Wolf's Prize, page 21
“Why don’t you two go somewhere over there?” suggested Erin, waving her hand at the other side of the pool. Gaharet’s expression darkened. “Just far enough away so you can’t hear us talk. Kathryn and I have things to discuss. You two should put your heads together and come up with a way to get Ulrik out of Langeais Keep. We owe him.”
Gaharet growled. Erin gave Gaharet a long-suffering look, and Gaharet sighed. “Very well, but do not leave this clearing. I want to be able to see both of you at all times.”
Kathryn hid a smile behind her hand. Erin chafed at the restrictions as much as she did.
“I guess I don’t have to worry about introducing you to Aimon?” said Erin, finding a comfortable spot in the sun as the men moved away. “I can see why you were interested in him. He’s gorgeous. And about the right age for you, too.”
Kathryn sat beside Erin, slipped her boots off, and dangled her feet in the cool water. She eyed the men sitting across the pond from them, deep in conversation. Every few moments, both Gaharet and Aimon lifted their gaze to her and Erin, but they did not appear to be listening.
“I brushed up against him when Comte Lothair summoned my father and I to Langeais Keep. I think he scented me then. Had he not, perhaps one of Gaharet’s other vassals may have come to the d’Louncrais Keep in time.”
“Because of Lothair’s bequeathing of the d’Louncrais estate? It’s a wonder one of them hasn’t already.” Erin smiled at her. “I’m so glad it worked out the way it did.” She shrugged. “If it hadn’t, I would’ve found a way to get you two together somehow. I would’ve nagged Gaharet until I got my way.”
Kathryn bit back a laugh, the thought of anyone having influence over Gaharet, amusing. Yet, Erin did. And she did not appear to find Gaharet at all intimidating. Were all women from her time like this, or was it only Erin? Kathryn liked it, liked her. She had from the moment she had met her, sensing a kindred spirit. Someone who did not, would not, quite conform to the standards expected of well-bred ladies. Someone like her.
“What is it like? Where you are from? Do you miss it?”
Erin frowned, her gaze straying to Gaharet. “Some things I miss. Coffee. I really miss coffee. And chocolate. In time, I think the biggest thing I will miss is the freedoms women have there that they don’t have here. Being able to make my own decisions, have a career, a job, other than running an estate, embroidering stupid roses and making babies.”
Kathryn snorted. “I do not enjoy embroidery either.”
“And the clothes. What I wouldn’t kill for a pair of jeans.”
“Jeans?”
“Breeches. Where I come from, women can wear breeches if they want to.”
Kathryn’s eyes widened.
Erin laughed. “Does that shock you?”
“Yes. But I, too, would kill to wear a pair of these jeans. My father made many allowances for me. Wearing men’s breeches was not one of them.”
“Gaharet has promised he’ll have several pairs made for me, and I can wear them as often as I want. Just not in public.”
“Truly?” She glanced at Aimon. Would Aimon grant her such concessions? She lifted a lip in a scowl. Why did she need to ask him? He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and she tilted her chin up and stared him down. His brow furrowed.
Kathryn turned to Erin. “Can you arrange for several pairs of men’s breeches for me?”
Erin grinned. “Of course. I see no reason you can’t wear them, too.” She looked over at Aimon. “He might actually enjoy seeing you in them, but he probably wouldn’t like anyone else to. His wolf would likely react badly if another man, or wolf, looked too closely. Or, God forbid, tried to touch you.”
“Like earlier? When Gaharet reached for me?”
“Exactly.”
Kathryn cast her gaze at the men. They seemed absorbed in their conversation. She turned back to Erin. “Why did he do that?”
“It’s a wolf thing. Apparently. Gaharet did the same thing when I met Ulrik. It’s their way of saying hands off she’s mine or, as Ulrik explained it to me, I’m claiming her as mine and I will fight you to the death for her. A touch melodramatic, but nothing like a guy willing to fight for her to make a girl feel special.”
“Aimon did that for me? He was claiming me?” Her voice rose.
“Kathryn, are you well?” Aimon’s voice floated across the pond. He was on his feet, his hands clenched into fists, as he scanned the forest beyond them as though looking for a threat.
“Relax, Aimon. It’s fine.” Erin rolled her eyes at him. She turned to Kathryn, as a reluctant Aimon resumed his original position beside Gaharet on the mossy bank. “See what I mean?”
“But he has said nothing of this, or of a union between us,” she hissed. “Though we have…” She blushed.
Erin broke into a grin. “Good for you Kathryn. It took me too long to take that step, though I wanted to, and Gaharet made it quite clear he wanted to, as well.”
Kathryn looked down at her feet, splashing in the pool. “I kind of forced the issue. I disrobed in front of him and asked him to make love to me.”
Erin burst out laughing. Gaharet and Aimon looked up at them. Kathryn flicked her hair over her face to conceal her embarrassment.
“Let me guess. Anne. She had to have a hand in that.”
“Yes. She did. How did you know?”
“Oh, Anne. Ever the meddler.” Erin patted her hand. “Don’t worry. She pushed me, too.”
“But…perhaps it is only a moment of pleasure for Aimon. He would not be the first man, or werewolf, to want only that. How do I know if he wants more? How did you know with Gaharet?”
Erin shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t. Not at first. I thought he just wanted sex, and once he got it, things would be over between us. When he told Lothair of our betrothal, I thought he’d only done it to protect me. And I was still determined to get home.”
“Even when I met you at Langeais Keep?”
Erin nodded. “Even then.”
“What changed?”
Erin shrugged. “Well, I became a werewolf for one, and Gaharet risked his life, his pack, everything, to save me. They’re different to normal men, Kathryn, apart from the obvious. That’s one thing I’ve learned. I wish Gaharet had told me right from the start. It would have saved me a lot of sleepless nights.”
Bewildered, Kathryn stared at Erin. “I do not understand. Told you what?”
Erin dipped her feet into the water and swished them about. “Let me try to explain. Aimon can thank me later. It’s like this. Werewolves don’t come by their mates easily because what they look for in a mate, the way they view marriage, is different from your regular tenth century chevalier. Money or titles, reputation or even beauty aren’t what they’re looking for. It’s all about finding their mate.”
“Their mate?”
“Their one true love. A unique bond. You can’t force it or manipulate it. It just is. It’s special. Gaharet is my mate, and he knew almost from the first moment we met. He chose me.”
Kathryn glanced across at Aimon. He met her gaze and smiled. “How do I know if I am Aimon’s mate, or if he is mine?”
“Well, for starters, Gaharet seems to think so.”
“Really?”
“And I think he’s right. He claimed you. To Gaharet. His alpha.”
Kathryn shook her head. “But he has not said…” Her voice trailed off.
Erin nudged her with her shoulder. “Do you love him?”
Kathryn stared at her hands and picked at her fingernails. “Maybe. I think so.”
“Do you think you can trust him?”
Kathryn peeked at Aimon through the strands of her hair. He had held her through that traumatic transition in the library, her first in over a decade. Slept outside her door that first night in case she needed him. Coaxed her through her training, steadfast and sure. And he had tried his hardest to protect her modesty. Everything he had done had been to protect her. Yes, she trusted him. “With my life.”
“Then maybe you should also trust him with your heart.”
Chapter Thirty-One
After a few hours spent by the pool, and a simple meal at the cottage, Aimon untethered the horses for their return journey to the keep. His gaze, as it had all day, strayed to Kathryn. Could Gaharet be right? Is she truly my mate? There was a rightness to it, a soul deep knowing and a smugness in his wolf’s silence. A wondrous thing he had given no thought to until now. But…did she feel it too? Would she want to bond with him? Or was he merely the first wolf to have found her? How would she react when she met the other stronger, more experienced wolves of the pack?
Unease tugged at his chest. “In three days, I must meet with the others.”
Gaharet nodded.
“They are going to know about Kathryn the moment they catch my scent.”
He did not want to risk exposing her. Not when they were no closer to finding the traitor amongst them. Not knowing if she felt as he did about her.
“Let them meet, discuss what they have found while you remain hidden downwind. Your absence will unnerve them. They may assume Renaud has got to you, too.”
Aimon pursed his lips. “Picking off the weakest of us again.”
Gaharet frowned. “Whatever makes you think that?”
“I am turned, not born. I have not lived my whole life as a wolf as you and the others have.”
Gaharet’s dark gaze bored into him. “Aimon, your abilities are as sharp as any of us. Your wolf is strong, your senses keen, and I have taught you everything I know. Do not doubt yourself. You have survived while others have fallen. You are no less in my eyes because you were not born a wolf.”
Heat suffused his neck. Gaharet believed him equal to the rest of the pack? Wolves Gaharet had grown up with, had known since childhood?
“And the others?”
“If they believe you lacking, then they are wrong and have underestimated you. Use it to your advantage.” A heavy weight lifted from his chest. “But you must bear witness to that meeting. One of the others may have learned something useful. We have yet to find a way to rid ourselves of our affliction to wolfsbane and silver.”
“Constance could not help us?”
Gaharet sighed, a heavy sigh with the weight of responsibility behind it. “According to her, the only cure is to not be a werewolf.”
“All our plans to free Ulrik will come to naught without some way to circumvent them.”
“Agreed. And we can expect Renaud to continue to make full use of our weaknesses.”
Aimon grunted. “I am beginning to wish we had taken Ulrik’s suggestion and killed Renaud when we had the chance.”
Gaharet grimaced. “It may yet come to that.”
“If the alliance between Lothair and Renaud deteriorates further, Lothair may yet save us the trouble.”
Gaharet grinned. “We can only hope.”
They turned as Kathryn approached, and Aimon assisted her into her saddle. He mounted his own horse and gathered his reins.
Gaharet moved to Kathryn’s side. “You are one of us now, Kathryn. No longer are you alone with this. If you have questions about your training, about anything, do not hesitate to ask Aimon. For his part, Aimon will arrange so you can spend time with Erin, as much as we can manage without endangering either of you.”
Gaharet tugged on his beard. “There is something else to consider. Aimon and I have a deeper connection than the others because I turned him—my saliva mixed with his blood.”
“We do?”
“A part of me is in you, Aimon. And a part of Kathryn’s attacker will be in her. You both have a connection to your maker.”
Aimon growled. A connection with the person who attacked her? Had killed her aunt and betrayed them all? Betrayed them still?
“It will be much more subtle for you, Kathryn, because you have remained dormant and unknown to the pack for so long, but it will be there. When you meet the others, which will happen in time, if you feel anything—a sense of recognition, a familiarity, a connection with any of them—you need to tell us, tell Aimon.”
Kathryn nodded. Aimon nudged his horse closer. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on her arm. Her eyes sought his. His resolve firmed. He would keep her as far away from the others as he could, for as long as he could.
“Can he sense me? Track me through this connection?”
Aimon raised his eyebrows at Gaharet. Could he? Could Gaharet track him?
Gaharet shook his head. “No. I cannot track Aimon any more easily than I track the others.”
Some of the tension eased from Aimon’s shoulders.
“You are safe with Aimon,” said Gaharet. “He will take good care of you. Trust him. And as frustrating as it is, listen to him when he tells you something is not safe. Now we have found you, we do not want to lose you.”
Aimon nodded at Gaharet and turned his horse toward the trail.
“Keep her safe, Aimon.”
Aimon urged his horse from the clearing and into the forest, Kathryn following close behind. Would her connection to her maker draw her to the traitor? Despite Gaharet’s assurances, Aimon was not so certain of his standing in the pack. And if Kathryn had a connection to one of the other wolves, would she choose him or Aimon?
His hackles rose, and he growled, his wolf snarling in his mind. His horse pranced about, unsettled.
“Aimon? Is everything all right?”
He forced his wolf down and regained control of his horse. “All is well, Kathryn.” He would not worry her with his concerns.
When they broke from the forest, he urged his horse into a canter, knowing she would be sure to follow his lead. Kathryn pulled abreast of him, an eager smile lighting up her face and her eyes full of challenge. Loosening his reins, he gave his horse his head. Laughing, she did the same, and they raced across the meadow. He let her pass him. Her face flushed and her glorious dark copper hair streaming behind her, she was magnificent in her abandon. His heart beat in time with his mount’s pounding hooves. He would not be the only one enamored with her.
Out here, away from the concerns of the world and the pack, he could well imagine Kathryn choosing him, being his. But they could not stay this way forever. With reluctance, he steered his horse along the forest trail and guided her back to the keep.
Crossing the bailey, they dismounted and handed their reins to a waiting Henri.
“Thank you for today, Aimon. For the ride and for taking me to see—”
He touched his finger to her lips, cutting off her words. Her pupils dilated, and she leaned into him, the scent of her arousal swirling around them. At her response, his mood lightened. If her reaction was anything to go by, she felt the pull as strongly as he did. Maybe that would be enough.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, and he meant it. Making her happy, seeing her smile at him, drove him to give her whatever she asked for. Right now, with her head tilted back and her lips moist and parted, she was asking to be kissed. He leaned down.
“Hmm, hmm.”
His nostrils flared, and his wolf snarled, but he pulled away. Anne raised her eyebrows, daring him to challenge her. Aimon scowled and stepped away from Kathryn.
“Come, come, child. I have a lovely hot bath prepared for you to ease the soreness after your ride today.”
As she entered the keep, Kathryn looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. Aimon raked his gaze over her, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Kathryn’s scent deepened, and her eyes glazed over. His wolf howled, triumphant. She would welcome him into her bedchamber again. Anne had won for now, but Aimon would have Kathryn tonight. Again and again and again. Satisfied with that knowledge, Aimon entered the keep.
* * * *
The evening meal was interminable. With Kathryn sitting opposite him, sneaking heated glances his way from beneath her lashes, Aimon struggled to pay attention to the surrounding conversation. How could he sit still and eat when what he hungered for sat across the table from him? Her eyes danced with mirth at a comment from the grizzled farmer, Brenton. Her brow furrowed at a grumble from grumpy, old Tumas. When Brenton touched her hand in conversation, it took every ounce of control he had not to launch himself across the table at the old man.
He wanted to sequester her in her bedchamber, kiss every freckle on her nose, nibble at the base of her throat and taste every inch of her, especially the sweet essence between her thighs. Its scent teased his nostrils. He could barely contain himself from dragging her from the hall—to hell with decorum. Will this damn meal never end?
As the food dwindled and wine jugs emptied, servants bid their farewells, and the kitchen staff cleared the table. Kathryn begged tiredness, throwing a heated glance in his direction as she left the hall. He waited several tense moments, then rose with plans to follow her.
Farren refilled his goblet, and Aimon’s, with wine. “Stay a moment, Aimon.”
Aimon sank back into his seat. His gaze darted to the doorway of the hall, where Kathryn had disappeared. Did Farren intuit what was happening between him and his daughter? What had happened already? Had Farren been quieter, more somber during the meal? Aimon cursed his inattention. He opened his senses and reached out to Farren. He picked up a confusing mix of anger, bitterness and vulnerability from him.
Farren tapped his fingers on the table and twirled his goblet. Aimon waited.
“I am sure Kathryn has plied you with many a question about…about werewolves, but I have a few things I must put to rest myself. If you do not mind.”
Uncertainty settled in his gut, and Aimon resisted the lingering scent of Kathryn that teased at him. “Of course.”
“Perhaps I should have asked you before now, maybe directed my concerns to Jacques while he still lived…” Farren’s voice trailed off, and he stared at his wine goblet.
Aimon schooled his breathing and focused on keeping his body, and his mind, on the conversation. Farren took a long sip of wine, then set the goblet down with deliberate slowness. Aimon resisted the urge to shift in his seat.
