Chapter Eleven
Aubert took the rear as they weaved their way through the trees, staying off the marked trails and moving as fast as they dared. Faucher a sensitive? L’enfer. As if they had need of more challenges.
“We should lay some false trails,” said Edmond. “Though whether it will slow Faucher down is yet to be seen.”
“Agreed.” It took Aubert every ounce of discipline to halt his horse and let Edmond continue on with Isobella, but he did. “Remi, with me.”
As Edmond and Isobella disappeared amongst the trees, he pointed toward soft ground.
“Remi, go that way. Circle around but stay in front of House Allard. Do not let them get too close.” He kept his voice low, reaching for a dagger in his belt.
Remi took the knife as though he had handed him the royal crown.
It was but a dagger. Far from his favorite one, but it had a good, sharp blade on it.
It would serve the boy well should he need to use it.
“Deep thrust, right into the kidneys.” He pointed to a spot below his ribcage.
“In front or from behind, you will do damage. Watch your back.”
He liked the boy, thief or no. He had proved useful on more than one occasion, and Aubert did not want to be the one responsible for getting him killed. The stain on his soul was big enough without adding to it.
He nudged his horse toward the rockier ground.
His tracks would be harder to follow, but he did not wish to make them too difficult.
With three sets of tracks leading away, Faucher would have no choice but to split his forces between him, Remi and Edmond.
If he were the one tracking them, he would choose the tracks where there was some attempt at concealment.
A smart tracker would too. Faucher, being a sensitive, would most likely want to follow Edmond or him, but would not be able to discount any of the paths.
Could he confuse them in the forest by leading them off in different directions, crisscrossing Remi’s and Edmond’s trails?
Could he lead them away from Edmond and Isobella? They were about to find out.
* * * *
The late afternoon chill had settled on the air when Remi rejoined Aubert, and still Faucher remained unerringly on Edmond’s trail.
“It is not working,” muttered Remi, his eyes scanning the forest in a constant arc. “No matter what we do, it is like Faucher knows which paths to follow and which to ignore.” He frowned. “Do you think it is possible God is guiding him?”
Aubert snorted. What was guiding Faucher had nothing to do with the Christian God. But Remi was right about one thing—their false trails were not working. He dismounted and handed his reins to Remi.
“What are you doing? They are right behind us!”
Aubert ignored him, unbuckling his sword and stripping off his surcoat, his mail and his gambeson.
Remi’s grin was fiendish. “You are going wolf.”
Aubert removed his boots, his greaves and his vambraces, before stripping off his tunic and breeches. Getting close enough to do what he had in mind was a risk, but if it worked, it would buy them time. Time enough to get away? To lose them in the forest? He hoped so.
Aubert shook out his limbs and called forth his wolf.
Bones cracked and his spine contorted. Coarse brown fur sprouted across his skin as his nose elongated into a muzzle.
He sank onto all fours, shaking out his fur.
Aubert itched to sink his teeth into Faucher’s neck, but he would settle for creating havoc and stalling their pursuit.
“Merde.” Remi’s eyes were wide. “You are a huge wolf. Far bigger than D’Artagnon.”
Their horses stirred, then settled. The d’Louncrais had trained them well. Faucher and all his borrowed chevaliers did not have that luxury. He peeled his lips back from his teeth. He would use that against them.
* * * *
Isobella patted Edmond on the arm, and he reined in the horse so she could slide to the ground. She scooped up a few pine needles to add to her collection of herbs.
Edmond hoisted her back onto the horse. “These herbs will create a barrier, you said?”
“Yes. A ward.” One more herb, mugwort, and she would have everything she needed for a spell. “Herbs aren’t only useful for healing. Not to people like me.”
Edmond spurred the horse on. “To witches?”
There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity.
Given Constance was a witch, and they were werewolves, it was no surprise the tenth-century wolves were as comfortable with witches as the modern-day ones.
“Yes, and no. I’m a green witch.” Like her mamá had been.
Her papá, too. “I work with the natural elements—plants, animals, the earth, things like that.”
She leaned against Edmond’s back, her ingredients for her spell clutched in her fist. Fatigue dragged at every limb, every muscle in her body. If she’d not already shifted into a wolf, Isobella would wonder if they’d turned her at all. If she weren’t still dying from cancer.
Annabelle had mentioned she’d slept a lot in the first week after Gabriel had claimed and turned her. She’d also mentioned shifting had taken a toll on her body for the first month or so. That had to be it. She was fatigued, not in pain.
“And something as simple as pine needles can stop a man? A score of men?”
She’d never used her magic against someone, or a score of someones before.
“It’s more of a warning ward. Something I can set down around us should we stop for a break.
Or some sleep.” She could only hope. “Four ingredients for the four elements and four directions. Air, earth, fire and water. North, east, south and west. It’s a common spell.
It won’t keep anyone out, but it will warn us—warn me—if someone crosses it with ill intent in their hearts. I’ll get a tingling across my body.”
Riding like this, her body pressed against Edmond’s, her body was tingling now.
“And this is how you came here from this”—Edmond cleared his throat—“this twenty-first century you speak of? Using natural elements like herbs to cast a spell?”
“Mm, not quite.” Isobella shivered. Holding that grimoire, the oily sensation that had swirled in her gut as she’d read the spell would be something she’d never forget. “The spell I used came from a blood witch.”
Edmond cocked his head. “A blood witch?”
“Blood witches get their power from their blood.” Annabelle was a blood witch. So too was Cordelia. The whole damn King clan were blood witches. “They use it in their spells. It’s powerful, though some blood witches are stronger than others.” Like Cordelia.
“You are not a blood witch?”
“I can use blood magic, but… Blood magic can have a darker element that I’m not comfortable with.” She’d used it to come here. Desperate times had called for desperate measures. “I prefer working with plants and herbs. With nature. It’s a gentler form of magic.”
It was why she’d chosen to study horticulture and to work at a nursery.
Well, she had worked at a plant nursery.
She’d had to resign to come on this mission.
It’d been hard. Isobella had loved working there—the quiet greenhouses, the loamy smell of fresh potting mix, the hiss of the reticulated irrigation and the hum of energy from the plants.
She might have found solace out here in the forest had she not been on the run from the comtesse’s men. From Faucher.
“And your coven, and the Langeais wolves from your time, they sent you to help us with Faucher?” asked Edmond.
Heat flooded Isobella’s cheeks. “I know, from the looks of things, where you found me and all, doesn’t look like I’m doing a very good job.
” She was doing a terrible job. Served herself up to Faucher on a silver platter.
“Something went wrong with the spell, and I didn’t end up at the d’Louncrais keep like I was supposed to. ”
Her ex-fiancé went wrong. Douglas. She’d forgotten about him. Had he made it through, or was he still in the twenty-first century?
Isobella pushed thoughts of Douglas aside.
He was not her concern. Not anymore. “I wasn’t supposed to take on Faucher on my own.
My instructions were clear. I was to come back to the tenth century and find the Langeais wolves.
Together, we would deal with Faucher. But I got distracted as I was reciting the spell, and instead of materializing at the d’Louncrais keep, it spat me out in the chapel, right at Eveque Faucher’s feet.
I might as well have had a sign stuck to my forehead saying ‘witch’. ”
Edmond chortled. “I would have sold my soul to the Christian devil to see Faucher’s face when you appeared in front of him.”
“Well, it wasn’t what you’d expect. He was less surprised, more…” The chill air of the approaching evening stole beneath her cloak, and she shivered. “I don’t think Faucher is entirely sane.”
A lone howl, long and mournful, split the air, startling a few birds from their perches. Isobella clutched her hands tighter around Edmond, searching the darkening forest.
Edmond tensed and urged the horse into a trot. “No need to fear. It is Aubert.”
The wolf howled again, lower, coarser. There was an edge to it.
A warning. The prickle of unease in her veins intensified.
She shouldn’t be frightened. She was with Edmond.
A huge warrior, a werewolf. She was a werewolf with remarkable healing abilities.
Very few things could kill her now, but Isobella still jumped at every noise, every shadow.
Never had a forest seemed so ominous, so full of danger.
She scanned the trees. Everything was too loud, too bright.
Sights, sounds and smells assaulted her senses.
The horse beneath them. Edmond. The trees.
Insects scurrying. Her heartbeat pounding loud in her ears.
Her labored breathing. It was too much. She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, but it didn’t help.
“Isobella.” Edmond reined the horse in. “Isobella.” There was a punch of command in Edmond’s voice. “Get off the horse.”
What? No. Not here. Not now.
“Now.”
Edmond’s voice was a roar in her ears. She slid from the horse, backing away, spinning in circles, everything swirling in front of her eyes. The trees closed in.
Edmond swung off the horse, holding his hands out to her.
She stared at him, watching his mouth move, unable to cut through the noise to make any sense of what he was saying.
Edmond grabbed her hands. “Isobella. Bella. Look at me. You opened your senses. Your wolf senses. You are hovering on the verge of a shift. The horse is well trained, but it would not stand for that.”
“Everything’s so loud. It’s too much.”
“I know, I know. With practice, you will learn to control it.” He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “I am here, Bella. Trust me. Listen to me. Take a deep breath and find your center.”
Isobella swallowed, closed her eyes, and focused on his touch, his voice.
His scent. The soothing rub of his thumbs against the back of her hands.
His grip, warm and steady, and his solid presence.
Like a ship being battered in a storm, she let him anchor her.
She clung to it all, to him, wrapping him around her, so he sheltered her from the sensory overload.
The noise dimmed. The smells remained, but they were less intense. Her heart rate eased, no longer pounding its frantic rhythm. Isobella sucked in a shaky breath and opened her eyes. The forest no longer seemed a living, breathing entity ready to devour her. There was only Edmond.
Isobella sagged into his arms. Big and solid, as immovable as a mountain, he held her close, and she rested her head on his chest. Relieved. Embarrassed. She’d bet Annabelle hadn’t freaked out like this after Gabriel had turned her.
Swamped in Edmond’s warmth, his musky werewolf scent enveloped her. She breathed it in, her body reacting in an entirely different way. She had an insane urge to rub herself all over him.
She backed out of his arms, studying the grass at her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… It was all just so…”
A pair of boots stepped into her field of vision. Edmond curled his finger under her chin, tipping her face up. “There is nothing to be sorry for, chaton.”
Chaton. Kitten. A long-forgotten warmth seeped into her chest.
Edmond cupped her cheek. “We are being hunted by Faucher. He has two score of chevaliers tracking us down. After what you have been through, it is reasonable for you to be afraid. You are newly turned, and strong emotions can trigger a wolf you have yet to learn how to control.” He stroked his thumb across her skin, a gentle caress.
“We will teach you. Show you how to listen to the world around you. To block out all else but what you are seeking to hear.”
Something loosened in her belly, and her knees went a little weak.
“To sniff out scent not only of that which is visible but of that which is hidden. Emotions. Intent.”
Intent? Isobella leaned closer.
He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and his gaze dipped to her mouth. Dark shadows shifted in his eyes, and his musky scent intensified. Was he breathing a little heavier? She was. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to.
Edmond stilled, his head cocked, listening, then he spun around and drew his sword, pulling her behind him.
Shadows moved in the forest. No, not shadows.
Men. They closed in on them, slipping through the gloom.
Chevaliers, the blue and white of their shields visible in the fading light.
Blue with a white lion. House Allard. The comtesse’s men.
But where was Faucher? And what had happened to Aubert and Remi?