Chapter Ten
Edmond was on his feet and reaching for his gambeson.
“Do you think he tracked us from the keep?” If Faucher had, then his trackers were good.
As werewolves, he and his brother had the benefit of both human and wolf instincts.
To be tracked by a mere human… Or…? He tugged his mail over his head and slipped his surcoat on. “Could they be coming for Constance?”
Remi shook his head. “I snuck close enough to hear them talking. They are looking for you.” He pointed at Isobella. “And her.”
Aubert growled. Edmond was not happy about this turn of events either.
Nor was he happy Remi had risked his life by getting close to the eveque and his chevaliers.
Faucher had once threatened to cut off the boy’s ears.
Were he to catch him spying again, Faucher would take more than a few extremities.
He buckled on his greaves. “How far away are they? A league? Half a league?”
“Less.”
Merde. “We need food and water, and we need our horses. Remi, take the wineskins to the creek and fill them.”
Aubert wrapped a greave around his shin. “The d’Louncrais keep?”
“Not with all the mates there. It is too risky.” Edmond set a vambrace on his forearm, cursing his fumbling fingers.
Never was it more important to be armored, what with their mate to protect.
“Let us head into the forest, away from the d’Louncrais keep for now.
We can reassess once we have the lay of things. ”
Isobella moved to his side and took over lacing up his arm brace.
He met his brother’s gaze over her head.
Sabine had never offered to help either of them with their armor.
She gestured for him to give her his other arm, and he did, nodding his thanks.
She smiled back at him, and his hopeful heart skipped a beat.
Maybe fate had been kinder to them this time.
She moved to help Aubert, but he brushed her off with a scowl, and she dropped her hands and backed away.
Aubert was not so good with people. He barely spoke to the pack, to Gaharet, but he would have to work on his insistence on using as few words as possible if he wanted to connect with Isobella.
And Edmond wanted him to. Aubert deserved his chance to win Isobella over, no matter what Aubert believed.
Aubert scowled at him. Edmond sighed. If he wanted Isobella to see Aubert in a positive light, give his brother a fair chance at winning her, Edmond would have to take matters into his own hands. Show her the Aubert he knew—the brave, fiercely loyal man whose emotions ran deep—for Aubert would not.
Edmond grabbed a sack from a hook on the wall and stuffed vegetables and salted meat into it then doused the fire. He glanced at Isobella. “Can you ride?”
She shook her head.
“Hm.” An inconvenience, but they would work with it. “You will have to ride with one of us, then.”
Armored up, and with all the supplies the cottage could provide, he propelled Isobella outside. He un-hobbled his horse, bridled him, and flipped a saddle blanket over its back. Aubert did the same, not bothering with the saddle. There was not the time.
Edmond vaulted onto his horse’s back and held out his hand. “Come here, Isobella.”
Wary eyes on the horse, she took a tentative step forward, gasping as he scooped her up and deposited her in front of him, side saddle.
She balanced precariously in his lap, not unlike their journey here.
Though this time she was awake and Edmond was conscious of the press of her shoulder to his chest and her hip nudging his groin.
A pleasant inconvenience. He shifted in the saddle. More than pleasant.
She stiffened against him.
“I will not let you fall.” He wrapped his arms around her and gathered the reins in one hand.
“Wait. I have a better idea.” Isobella wiggled out of his grasp and slid to the ground. “People ride tandem on motorbikes this way all the time, and it’ll leave your hands free to steer the horse.”
He had no idea what a tandem or a motorbike was, but with Faucher soon to arrive he had not the time to ask.
Bunching up her skirts in one hand, she held out her other arm to him. “Now swing me up behind you.”
Edmond did not argue, too fixated on the glimpse of the smooth bronze skin of her calf. He grabbed her arm, swung her up, and she threw her leg over the horse’s back, settling in behind him.
She leaned into him, her knees pressed into the backs of his and her arms wrapped around his torso. “Okay?”
He could scarce breathe. He had ridden with many a young lad this way, but never a woman. A woman who was his mate. He swallowed, tempering the response in his groin with thoughts of the impending arrival of Faucher.
“Hold tight.” It was all he could manage. L’enfer. He was becoming as bad as Aubert.
Edmond wheeled his horse around and nudged it into a trot, and they slipped into the cover of the trees. Beyond the tree line, deep enough to be hidden in shadows no human sight could penetrate, he reined in his horse. Aubert and Remi pulled up beside him.
Isobella squirmed. “Why are we stopping?”
“There is nothing to fear, Isobella.” Edmond’s hand covered hers. “Faucher will never get his hands on you again. We will make sure of it. But…” It bothered him Faucher had found them so fast. Did they know to come looking at Constance’s cottage, or did House Allard have an exceptional tracker?
Aubert’s gaze narrowed on Isobella. No. She had not betrayed them. Not one word out of Isobella’s mouth had been a lie, and if Aubert had used his nose, he would have to know that.
“We need to see what we are up against.” Instinct told him it was important, and Edmond always trusted his instincts.
They waited, hidden in the shadows. They did not have to wait long before two score of armored chevaliers, with the crest of blue with a white lion, rode up to the cottage. It was indeed House Allard. Not that he had cause to doubt Remi, but the implications were too grave to make a mistake.
At the front, his black robes billowing in the breeze and his back ramrod straight, was Eveque Faucher. The eveque dismounted, grimacing at the humble cottage. He strode forward, and without preamble, without so much as a knock on the door, he pushed his way in. Edmond gritted his teeth.
Barely a moment had passed before Faucher stormed out, his baby-faced countenance twisted. His horse flinched as he snatched up the reins. “Destroy it. Burn it.”
Spittle flecked Faucher’s mouth, and his eyes blazed with an unholy rage that chilled Edmond to the bone.
“I want every filthy thing in this wretched hut reduced to ash!”
A chevalier jumped to do Faucher’s bidding, yelling out orders.
Men dismounted and entered the cottage. Edmond closed his eyes as mugs and plates were smashed, the table crashed, its worn timbers cracking as it hit the floor, the clang of a pot reverberating as it hit the wall…
Constance would not have been coming back here.
Not once D’Artagnon claimed her as his mate.
But it was still her home, her possessions.
Faucher jerked his horse away from the cottage toward a small cairn of rocks, a place where the earth had sunk. A grave. A bunch of dead daisies lay scattered across the cairn. Whoever was buried there had meant something to Constance.
Faucher called another chevalier over. “Dig this up and burn the remains.”
A growl rumbled in Aubert’s chest, and he reached for his sword.
Edmond gripped his brother’s arm, staying him.
He did not like it any more than Aubert, but as difficult as it was to stand by and do nothing as Faucher desecrated a grave, they must. But if Gaharet or Lothair ever gave the word, Edmond would cut Faucher down without hesitation.
Renaud had been a scheming, conniving weasel, but Faucher… There was something wrong with him. Something malevolent. A dark hatred so deep even his baby face and ecclesiastical robes could not disguise it.
A plume of smoke rose from the hole in the cottage roof. Within moments, flames licked at the shutters, and once it caught in the straw roof, there was nothing stopping it. Faucher watched it burn, watched the men dig up the grave, a satisfied smile on his face.
Did Gaharet realize how mad this new eveque was? Did Lothair? Perhaps it was time to let them know.
Faucher’s smile vanished and his attention swiveled in their direction, his gaze sweeping over the forest. Edmond stilled. Aubert, too. Perhaps sensing his unease, Isobella’s hands tightened around his body.
Faucher raked his gaze past them again, pausing to look directly at them. There was no possibility of a human spotting them at this distance. Not in the shadows. Not with the sun in their eyes. Could it be Faucher was…a sensitive?
“Merde.”
An explosive whisper from Aubert’s lips.
His brother had come to the same conclusion.
Edmond had to agree with his brother’s sentiments.
A sensitive. It was rare. Something their grand-père had once spoken of.
A human capable of sensing them, beyond any instinctual response to the threat they posed.
A knowing. An ability to feel the shift in the air, the thrum of power, the difference between them and humans.
Witches too, anything that had abilities beyond that of ordinary humans.
People like Constance and Isobella. It would explain why Faucher had had such success in his pursuit of witches, and it made him all the more dangerous.
It did not explain why he would use his talent in such a way. Why he would target those who were like himself. It was something to consider, for it might prove therein lay his weakness.
“Capitaine”—Faucher gave the trees another sweep of his gaze before mounting up—“we will find their trail again.” He pointed in their direction. “Start looking there.”
Several chevaliers turned their horses toward them. Oh, yes. Faucher was most definitely a sensitive.
Edmond would like nothing better than to relieve House Allard of a few of its chevaliers, perhaps rid them of Faucher, too, but two score of chevaliers could prove challenging. “Time to leave.”
They had Isobella and Remi to think of. Best to disappear. Fast. The forest was their territory. A few chevaliers would not pose a problem. Faucher, with his ability to sense them, might be a little harder to shake.