Chapter Thirty-Two
Isobella jolted along to the clop of horse’s hooves and the jingle of armor as they trotted through the forest toward Langeais.
Edmond, Aubert and D’Artagnon rode as though they’d been born in the saddle.
Remi, too. She bounced around like a sack of potatoes, the reins cinched in her white-knuckled grip.
Maybe giving her a horse of her own hadn’t been such a grand idea.
Edmond reached over and squeezed her hand. “Relax, Isobella. Gaharet trains all the horses for the Langeais wolves. As did his father before him. And his father’s father. They are used to our kind.”
She forced a smile. The horses may well be used to werewolves, but Isobella wasn’t used to them.
The few times she’d ridden behind Edmond didn’t count, and they’d be stupid to believe a few days of training, no matter how intense, meant she had control over her wolf.
She side-eyed Edmond, and her belly swooped.
This morning hadn’t been about training. Not at all.
“We’ve followed in the footsteps of our ancestor Alexandre, the first black wolf.” D’Artagnon urged his horse across a small, fast-flowing creek. “He was renowned for his ability with horses.”
Aubert crossed the stream, scanning the trees, on constant alert. “We have a long history with more than training horses.”
Remi followed him. There’d been no sign of any trouble so far, but they weren’t taking any risks.
Gaharet had decreed they should split up.
Too many Langeais wolves in one place might be too much of a temptation for any of their enemies.
Faucher would have lookouts on the road, so Aimon and Gaharet would take the road to Langeais.
Edmond, Aubert, D’Artagnon, Remi and Isobella would go via the forest. She nudged the horse down the bank toward the stream.
“Are you talking about Cordelia?” asked Edmond. “Or Cordoylla. Whatever her name is.”
Isobella’s turn. Her mount picked up its pace.
She squealed and clung to it with every aching muscle in her body as it leaped across the water, then surged up the bank.
She settled in line behind Aubert, and Isobella relaxed her grip and patted the horse on its neck.
Good horse. Nice horse. Gaharet had trained it to cope with more than werewolves.
Edmond followed her across the creek and drew his mount up alongside her, giving her an encouraging smile that turned her insides to goo. Then he dropped back to take up the rear as the trail narrowed again.
“Erin mentioned Cordelia had caused havoc in the d’Louncrais village some time ago,” said Edmond. “I wonder… There are a lot of years between the creation of the first Langeais wolf and Gaharet’s grand-père’s time. A time-traveling witch could turn up in any century she chose.”
She could. She probably had.
D’Artagnon glanced back over his shoulder, the skin around his scar puckering with his frown. “You think there might be other times?”
Yes. Isobella was almost certain of it. She’d given it a lot of thought as she’d bounced along with her death grip on the saddle.
That, and what had happened in the training room.
What might’ve happened if Gascon hadn’t interrupted them.
What she wanted to happen when she had the chance to be alone again with them.
Her mates. That word alone sent a thrill skipping through her body.
“Could be.” Aubert cocked his head. “We have our amulets for a reason.”
“There was the break in the pack, too, remember?” said Edmond. “When the Langeais wolves became three packs instead of one.”
Remi nudged his horse beside Aubert. “There are three packs?”
“The Ludenwic wolves in Bretaigne, the Rus wolves in the cold reaches of Rus, and us,” explained Edmond. “I wonder if Cordelia had something to do with that.”
“Huh.” Remi lapsed into thoughtful silence.
Aubert stared down at the young boy, shaking his head. “No.”
Remi raised his hands. “What?”
Edmond chuckled. “You are easy to read, lad. The Ludenwic wolves and the Rus wolves will not turn you either.”
Isobella avoided the boy’s questioning look. She might be their mate now, but she’d already pushed the boundaries of pack law when they’d turned her. Remi turned to D’Artagnon.
The scarred chevalier ignored him. “Erin is bound to find more mentions of Cordelia in my father’s journal, and I think Constance might know the story behind the amulets.”
Isobella would like to hear about that. Anything to do with Constance’s coven would be interesting.
How they’d connected with the Langeais wolves, and more about this curse that had made them.
Curses were funny things. They could come back to bite the caster in ways that couldn’t be anticipated.
It didn’t stop witches like Cordelia from using them against their foes.
The Langeais wolves were proof of that. She bet Cordelia hadn’t expected them to thrive like they had.
They emerged from the cool shadows of the forest and reined in their horses.
Below them wound the road leading toward the gates of Langeais.
The sun had slipped lower, and dusk cast its shadow over the streets.
On the hill, looming over the village, was Langeais Keep.
It would be dark soon, and though darkness would favor them, it still sent a shiver down Isobella’s spine.
The last time she’d been here, Faucher had confined her beneath the chapel. She’d believed she would die there.
“Is it possible there is some restriction on this time-travel spell?” asked Edmond.
They all turned to look at her.
Isobella shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s not exact science, and mistakes can be made. You can end up in the wrong place like I did, but there’s nothing in the spell to suggest there’s a limit on how many times you can use it.”
A frown more common on his brother marred Edmond’s forehead. “Then why does she wait so long? Apart from Didier being a lousy stable hand on Gaharet’s estate, we have heard naught of Cordelia until now. The time before that was…what…in our grand-père’s lifetime?”
Isobella bit the inside of her cheek. Would it change things if they knew?
If what she suspected was true. Would it ease the guilt Aubert had carried around for so long?
Edmond’s too. He hid it better than his brother, but it was there.
Beneath his easy smile, and witty quips.
“I think you’ve had a more recent experience with Cordelia than that. ”
Edmond and Aubert shared a look. “Sabine,” they said in unison.
It was uncanny the way they always seemed to know what the other was thinking. How they could share a look and instantly be on the same page. Did they realize how often they did that, or was it something that came naturally to them?
D’Artagnon swiveled in his saddle to face them. “You think Cordelia had something to do with Sabine?”
Again, the shared look. As usual, it was Edmond who answered.
“It feels different with Isobella. I would not want any other male touching Isobella, but Aubert…” Edmond shrugged. “It does not bother me at all. With Sabine, I wanted to rip his throat out.”
D’Artagnon cocked an eyebrow at her. “You think that could be Cordelia’s doing?”
Isobella nodded. “I do. If you’re right, and she’s behind the pack splitting into three, then the divide-and-conquer method is something she’s used before, and successfully.
But I don’t know for sure it was her, and the only people who know the truth are Cordelia and Sabine.
And Sabine is dead. It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? ”
D’Artagnon’s expression clouded over, and his frown deepened.
“There is something I do not understand. Gaharet mentioned it this morn. If Cordelia is as powerful as you say, why has she not attacked us directly? Why play these silly little games? Why not mount an attack when the pack was broken into three? We would have been vulnerable. She might well have succeeded in wiping us out.”
“And when Lance used Renaud to kill us off,” added Aubert.
“We are vulnerable still, yet she uses others to attack us.” Edmond ticked them off on his fingers. “Didier, Faucher, the comtesse, Lance.”
They were right. Cordelia had done the same thing in San Francisco.
It might have been her plan, her cottage in the forest and her wards preventing Annabelle’s escape, but it was Dutton and the Faucherians who’d kidnapped her stepsister.
The Faucherians who’d kidnapped Melinda, too.
And it was Douglas and the Faucherians who’d tried to stop Isobella from coming back in time, not Cordelia.
She’d assumed it was because Cordelia was old and frail.
But here, now, she was in her forties at most. Was there a limit to her power?
Isobella had seen the spells in that grimoire.
If it were hers, then Isobella didn’t think Cordelia had any limits when it came to causing pain and destruction.
The three werewolves stared at her, all eager for answers she didn’t have.
Fat lot of good she was to them. “I’m sorry.
I don’t know why. But there has to be a reason.
Something must be stopping her.” Her gut was telling her it was important.
That knowing it would give them an advantage.
“If Constance and I put our heads together, we might come up with an explanation.” And a plan for taking the old witch on.
Defeating Cordelia wouldn’t be easy. Twenty-first-century Cordelia had known someone from their coven was coming here, because she’d already lived it. She’d have made her own plans. Isobella would bet her life on it Douglas was a key part of those plans.
Edmond gathered his reins. “We will do what we came here to do. Take care of Didier and Douglas. Then we will worry about Cordelia.” He urged his horse forward. “Best we get inside the village before they shut the gates. I have no wish to take Isobella in through the other way.”
They slipped through the gate of Langeais, mingling with the occasional peasant or merchant.
To avoid attracting attention, they left their horses in the tanner’s stable for a few silver coins, then Remi beckoned them down a narrow street.
They followed him past peasants’ mud huts and a noisy alehouse, the foot traffic thinning the further into the rabbit warren of streets they trudged.
With each turn, the houses grew more and more dilapidated, the streets grubbier and the passersby leaner and meaner.
There were few lamps in this area, spluttering, casting meager circles of muted light, the occasional orange glow from cooking fires seeping from beneath ill-fitting doors and shutters.
Isobella pulled her traveling cloak tighter, warding off the night chill, and edged closer to Aubert.
He took her hand in his and gave a gentle squeeze.
Remi jerked his chin toward a hut with a door barely hanging on by one hinge and a broken shutter, then kept walking.
He pulled them into a narrow alley, and they huddled against the cracking mud-brick wall.
A noise startled her, and Isobella scanned the street.
A rat. She clenched her lips tight. Werewolf sight could be a blessing or a curse.
Aubert dropped her hand, and she mourned its absence, the slide of steel loud on the night air as he unsheathed his sword.
Remi grabbed his arm. “Wait.” He kept his voice barely above a whisper. “I have someone watching the place. I will go and talk to him. Find out if Didier and Douglas are inside.”
“Good to see our coin is not going to waste,” drawled Edmond.
“It will be worth every bit. Douglas and Didier might not be the only ones in there. Our friend might not be the only one watching. Wait here.” Remi disappeared into the dark without a sound, not even a stumble, navigating the dark as if he, too, were a werewolf.
Isobella stared at the rundown cottage. Everyone on this trip was far more capable than she was, and their biggest challenge was yet to come.
When they confronted Didier and Douglas, it was Isobella who would have to step up.
Isobella, green witch and nurturer of plants, against the son of the biggest, baddest witch she had ever known.
And her ex. A man who knew all her flaws and insecurities.
No doubt he’d use them against her now if he had to.
Douglas had never seen her as his equal in witchcraft, and there was every chance he was right.