by E. D. Walker
“The beast amuses me,” King Thomas said from behind them. “If he does not please you, Reynard, you are welcome to take your leave. I can well understand a wolf companion may not be to your liking. But you will sheathe your weapon first. I ordered peace ties, did I not? I do not allow naked steel in my home.”
Reynard sheathed his wicked-looking blade and glared. He began to stalk out of the garden, but the king laid a restraining hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Tie the sword first, and then you may go.”
The nobleman flushed angrily, found a thong of leather, and tied his blade to its scabbard so he could not draw his steel so easily again. Reynard made the most perfunctory of obeisance to the king before storming off.
King Thomas knelt, and the wolf stilled his struggles at once, but his ears were flattened back. Anger still rumbled low in the beast’s throat as his gaze followed Reynard.
King Thomas laid a gentle hand on the wolf’s shoulder. “There is a time and place, good sir, and that time is not here and now. Compose yourself.” And then quietly so Kathryn, who still restrained the wolf, barely even heard him, he exhaled in a tiny whisper, “Please, Gabriel.”
The wolf looked at him, and his shoulders sagged, so that he turned biddable, almost boneless, in Kathryn’s arms. The king helped her to her feet and sighed in dismay. The wolf’s claws were sharp, and he had not been gentle in trying to free himself. Because of the beast’s struggles, Kathryn’s gown had been torn to ribbons. She also had several nasty scratches on her thighs and arms. She was dirty and suddenly very tired. She desperately wanted to disappear before her father got wind of the whole incident and appeared on the scene.
Queen Aliénor stepped forward and slid her arm through Kathryn’s, leading her toward the castle. She summoned one of the servants. “Lady Kathryn needs a fresh gown and a bit of a wash. Bring water to her apartments and lay out my dark green gown for her.”
The servant withdrew, and the queen gave Kathryn a rueful smile. “I wish I could go with you, but I must stay by my lord.”
Kathryn agreed mutely, lending only half an ear to the queen.
Garwaf had almost attacked her. A moment more and he would have. King Thomas and not she had saved the wolf’s humanity this time. Garwaf was already sorry, of course, and he would probably not attack Reynard again after this. But other things in the world could provoke the werewolf in a like manner.
How much longer could she deal with this? Would he attack a human? Would he attack her? Kathryn could not control him forever if he could not exert some control over his own impulses. But had that really been an animal impulse? Or a human one?
Maybe she cared too much. Maybe the wolf would be better left to Llewellyn to manage. Maybe she wasn’t helping the wolf. Maybe all Kathryn did was remind him what he did not have. Maybe she should—
“The wolf did not mean it.” Aliénor squeezed Kathryn’s hand. “Men lose themselves sometimes in trying to do the honorable thing. But they come back to themselves in the end. And back to us.” She patted Kathryn’s cheek and left her to find her own way to the women’s chambers.
Kathryn really hated the idea of the queen giving her one of her own gowns to wear, but she was just too weary to refuse the mercy at this moment. As soon as she recovered some strength, Kathryn would make sure the dress was properly laundered and returned to the queen.
That would be the first thing Kathryn saw to before she left the castle.
Chapter Eleven
Llewellyn was found, looking fagged to death, short about half his brain, and very much the worse for wear after his encounter with an interminable bore of a lord. The magician was also very much the worse for the furious dressing down King Thomas gave him after the play of the saint for leaving the wolf unattended. Garwaf felt heartily guilty about the whole affair.
Head hanging in shame, Garwaf meekly went along with Llewellyn’s escort as the magician kept him subtly to the side at dinner, which did not help the curious stares of the court, though the maneuver did give them a new direction.
Kathryn emerged just in time for dinner, clean and in the queen’s lovely dark green dress. She did not sit with Llewellyn, nor the king, nor the wolf, nor even her father, though that worthy did try throughout the meal to catch her eye.
Kathryn remained stubbornly oblivious to the advances of all her usual associates and said not a word to anyone during the meal. Eventually she removed to an isolated corner of the room and hid herself half in the shadows so she could not be easily seen. She hardly attended to her food.
She looked pale and sad, and her eyes were red rimmed and deep shadowed. Garwaf hung his head and did not touch the food placed before him either. Even if I had ripped Reynard’s throat out, it would not have been worth this. Nothing is worth this.
“You, my lad, are in rather a bit of a mess,” Llewellyn said out of the side of his mouth. “Throwing you and Kathryn together the way we did was unfair. But how the king and I were supposed to know the effect the girl’s charms would have on you is beyond me. Gabriel had such terrible taste in women. How could we know you would see the worthiness of Lady Kathryn?”
Llewellyn plucked a thick roll from his plate and proceeded to break it gently into pieces, stuffing small bits into his mouth as he spoke. “I must admit I never saw the appeal of Alisoun of Canille.” He rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully. “This way will be better for Kathryn.” He fell silent and Garwaf looked up at him. Llewellyn continued, “Far better Kathryn have a clean break now with the wolf—before the man has a chance to snub her.”
Garwaf growled at the magician. If you are implying my intentions toward Kathryn were ever anything other than honorable, that I ever entertained thoughts of—well. Reynard won’t be the only one with a scratched face, and he won’t be the worse off, either, if you don’t shut your mouth.
The magician seemed to read at least some of Garwaf’s less-than-charitable thoughts toward himself, and a twinkle crept into his eyes. “Of course, if I were still married to Lady Alisoun, I wouldn’t help anyone to turn me back to a human in a hurry either. Especially since, as a man, Gabriel does still have rights to his wife if he should return.”
The wolf jerked and knocked over Llewellyn’s goblet. The magician, unperturbed, righted the mug, poured himself more wine, and began drawing small runes in the spilled liquid.
I’m not married to Alisoun any longer. I cannot be. I—but… Oh. Fate spare me. I am still married to that harpy. The wolf huffed. And everyone believes Reynard acted on his own. No one else knows what a lying, two-faced spawn of the devil she is. And if I let myself stay like this, no one ever will.
When the beast came out of his reverie and looked at the magician, eyes pleading, Llewellyn grinned. “No one will mark our absence tonight. Let us retire to my workshop. I have certain relics about the place that might be useful. Perhaps some of them will enable you to tell me what I need to know.”
The wolf hopped down from his chair, leading Llewellyn out to the garden.
***
Reynard had rallied his allies around him at table and gathered the scraps of his dignity close. Everyone still whispered that he had injured the wolf in some way. Thankfully no one had come close to the truth yet. Although that blasted pet magician of the king’s kept an infuriating eye on him all through dinner.
Reynard shifted in his seat, thinking not for the first time how bloody grateful he would be to escape to his own manor. If all went well with the plan he had set into motion, by the next convocation of lords, the damned beast would not be here. Or even alive.
Seated at Reynard’s left hand during dinner was the flighty daughter of some baron. Apolline, her name was, and an old friend of his sister’s. She flirted with him and, when he found she was one of the queen’s ladies, good friends with the wolf’s companion too, he turned his considerable charm on her and pumped her for information. He might have pumped far more into her after the meal, but unfortunately, duty called. He had plots to carry out
and no time for sport. Piecing together what Lady Apolline let fall with things his sister Beatrice had ranted about in her letters, Reynard began to see an opportunity.
Lady Apolline excused herself from the table, casting an inviting look over her shoulder at Reynard. He left his seat almost at once, but with much regret, he did not follow little Apolline. Instead he wandered from table to table before he “discovered” an empty seat next to Kathryn in the shadowy corner where she had secluded herself.
She did not notice Reynard until he said, “Lady Kathryn, is it not? We met last time I was at court.” He slid into the empty seat and eagerly leaned toward her. “And now you are the caretaker of the king’s prized wolf?”
Kathryn looked up in surprise and recoiled.
When she made to get up, he laid a restraining hand on hers. “Ah, now, let me remind you how improper it would be for you to make a scene here.” He flashed her a grin. “My lady.”
She frowned but sat back on the bench.
He released her fingers and smiled into her pale green eyes while she glared back at him. “An intelligent woman,” he sneered. “What a rare find in these times. So, you are the wolf’s…?”
“Friend,” she said, denying any impropriety with the bluntness of her tone and the direct regard of her gaze.
“Ah, yes, of course.” Reynard selected a large piece of pheasant from the platters. He proceeded to rend the leg, and just as much of the meat ended up in his mouth as did in his beard and clothing. “You know,” he said around the meat before swallowing, “the beast is naught but a simple wolf.”
She smiled innocently back at him. “Did I ever say otherwise, my lord?”
He grinned at her, and she looked away from him in obvious revulsion. Unperturbed, he continued, “But if the wolf were other than he seemed…say, a certain knight. A missing heir.” He paused and picked some dirt out from one of his fingernails with his dinner knife before he spoke again. “If he were that knight, say, who has been missing these two years from our king’s court, well, then it is only natural he should try to kill me.”
The wench widened her eyes at him, trying to play innocent. “But why, good sir, unless you betrayed him in some way?” She tilted her eyebrow up with just the right combination of cool haughtiness and defiant challenge to deter a thousand forward knights. The queen would have done well to match her hauteur.
What an amusing wench. This game grows better by the minute. “You poor, dear girl.” He caressed her wrist. “He still loves her, of course.”
The girl froze, her cheeks going a little pale. “Her?”
“Why, the Lady Alisoun, of course. I married the sweet lady when her husband so callously abandoned her.” Reynard smiled. “A most remarkable woman, I can tell you. Sweet. Humble. Lovely beyond man’s dreaming. The knight would have to get me out of the way if he were to have any hope of reclaiming his former bride.” As Kathryn’s hand clenched on the table, Reynard smirked.
He traced his fingertips over her knuckles and leaned in to her. “If Gabriel ever returned, he would not have a moment to spare for the destitute daughter of a shabby genteel baron.” He inhaled against her hair, and his voice turned husky, a sharp rasp as his lips brushed her ear. “I, on the other hand, could find many uses for you.” He lifted a section of her hair and rubbed the lock between thumb and forefinger. “Many uses indeed.” He tilted in to wrap his arms about her, bending toward her mouth.
He was stopped short, however, by the small but quite sharp dinner knife Kathryn clutched in her free hand.
***
Kathryn fought to keep her voice steady and her hand firm on the knife’s handle. She placed the blade against Reynard’s inner thigh, very high up. The offensive knight stopped as if turned to stone.
She wet her lips. “No doubt you received most of your intelligence about me from the charming Lady Beatrice. She has, I am sure, informed you that my family brought me up like a heathen. So, in case you wondered, yes, I will use this knife to gut you if I so choose.” She shifted the knife infinitesimally, and Reynard flinched.
Kathryn narrowed her eyes. “Now, you’re probably wondering if you can get the knife away from me. But, I remind you, the time to test my prowess with a blade is not when it, and I, are a hairsbreadth away from removing all hope of your ever having an heir.”
“You little bi—”
“Nor is this a time to be forgetting your manners,” Kathryn reminded him with a quick prod of the blade. “Now…” At this she stood and, still brandishing the small blade, backed away from him. “I think I have been more than tolerant in allowing you to say your piece, let alone to paw at me as you have done. So, in deference to the becoming patience I have displayed…” She moved out of reach of his long arms, scooting around the edge of the table. If he made a grab for her now, the action would attract considerable attention. She tucked the knife up her sleeve. “You will stay away from me and, more importantly, you will stay away from the wolf.” Her heart racing with fear, she whirled around and rushed from the dining room.
***
Reynard watched the swish of her skirts as she left and smiled to himself. Well, she had not been as biddable as he would have liked. A fine filly, and it would have been very satisfying to mount her. Still, all in all he had done a good bit of work for the evening. He examined the food platter and, having selected a prime cut of meat, sank his teeth into the flesh with enjoyment.
***
Kathryn sat by the window in her room. None of the other girls were back from the feasting yet. She sighed and watched the grooms at their work in the stables without really seeing them.
She supposed she had finally figured out what about the wolf’s repeated attempts to harm Reynard so upset her. The wolf had allies. The king himself knew his true identity at last and, with so many people acting on Garwaf’s behalf, plans would be set in motion before long to restore the wolf to his true form. They only needed Garwaf to cooperate with them, which he had not yet been willing to do.
Maybe he was only waiting until he had dispatched Reynard. Maybe that was why the wolf wouldn’t let Llewellyn examine him, because the missing duke needed Reynard gone and the path to his beautiful wife clear.
Reynard had probably cursed the duke to stay a wolf in order to steal his wife. The wolf would soon be human again, and all that stood between him and the old life he had lost was Reynard. If Reynard died, then the duke would be free to return to his wife without messy entanglements and scandal.
Garwaf had tried to kill Reynard this morning for love of the wife who had unwittingly married her husband’s betrayer. Garwaf had attacked Reynard to save his wife and to set the stage for himself to win her back when he was human again.
With thoughts like these swirling through her head, Kathryn marveled she did not start sobbing into her lap. She didn’t know what she had hoped for. She didn’t even know what she had thought would happen when the wolf was human again. She was certain she had all too conveniently forgotten the duke’s wife.
That was the most troubling thing of all. What had Kathryn hoped for? She had not thought that when the Duke of Dorré was himself again, restored to his proper station and honors, he would marry her.
Or had she?
No. And yet… No, not the Duke of Dorré. Kathryn laughed ruefully. The honorable Duke of Dorré is not whom I have cared for, nursed, and…liked very much.
She never had been able to connect the image of the king’s noble nephew with the wolf and his soulful eyes. Garwaf was not the Duke of Dorré to her. She did not know that man. Kathryn knew only Garwaf. And Garwaf with his flashing eyes, impish moods, and quiet dignity was the one Kathryn wanted. Not the great duke.
Strange as the idea sounded even to her, Kathryn had always thought of the wolf as a person. She saw in him the trapped mind of a man, capable of deep thought and complex emotion. She had just never been able to take the extra step and connect the rational creature trapped as a wolf with the name of the Duke of Dor
ré, which rightfully belonged to him.
Garwaf was her friend and companion. Her dear heart.
Gabriel the grand Duke of Dorré was a stranger.
But if they did manage to break whatever spell held him as a wolf, then Gabriel, and not her Garwaf, would be here. And the beautiful Lady Alisoun was whom he would go to. Not drab little Kathryn.
Kathryn might as well leave with her father. Garwaf needed her only while he remained a wolf, and the way events were falling out, he would not be a wolf for long. To be here when he was not a wolf would be much, much too painful. Kathryn did not relish the thought of witnessing the happy reunion with his charming and lovely wife.
Well, if he wanted his wife, then she wished him all the best, but she should get on with her own life, her own troubles. She wished him all the best, but she just didn’t have a part in this drama anymore. As events had turned out, she never really had had a part anyway. But really, she did…she, well, she wished him all the best.
One stray tear breached her defenses and fought its watery way down her cheek. Just so the others didn’t get any ideas, she viciously dashed the droplet away with the back of her hand. “Silly girl.”
As soon as her eyes had dried sufficiently, Kathryn rose from the window’s bench and went to find her father. The sooner she left the castle, the better.
Chapter Twelve
Garwaf waited patiently in Llewellyn’s workshop while the magician left to get the final ingredient for the arcane ritual he planned. Whatever the magician did, whatever information he wanted, Garwaf would surrender.
Enough is enough. Time to return to being a man. Most of the time. I’ll always be a werewolf, but that’s only three days out of every month. Kathryn won’t mind three days. Kathryn will— Oh, hurry up, Llewellyn.
When all Llewellyn returned with was a large black glass bowl full of water, Garwaf cocked his head in surprise. The magician set the bowl on a small tripod made of laurel boughs and poured just a single drop of black ink into the water. He waited a moment for the water to still, then stepped back, beckoning to Garwaf. “Look into the bowl for me, if you will.”