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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ulrik trudged through the forest, Rebekah a few strides behind him. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of trees, a hint of the soon-to-come night on the air. Constance had bound Rebekah’s feet with strips of fabric and given her salve for her blisters and, with each day, her pace increased. Four days they had walked, and they were almost there. Four days and not a scent, nor sound of pursuit. That he would head for the d’Louncrais estate, that Gaharet had chosen to hide there, would never have occurred to them.

Each afternoon Ulrik would call a halt, and he would slip into the forest to scout ahead, to ensure they were not being tracked and to hunt. He would light a small fire and a meal before night descended, then they would curl up together on his surcoat. By dawn, they would once again be on the move. His days were filled with her chatter, her attempts at Franceis as he set about teaching her his language, her observations about his world and, surprisingly, his laughter. His nights, as she snuggled in his arms for warmth, were filled with longing and a persistent throbbing in his groin.

Ulrik’s hand strayed to the small, wrapped bundle secured in his scabbard. A tiny rod of silver with a ball on each end enfolded in a strip of his tunic. Giving his thanks to Constance, he had spied it on the table beside Rebekah’s mug. The silver had burned his fingers as he had picked it up. Was this the tongue ring she had spoken of? He believed so. Knowing she had removed it, and what it meant that she had, did little to ease the constant tightness in his breeches.

Yet, she had not asked, and he would not break his vow to her. In truth, it was for the best. For if he had the chance to bury himself in her, he would not want to stop. Not for anything. With the keep guard and his own pack searching for him, they did not have that luxury. Not yet.

He paused. A splash of water tumbling over rocks told him they were close.

Rebekah turned to him, concern in her eyes. “Why have you stopped?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Well, you’re doing that stillness thing again. You know, where you just kind of freeze as though you hear something, and you’re waiting to hear it again. Whenever you do that, I keep expecting a wolf or wild boar or something to come crashing through the trees. Or some of those keep guard.”

Ulrik regarded her, his body tense.

“And you tilt your head, too, and sniff the air. Is that something they teach you in chevalier school or is it a tenth-century woodsman skill thing?” She scrunched up her nose. “Does it help at all? Because I tried it, and I still couldn’t hear or smell anything different.”

Lord, the woman was sharp. In mere days, she had noticed things other chevaliers had missed, or simply ignored, though he had spent most of his life amongst them. Given time, would she unravel the secret of his true nature?

“We are close.”

“We are?” She scanned the forest. “There’s nothing here. Just more forest. No village or castle. Obviously, your lord can’t go back to his own castle, but don’t people, wealthy people, seek refuge with friends? Other rich and titled folks?” She looked around her. “I can’t imagine a lord and his wife, all decked out in their fancy clothes, sleeping on the forest floor.”

A scent carried on the air, and Ulrik’s nostrils flared.

He pressed a finger to his lips, motioning her to be quiet. She froze, poised to run. Ulrik tilted his nose to the air. Rebekah raised her eyebrows and pointed her finger at him. Yes, he was proving her observations right, but there was no help for it. He breathed in deeply, searching for the scent again. There. Aimon. And a she-wolf? Not Erin. Had Aimon turned a woman in his absence? Taken a mate. For there were no she-wolves left. Renaud had killed them all.

With Aimon and the she-wolf standing between them and their objective, there was no way for Ulrik to get past Aimon save going some distance out of their way. Even so, a slight shift in the breeze and Aimon would know of their presence. Constance had told him Aimon could be trusted, but could he trust the witch? She had not betrayed Gaharet, and had given them shelter from the storm and his enemies. He pushed forward, with Rebekah close behind him.

He trudged through the trees, down an embankment, and followed the trickling creek as it wound through the forest until they reached a sheltered, clear pool bordered by moss-covered rocks. Muted sunlight filtered through the canopy, giving the water an orange glow. At one end, water spilled from a rocky outcrop, creating a small waterfall that splashed into the pool.

“It’s beau—”

Rebekah gripped his arm. She had spotted them. Two wolves. Across the pond. One white, and one a dark coppery red. Aimon and the unknown she-wolf.

“Ulrik.”

Her voice wavered and she edged closer to him. He tucked her behind him. No matter Constance’s assurances, Ulrik was taking no chances.

“Is that an…Arctic wolf?” Her words were a whisper of breath as she peered around him. “And the red one… I didn’t know wolves came in that shade of red.”

He dared not take his gaze off Aimon to look at her.

“Wow. They’re so beautiful, so… I never thought I’d say this, but… You’re not going to kill them, are you?”

Aimon settled into a crouch, curled his lips in a snarl and laid his ears flat against his head, his hackles bristling, guarding the she-wolf. His mate. Their scent did not lie. Aimon had mated, and he would protect the she-wolf. He would die for her if need be.

Ulrik held up his hands, keeping them away from his sword, but he called his wolf close. He stayed still, meeting Aimon’s blue-eyed stare. Not in challenge, but he would not cower. He would protect Rebekah as Aimon did the red she-wolf.

The air bristled with the threat of violence as neither he nor Aimon moved. Then the white wolf dropped his snarl and shook his big head, raised his muzzle to the sky and howled. Then, keeping his body between them and his mate, he nudged her away from the pond. With one last look over his shoulder, Aimon herded the she-wolf away, and they disappeared into the trees.

Ulrik let the tension drain from his body. Gaharet now knew of his arrival.

“Phew.” Rebekah stepped out from behind him. “That was a little freaky. For a moment there, I thought he might attack us.”

Ulrik brushed a strand of green-streaked hair from Rebekah’s face and smiled. “He would not have attacked us. Not unless I gave him cause.”

“But…”

“He was protecting his mate, Rebekah. That is all.” Ulrik turned to head around the pond. Come.”

“Okay.” She did not move. “But why are we now following them?”

“Because this is the way we need to go.” He held out his hand to her. “Come, Rebekah. All will be well. My lord is not far.”

She huffed and slipped her hand in his. “I’ve trusted you this far.”

His heart warmed at her words. With her small hand in his, he led her along the old trail, overgrown from lack of use. They had often come here as boys—him, Gaharet and D’Artagnon. The old farmer who once lived here had been deaf, and the pond was the perfect secluded spot to bring young she-wolves.

The trees parted and he emerged into a clearing, skirting two grazing horses. Nestled in the center, the cottage wore its years of abandonment well. With the inhabitants long gone, most had forgotten this part of the d’Louncrais estate, making it the ideal place to hide from Lothair and his keep guard.

In front of the cottage stood Gaharet, Erin, Aimon and a woman with vibrant red hair. Memory teased at him, of a little girl with the same red hair as Gaharet’s mother, skipping through the keep. Kathryn. Gaharet’s cousin. Aimon had mated Kathryn Beauchene.

Erin’s scent tickled his nose, drawing his attention. It had changed since he last saw her. Now the subtle musky scent of she-wolf surrounded her and…something else. It carried a fullness, as though… He met Gaharet’s gaze and saw the truth of it there. Erin was pregnant.

“Ulrik. Good to see you alive and free.” Gaharet’s gaze slid to Rebekah. “And who is this woman you have brought with you?”

“Rebekah, this is my lord, Sir Gaharet d’Louncrais, and his wife, Lady Erin.” He spoke in the language of Bretaigne so Rebekah could easily understand. She did a wobbly little curtsy. “This is Sir Aimon and, if I am not mistaken, Lady Kathryn Beauchene.”

Rebekah curtsied again, narrowing her eyes at Aimon and Kathryn, destroying any hope he had she would miss the similarities between them and the two wolves at the pond.

“Rebekah helped me escape Lothair. I could not leave her there. Not when she found herself in similar circumstances to Erin.”

Gaharet quirked an eyebrow, and Erin’s mouth dropped open.

“Indeed,” said Gaharet. “An interesting state of affairs. Another woman from the future.” He cast a glance at his mate. “Welcome, Rebekah. You have our gratitude for assisting Ulrik. Know that you are safe here with us.”

Gaharet stepped forward, reaching for Rebekah’s hand. Ulrik’s wolf roared to the surface and he lunged between them, blocking her body with his. His canines filled his mouth and he pared back his lips to snarl at his alpha.

Lord help him .

He was challenging his alpha. Again. Yet he could not bring himself to back down, no matter the consequences.

“What the hell, Ulrik?” Rebekah jerked her hand from his. “You made me walk all this way to find this man, and now you have a problem with him?” She skirted around him, smiled at Gaharet and offered her hand. “My Lord—”

Ulrik grasped her around the waist and swiftly deposited her behind him. With a monumental effort, he forced his canines to retract, turned to face her and growled at her. It was all he could manage. Words were beyond him.

Hands on her hips, she glared up at him, not an ounce of fear in her eyes. “What is your problem? You said your lord could help me get home. He’s not going to be so keen to do that if you piss him off by going all alpha male on his… Oh!”

Ulrik tensed. Her eyes widened, the light of understanding sparking in their depths. Her gaze slid past him to Aimon and Kathryn and the racing of her heartbeat pounded loud in his ears.

She raked her gaze over him and took a step back. “Your allergic reaction to my tongue ring. My silver tongue ring. And the silver shackles. Your inhuman strength when…” Her breath hitched. “When you killed that sleazy guard.” Her eyes narrowed in on him. “You tracked me in that pitch-black dungeon and found me so fast in that village. You hear things I can’t, and stand so still like…” Her face paled. “Like a predator stalking its prey.”

Ulrik remained still, his gaze locked on hers. Would she react as Erin had? With curiosity? Or would she fear him now?

She dropped her gaze to his boots. “No, no, no. It can’t be. I’ve read way too many shifter romances.”

She inhaled deeply and lifted her head. Liquid brown eyes searched his.

“That time you went hunting for food, and I heard a wolf howl…” Her gaze darted past him. “And those two wolves by the pond, the red one and the white one…” She licked her lips, her gaze shifting and settling at his throat. “Those scars didn’t come from a knife or a hound, did they? Tell me I’m wrong.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Tell me…”

He reached for her, and she stepped back.

“Are you? Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands. “If I’m wrong, you’re all going to think I’m a loon.” She clasped her hands together against her chin as though praying. “Do you… Are you…” Her gaze darted past him to the others. “Are they…” She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, hell. I’m just going to say it. Are you a werewolf?”

Behind him, Gaharet chuckled. “She’s even bolder than you are, Erin.”

“Yeah, and she figured it out much faster than I did,” said Erin.

Ulrik blocked them out, his focus on Rebekah. He needed to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling. If things had changed between them.

He stepped into her space, crowding her, and took her hands in his so she could not retreat. She stared up at him, her lips parted and her breath held.

“What if I am?”

Rebekah stared into Ulrik’s eyes. Dark shadows swirled in their depths and a strong musky scent enveloped her. He could shift from human to wolf?

Holy fuck!

He’d officially blown her mind. And intrigued her, and if she was completely honest with herself, turned her on.

His nostrils flared. Her cheeks heated. Good lord. If anything she’d read in shifter romances had an ounce of truth, then he’d know everything she was feeling through her scent.

She patted his arm. “Keep it under control, big guy. We’re not alone in the forest anymore. Now’s not the time.”

She’d thought she’d spoken for his ears alone, but as they turned to the others, the smirks on their faces said differently.

Erin pointed to her ear. “Excellent hearing. And perfect eyesight. And a really, really good sense of smell.”

Rebekah wrinkled up her nose. “Got it. Thanks.”

Erin chuckled. “You’re welcome. Is that a British accent I detect?”

“Yes. I’m from London. You?”

“Sydney, but I was working in France when the amulet zapped me into the tenth century.”

“If France is Frankia and London is Lundenburg…” Lord Gaharet crossed his arms over his chest and regarded his wife. “Where is this Sidnee you speak of? And does this have any bearing on why your accent is so different to Rebekah’s?”

Erin looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, about that. At the time, it was easier to let you think I was from Bretaigne rather than explain I was from a country that has yet to be discovered.” She patted his arm. “I promise, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now”—she jerked her chin in Ulrik’s direction—“we have more important things to think about.” Erin slid her arm through Bek’s. “Come on, Rebekah. Let’s go inside and leave these men to talk. We can compare stories about how we both got here.”

“Sure.”

Her gaze slid to Ulrik. They were going to talk. Soon. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, the lack of her tongue ring unfamiliar. Maybe more than talk.

Erin turned to the other woman. “Kathryn?”

Kathryn shook her head, said something in French as Aimon helped her onto a horse, then mounted up. Werewolves, both of them. One white and one red. Would Ulrik’s wolf be a sandy-blond like his hair? And Lord Gaharet a black wolf? Would Ulrik show her, shift into his wolf for her? What about Erin? Was she a wolf, too? No, she couldn’t be. She’d come from the future.

“I hope they stay safe.” Erin waved Kathryn and Aimon off. “It’s a concern with the comte the way he is, and them not being hidden away like us.”

“The comte? Is that the count guy at Langeais Keep? I can’t believe he went all Braveheart on you and wanted to sleep with you on your wedding night. I can’t believe that’s really a thing.”

“What? Is that what Ulrik told you?”

Had he told her that? Bek thought back to their conversation. No. Not really. But he hadn’t refuted her assumption either.

“Because it’s not,” said Erin. “Really a thing, that is. Take it from me—as an archeologist— Braveheart would have to be one of the more historically inaccurate movies of all time. Scottish kilts weren’t in vogue at the time William Wallace walked the earth. And jus primae noctis , the right of the first night that you’re talking about, was a trope used to make England’s kings look more evil and dastardly.”

“Oh.” Erin must think her dumb, believing everything in a movie. An archeologist. Shit . Bek hadn’t finished high school. Going to college had never been an option. “Then what is it he wanted?”

Erin looped her arm through hers. “Come on. Let me catch you up on what’s been happening. If you’re going to be in this world, and Ulrik’s world, you really need to know.”

“Oh, I’m not staying, and Ulrik and I aren’t…well, we’re just…” She glanced over her shoulder at Ulrik, deep in conversation with Lord Gaharet. “Okay.” She kept her voice low, hoping Ulrik wouldn’t hear her. “Ulrik wants in my knickers. He’s made that pretty clear. With the chemistry between us, sex with Ulrik promises to be off the charts hot. I figure, I’m stuck here for a bit so…” She shrugged. “I might as well have some fun. But that’s all it’ll be. For both of us. And then I’ll go home.”

The amusement in Erin’s eyes as she led her into the hut was a little disconcerting, but Bek brushed it off. Sex and sex only. She’d already had one Spider. No way was she going to fall for another.