.” Rebekah narrowed her eyes at him. Had she caught him in his lie? “Come. Let us retire for the night.”

He eyed the cot. It was narrow, but they both would fit if they pressed their bodies together. Not an unpleasant situation. It could only aid in furtherance of his goal to have her.

She objected when he picked her up, but when he placed her on the cot and wrapped her in a blanket, her protests died on her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, and she muttered a weary sigh, pulling the blanket tight around her shoulders. Instead of joining her, he gathered up his damp surcoat, laid it on the floor and lowered himself onto it. It would not be the most uncomfortable night he had spent in his life.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, yawning.

He met her sleepy, puzzled stare. “Go to sleep, Rebekah. We have a long walk ahead of us.”

“But…you’ll be cold on the floor.”

He smiled away her concern. “I will be fine.”

She pouted. “But I’ll be cold.”

She pushed herself to the far side of the cot and raised the blanket. Was she inviting him in?

“Hurry up,” she grumbled. “Before I change my mind.”

Ulrik was on his feet in an instant, sliding beneath the blanket.

She snuggled into his side. “That’s better.”

Ulrik breathed in her scent and reveled in her soft body tucked in tight against him. Yes. Yes, it was. He stared up at the thatched ceiling, listening to the wind in the trees and the crackle of the fire, his beast within strangely content. When was the last time he had lain in bed with a woman? Just lay there, cuddling and sleeping. Not sex. He tried to recall. There must have been a time. His life had changed when his family had died, when Lothair had punished them for his crimes, but surely before then. Yet no such memory came to mind.

Rebekah’s head nuzzled against his shoulder, the green streaks in her dark hair bringing a smile to his lips. His family would have liked her. His sisters especially. They would have delighted in the way she challenged him. How he could not intimidate her. How she fought his every command. They would have seen her as an ally. Another woman to rally to their aid, and to form a united front against him.

They had already had his mother on their side, leaving him and his father outnumbered. Debates in their home had been enthusiastic. His sisters were never ones to shy away from voicing their opinion or disputing his. They would have welcomed Rebekah, another strong female voice, with open arms.

His mood slipped as the familiar ache resurfaced. They would never have the chance to meet her, thanks to him. Yet, right now, the guilt and the shame, though present, did not clench in his entrails, or sour his gut as it was wont to do. The urge to grab for a wineskin and drown out his own bitter recriminations was a mere whisper in his mind. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps his actions in helping to save Erin, and now Rebekah, were going some way to ease his conscience.

He closed his eyes, listening to Rebekah’s soft breathing, the steady beat of her heart and the light fall of rain as the storm eased. They were safe for the night. He should sleep. They had several days’ walk ahead of them, and though it would not tax him as much as it would Rebekah, his body was showing signs of fatigue. Too long in Lothair’s wretched underground chamber, weakened by wolfsbane, silver and meager rations, and nights of sleeping light, conscious of pursuit from both Lothair and Lance, had left him with little reserves. But his mind refused to rest.

Soon, he would reunite with his alpha. Despite Constance’s assurances, after all that had come between them, he could not be assured of a welcome from Gaharet. Would Gaharet trust him to be so close to his new mate? After so much time, Ulrik could not imagine a reconciliation possible. Not after what he had done. Where would that leave Rebekah?

Rebekah shifted about on the cot beside him. She, too, was restless and unable to sleep. He loosened his grip on her a little and she settled against him. He was not about to let his little fire breather go. Not yet. Not when he had yet to know the pleasure of being between her silken thighs. His conscience may have eased a little, his need to drown out his sorrows receding, but if the state of his cock was any indication, one thing remained the same.

Her hand snaked across his stomach, perilously close to his hardened shaft. He could not prevent the rumble in his chest. His balls ached, the anticipation of being buried in her wet heat pounding through him. Soon. He would know this woman in the most intimate way possible and hear her scream his name on her release. He would sample her fire, and nothing Gaharet could say or do would stop him.

Bek shifted about on the cot. She was warm and snuggled up to Ulrik, and still sleep eluded her. The man brought the heat, and not the ‘I’m cold, you’ll keep me warm’ type of heat. But as she enjoyed the feel of his hard body next to hers, there was more than sex on her mind.

It was disconcerting being on the outside of a conversation, not understanding what was being said. With the glances they’d thrown her way, chances were Constance and Ulrik had been talking about her. Or something that concerned her.

Then, as she’d teetered on the verge of trusting him, seriously considering having sex with him, he’d lied to her. Told her some guff about Constance warning them about keep guards in the forest. She clacked her tongue ring against her teeth. Did he think she was stupid? That she’d missed the tenseness in his body and the worry in his eyes. Or his shock, hastily masked, at something Constance had said.

She might not be fluent in French, but she’d understood a few words. He’d mumbled something about an alpha. That couldn’t be right. Or it meant something else in French. Then the words loup blanc. White… wolf ? The words, cobbled together, made no sense to her outside of the shifter romance she’d been reading last week. Had she misheard? Mistranslated? Perhaps she had shifter on the brain. Whatever the case, if she was going to be stuck here for an indefinite period, then she was going to have to brush up on her French.