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

Chapter Thirty-Eight

In the room above, Ulrik searched the bodies of the guards until he found what he was looking for. A ring of keys. “Give me your hands.”

Rebekah lifted them and he tried three times before he found one that unlocked the iron bolts. He dropped the shackles to the floor.

Rebekah rubbed her wrists, the skin marked and a little bruised, but not broken. “Am I glad to get those things off.”

He tilted her chin so he could get a better look at her face.

“Yeah, he got me a good one. A back hander.” She rubbed her cheek. “I could’ve done with some ice or a bag of frozen peas.”

Frozen peas? He spotted dried blood and turned her face for a better look, his puzzlement at her need for frozen food forgotten. “What happened to your ear?”

Had Lothair or one of the guards cut her? A canine punched through his gum.

She raised her hand to her bloodied ear. “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. I had the amulet in my pocket when those keep guards found me, and I tried to use it to get back to you. I had to rip one of my piercings out to make myself bleed. Hurt like a bitch. Turned out, it was all for nothing. The guard took the amulet from me. Then somehow that priest got hold of it.”

Renaud had Rebekah’s amulet? Ulrik scrutinized his mate. “You told him how to use it.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, about that. I kind of didn’t have a lot of options. I’m sorry. Are you mad? That I gave away some of your secrets? I figured—”

He cupped her chin and dropped a kiss on her lips. This woman… She surprised him at every turn. He should have known she would have tried something.

“No need for apologies. You did the right thing. You did the smart thing.” He took her hand. “Let us leave here before Lothair decides letting me go free was a mistake. We will get your injuries tended to when we get to…”

Where would he take her? Where would they go?

“D’Louncrais Keep,” said Gaharet, coming up behind them. “After we have met with the others, we will go to my keep.”

Ulrik led Rebekah from the room and they made their way out into the bailey. “Are you not concerned, Gaharet, that Lothair will come for us if we go to your keep?”

They crossed the bailey to where Gascon waited at the gate, holding their horses. Gaharet took his horse’s reins. “Where would we go if not there? Another county? With no wealth, no reputation, no power base, we would have to start from nothing. Lothair knows we will stay. He would not have let you go had he not believed we would. He wants us, needs us, on his side. As long as we kneel before him in a sennight, he will not come for us. My keep is more than big enough for all of us, and Rebekah will have Erin and Kathryn for company.” Lapsing into Franceis, he added, “It will be good for Rebekah to have them close through her turning and training.”

The turning. One of the many things Ulrik had yet to discuss with Rebekah.

Ulrik tossed his horse’s reins over its neck and moved to mount up.

Rebekah groaned. “Not another horse ride.” She rubbed her ass. “I’m still sore from the last one. Saddles just aren’t meant for two people.”

Ulrik cursed himself for his lack of foresight and unbuckled the saddle from his horse. He dropped it to the ground, leaving the padded saddle blanket across the horse’s back.

“There,” he said, lifting Rebekah onto the horse. “Now both we and the horse will be more comfortable this way.” The last thing he wanted was to remind Rebekah of her journey here.

She hitched her dress and swung her leg over, straddling the horse. “Much better.”

Relieved she still wore her breeches, Ulrik hoisted himself onto his horse behind her. She settled back against him, and he took small comfort from her trust in him. It might not last. Once she had had time to think things through. Once he had told her everything.

Gascon handed him a small bundle and a wineskin. “Anne sent this. Food and water for Rebekah.”

God bless Anne.

Rebekah seized the wineskin, removed the stopper and drank down large gulps of water. Trickles flowed down her chin and dripped on her dress, but she did not stop.

“Easy there.” Ulrik took the wineskin, forcing her to take a breath. True to his nature, Lothair had treated Rebekah no better than he had Ulrik whilst in that dark hole.

“So thirsty,” she muttered, snatching it back.

“I know, baby, but you do not want to make yourself sick.” He opened the bundle and set it in her lap. Bread, cheese and fruit. “Eat. We must meet with the others, then we have a long ride ahead of us.”

“The others?” she mumbled, as she chewed on a chunk of bread. “You mean Aimon and those other three guys that were in the hall? Aubert, Edmond and…Lance?”

He took the wineskin from her, sealed it and looped it over his shoulder. “Yes. They are Gaharet’s men.” He nudged his horse forward, and they set off through the village.

She twirled an apple stem in her fingers. “Wasn’t there supposed to be another guy? Godfrey?”

Ulrik chuffed. She did not miss a thing, his mate. “Yes, Godfrey should have been there. Lothair had summoned him, too.”

“So why didn’t he show?” She took a bite from the apple, staring up at him expectantly.

Good question. “I do not know. Perhaps the others do.”

Ulrik secured an arm around her waist, and she clutched at the food bundle as he urged his horse into a trot. Where was Godfrey? Both Godfrey and Lance had tracked them in the forest until the storm had helped them slip away. Had Lance been the only one to return?

* * * *

Aimon, Edmond, Aubert and Lance were waiting for them at the crossroads beyond Langeais village. Their smiles and the scent of their relief greeted him as they rode up to meet them.

Edmond nudged his horse forward. “Welcome back, Gaharet. It is good to see you alive.”

A chorus of agreement rumbled through the men.

“Ulrik…” The big man looked uncomfortable, pained even. “We have done you a disservice. We doubted you. I doubted you. Hell, I wanted to kill you for what I thought you had done.” He lifted his bearded chin. “I was wrong.”

“As was I,” rumbled Aubert.

Ulrik took them all in. Aimon’s relieved smile, Edmond’s and Aubert’s honest and repentant expressions. Lance’s uncomfortable silence.

“We meant for you to think I had killed Gaharet, but I am glad we have this settled.” He gave them a cocky grin. “I would not have wanted to embarrass you both by beating in you in a sword fight.”

Aubert scowled.

Edmond raised an eyebrow, then threw back his head and laughed. “Any time you want to test that theory, you let us know. We will fight you one at a time. I might even give you an advantage and wear a blindfold. That is the only way you would beat either of us.”

Ulrik made a show of considering Edmond’s offer. “Maybe not today.”

Their laughter was strained, but the tension eased somewhat.

“You should all know, I have returned the binding amulet to its rightful owner.” He pursed his lips. That it needed to be said was not in question, and he had long known it to be true, but that did not make his admission any easier. “Gaharet is, and always was, the alpha. It is not a role I want. Nor am I meant to have.” He looked away and rested his chin on top of Rebekah’s head. “I was wrong to challenge Gaharet all those years ago. My only excuse…” The weight of the pack’s expectant stares had him floundering.

Edmond shifted his horse closer and clasped his shoulder. “We know, Ulrik. We forgave you a long time ago.”

They had? When? He searched for any hint that Edmond lied, but all he saw was the truth of it. They had forgiven him? Ulrik’s grip on Rebekah tightened. Perhaps she sensed his torment, for she reached out and placed her hand over his.

“Thank you.” He heaved in a shaky breath, his voice raspier than usual. “All of you.”

Edmond leaned back in his saddle. “The only person who is yet to forgive you, Ulrik, is you. Perhaps now is the time to let go of your regrets. Put aside your old ways.”

Ulrik let Edmond’s words sink in. What was the big chevalier saying? That it was not his lust for revenge on Lothair, nor his challenge to Gaharet that had threatened his place in the pack? Was he the only one still holding himself to account?

Edmond inclined his head at Rebekah. “You have found your mate, yes?”

He glanced down at the women nestled in his arms. He had found his mate, but… “She has not agreed to be mine, and I have yet to tell her everything.”

Wary looks all round.

“She is from…Bretaigne.” He slid a quick glance at Gaharet. “Like Erin, but she speaks little Franceis.”

How much of their conversation did she understand? She was a canny one, his Rebekah, and she had picked up much when he had begun teaching her. Though she busied herself with the bundle of food in her lap, she watched and she listened.

“Two women from Bretaigne?” Edmond’s eyebrows rose. “Two mates.” He shared a glance with his twin. “Perhaps it is time for us to visit Victor of the Ludenwic wolves and see if we can find some more Bretaigne women.”

Ulrik dared not look at Gaharet, lest he reveal more than he should.

“Has anyone heard from Godfrey?” asked Gaharet, turning the conversation away.

“I have. He came to see me.” Lance shifted uneasily in his saddle. “He had something on his mind and was not at all himself when we last met.”

Was this the day he had seen Godfrey riding through the village on the Vautour estate? “What did he have to say?”

Lance shook his head. “He never had the chance to tell me. One of my farmers informed me of a strange woman in the village wearing your surcoat. He reported seeing her in the company of someone looking remarkably similar to you. We went to investigate and tracked you through the forest. A storm hit and I lost both your scent and Godfrey in that storm.”

Aubert and Edmond shared a glance.

Gaharet leaned forward in this saddle. “You know something?”

Edmond’s expression darkened. “Perhaps.” Another troubled glance between the twins. “We have been spying on Renaud. There is a new eveque in the village. Eveque Faucher.”

Ulrik’s blood chilled. “Faucher? The priest who hunts for witches and demons?”

“The very one. He arrived a sennight ago, and Renaud was none too pleased with his arrival. Yesterday, he had a change of heart. He gave Faucher a name. Whose name?” Edmond shrugged a muscled shoulder. “We do not know, but Renaud told Faucher he had been working with a chevalier who claimed to be a werewolf.”

Lance stiffened. “I have known Godfrey longer than any of you. I find it difficult to believe he was so desperate for power he would murder so many of us.”

“Then who did? You?” Aubert pointed his finger at the older chevalier. “Or Edmond?” He tapped his chest. “Or maybe you think I did. That priest Faucher,” he spat, “is a curse. To us, to everyone. He hunts for those suspected of entertaining the evil arts. He has tortured women accused of witchcraft—their only true crime being herbalists, outcasts, or being the brunt of someone’s jealousy or gossip. Renaud gave Faucher a name. Now Godfrey has not responded to a summons from Lothair.” A mountain of a man, few would not cower from, Aubert stared Lance down. “Or perhaps you are accusing us of lying.”

Ulrik had never heard Aubert utter so many words at once. He usually let his twin speak for him. He had never doubted his intelligence, but Ulrik—all of them, judging by the astonished looks on everyone’s faces—now had a new insight into the silent depths that were Aubert. Though, Ulrik noted, neither his twin, nor Gaharet, looked at all surprised. Gaharet truly was the best man to be alpha.

“Let us not rush to any conclusions. Godfrey’s whereabouts is unknown. Given what Aubert and Edmond have learned, it is suspicious, but let us do due diligence first.” Gaharet turned to Lance. “Go to the Lagarde estate. See if you can find any trace, any word of him. Perhaps his servants may have some information. Aubert and Edmond—find Faucher. Follow him, spy on him, but be discreet. The last thing we need is for him to discover there is more than one werewolf in Langeais.”

“What about Renaud?” asked Edmond.

Ulrik sniggered. “Renaud lost his head over recent events.”

Gaharet rolled his eyes.

Ulrik sighed. “Gaharet let me bite him,” he explained. “We chained him in silver and let him suffer through the turning, but then…” He shared a glance with Gaharet. “He snapped the chains and part shifted despite the silver.”

“What?”

“That cannot be.”

They all stared, blinking at him owlishly.

Lance gasped. “He part shifted? How is that possible? Bound in silver, he should not have been able to shift at all.”

Before tonight, Ulrik would have agreed. “I would not have believed it either, had I not seen it with my own eyes.”

“Could you shift, Ulrik, when you were bound?” queried Lance.

“No. I could not feel my wolf at all.” Other than when he had first learned of his family’s fate, he had never felt more empty. “It is a sight I never wish to see again. He was so strong he snapped his chains. I had no choice but to lop off his head.”

Lance shrugged. “I, for one, will not mourn Renaud’s passing.”

“Nor I,” agreed Edmond. “We have suffered enough at his hand. It is only fitting one of us brought him down.”

Aubert grunted his agreement. It seemed he had used up his quota of words for now.

“Perhaps,” said Gaharet, tugging on his beard, “it is the power of the turning. Aimon broke free of his restraints during his transition. It took both Ulrik and me to bring him down.” Gaharet turned to Lance. “When you go to the Lagarde estate, see if you can find anything in Godfrey’s library. His father kept a good collection of tomes. I will search mine and see if we can find any answers.” He gathered his reins. “We will meet here again in a sennight. Lothair has ordered we re-affirm our vows.”

Aubert grumbled something unintelligible, its meaning muffled and lost in his beard.

Lance grimaced, then shrugged. “It is not unexpected.” He turned his horse toward the Lagarde estate.

“Stay safe, Lance. All of you.” Gaharet placed his hand on his chest. “Remember, I have the binding stone back. If you need to, use the amulet.”

Ulrik sat on his horse, Aimon on one side of him, Gaharet on the other, watching as Lance and the twins rode off. “Why did you not tell them the traitor killed your father, Gaharet? And D’Artagnon?”

Gaharet stared after the men. “For the same reason I did not tell them we never suspected the twins.”

Ulrik’s eyebrows shot up. “You do not believe Godfrey is the traitor? You still suspect Lance?”

Gaharet rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and chewed on his bottom lip. After a long pause, he said, “Given what the twins have learned about Renaud and Faucher, Godfrey’s disappearance implies he is the traitor, but I will not condemn a man so quickly. Lance has proven he will hide the truth when it suits him. He is not above suspicion.” Gaharet gathered his reins. “Come. We have a long ride to the keep, and your mate is weary and in need of care.”

Ulrik nudged his horse forward, and Rebekah leaned into him, nestling her head against his chest. He had saved her from Lothair and survived the experience, but where did they go from here? Would she accept him as her mate? Would she choose to stay in his century as Erin had? And if she did, after all she had seen in that dank chamber beneath Langeais Keep, would he be able to convince her to undertake the turning? To become one of them?

* * * *

Lothair sat in his chambers staring at an elaborate wall hanging. A beautiful piece he had taken from a monastery as the spoils of war. A battle raged across it—armored chevaliers on horseback, bowmen and pikemen—all engaged in fighting their foe. But it was not them that held his attention. He stared at the single figure in the bottom corner, different from all the others, sword raised and roaring out a challenge. He was no ordinary warrior. Seated on his horse, he had the armor and body of a man, but the head of a wolf. A werewolf. Like Gaharet. Like Ulrik. Like all of Gaharet’s men.

He had once thought it a fanciful figure, added at the whimsy of the monk who had created the piece. Now he knew differently. When Renaud had approached him with his strange tale of a beast hidden within a man, Lothair had immediately thought of this figure—this half-man, half-wolf. As Renaud had talked, outlining their abilities and their strengths, Lothair’s desire to have it for himself had simmered within his breast.

He wiped his hand across his brow. Now, having witnessed a turning, did he still want it? Was it worth the agony? Should he take the risk? With the knives of his enemies always sharp, and poisons readily available, how long would he survive if he did not?

* * * *

The scared wolf lay low on his belly in the forest, staring at the postern gate of the human building they called Langeais Keep. He had lost the scent of his enemy in the storm and he had yet to find it again. He had retraced his steps, scouted the estate he had tracked him to, but could not find fresh scent. Perhaps he had come here.

He blinked his one good eye at the gate, the stench of blood and death strong. The black wolf had come this way recently. With the yellow wolf. The one who had fled to the little cottage in the woods in the company of the strange woman with green in her hair and silver in her ears. The cottage with the pretty woman with the unusual eyes who he could not get out of his mind. He shook his big, furry head. He could not waste time thinking about her. Not when his attacker remained alive and undetected by the pack.

The need to find his quarry, to exact his vengeance, burned as strong as it had since the day he’d struck him down. Where had he gone? If he was inside this Langeais Keep, he was beyond his reach for now. Too many humans here for him. He would wait. His enemy would come for the black wolf, the alpha. Eventually. Like the enemy had come for him.

Movement at the postern gate caught his eye. Not the man he sought, merely the changing of the guard. Perhaps it was time he made his presence known. Joined forces with the black wolf and fought beside him, as he had once done. With one last look at the walled fortress, he turned and slunk into the forest and headed west. To the d’Louncrais estate. To reunite with his brother.