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Galeren lay in wolf form in a stream a few miles north of Montlhéry. He was more in discomfort than in pain, as he let the icy cold water run over his body and, more importantly, De Floyran’s grievous wound. Knowing the effects of wolfsbane but unsure of how his wolf blood would deal with the dose, he had wasted no time in riding as far as he could from the château, lest they come searching for his body, and had let his horse go. He had almost felt drunk on the wolfsbane and quickly sensed that its effects had not poisoned him but rather had acted as a dwale and deadened the pain of the dagger’s gouge.
He knew that wolfsbane could prevent metamorphosis but he had attempted to change nevertheless and fortunately had had success. This would quicken his healing and to assist it, he set about finding water. The stream had been perfect and he had submerged himself within it. His aim was to prevent further blood loss and to attempt to wash the poison from the wound, though he knew a good amount of it was already within his bloodstream. It had not been detrimental though and he exhibited none of the symptoms of a lethal poisoning.
His major concern had been with the dagger wound itself. De Floyran was a witless cad, what he thought he knew about wolfsbane had not been well researched. He obviously knew nothing about lethal doses of poisons. In addition, De Floyran had relied on the poison to do its worst and had not pierced any vital organs. Galeren’s survival through the night had indicated that he had been fortunate on that score too. Luckily for Galeren, De Floyran was in favour of the dramatic rather than the practical.
He hoped that he would be back on his feet and on his way to Chinon in a few hours, though he was yet to formulate a sensible plan. He knew his worry and desperation to find his mate would make him irrational and he knew that would not help. Through the night he had tried to rest, but his mind could do nothing but torment him. He knew that De Floyran would have wasted no time with Catherine now that he thought his revenge on him had been meted out.
He knew it was pointless to think of Catherine’s sacrifice and dwell on painful scenarios; nevertheless he had tortured himself with it throughout the night. Though he could not change what was done, he told himself that she was strong and that what was important now, was to get her back; away from De Floyran’s sadistic hands and to make the bastard pay for all that he had done, once and for all.
With that determined thought, he came out of the freezing water and shook himself thoroughly. He lay for a while to dry and see the effects of his therapy. He allowed himself to fall asleep, knowing that he had had precious little of it during his uncomfortable night and that he would need all the strength he could muster for the journey ahead.
When he awoke some hours later, it was with a clear fresh head and renewed strength. He got to his feet, shook himself down and with a solid plan now fixed in his mind, he turned and headed not to Chinon, but back towards Montlhéry.
Chapter Twenty Three
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 40