Page 34 of Wolves’ Witch

“Now sit down here, and I will comb your hair, get those tangles out. It will be a right mess if we leave it for the morn.”

Isobella didn’t argue. She was happy to be the woman’s distraction, Anne’s moment to forget. And her curls hadn’t had any attention for a while and were in desperate need.

Anne raked the comb through Isobella’s hair. “Tsk, tsk. I shall have a word with those boys, leaving your hair in such a mess.”

Isobella touched her hand to head, her fingers snagging on a nasty snarl. Lord, she must look a fright. “To be fair, they had far more important things to worry about than my appearance.” Things like Faucher.

Anne worked the comb through another knot. “I know naught of your travels, but putting up with one overbearing oaf is more than enough for any woman, and you have had to deal with two.”

“They have been nothing but kind to me.” They’d saved her life.

“And well they should, for Gaharet would tan their hides were they not.”

“Well, they—”

“They are good boys.”

Boys? Two hulking warriors in their mid-thirties, who’d likely seen more violence and death than she would in ten lifetimes, were hardly boys. The memory of Edmond in the clearing, testing his sword, and Aubert, shirtless, chopping wood, filled her mind. Not boys. Men. Raw and vital in a way Douglas had never been. Stirring her body in ways Douglas never had.

Oh, please. A woman would have to be stone-cold dead to not have some reaction to them.

“They might look big and scary, and a little wild at times, but do not let them fool you. Neither Edmond nor Aubert would ever hurt you. Never you mind Aubert’s scowls. It is all bluster. Takes everything to heart, that boy. Feels too much, if you ask me. And Edmond, rescuing all those strays, including that little thief.” She waved the comb about. “More than mischief, that one, but Edmond has taken him in hand all the same.”

Strays? Was that what she was? A stray Edmond had rescued. Like Remi? They hadn’t turned Remi. No, but he wasn’t dying either.

“You know Aubert and Edmond well?”

Anne set the comb aside to braid Isobella’s hair. “I have known those boys since the moment they slipped from their mother’s womb. The biggest babes I had ever helped deliver. Unusual for twins. It would have been a concern if their mother had been human. Stayed big as they grew, too. Bigger than all the lads of their age. Oh, and competitive, trying to outdo each other. Especially when—” Anne sniffed, and tied off the end of her braid. “’Twas a blessing there were two of them, for the other lads could not best them.”

Especially when what?

Anne gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Off to bed with you now. A newly turned werewolf needs her sleep.”

Isobella let Anne guide her into bed and tuck the covers around her. “Especially when what, Anne?”

Anne fluffed up her pillow and gathered up her dirty clothes. “Never you mind.” At Isobella’s frown, she said, “It is not my story to tell. I will say this—their bond was not always so strong, but they are inseparable now. As it should be.”

Anne licked her fingers and doused the candles. “Sleep well, child. I will come wake you in the morn.”

Then Anne was gone, and the grizzled wolf with her.

As Isobella lay in bed between the cool linens, her body sinking into a mattress softer than it had a right to be in the tenth century, Anne’s words lingered. On what she’d said as much as what she hadn’t.

Aubert and Edmond had competed over something, and it had changed things. Something big. Or someone. A sour taste settled on her tongue. Isobella rolled over and faced the door, pushing the unpleasant sensation down. She had no right to feel anything but grateful, and whatever had happened, with whomever or whatever, was none of her business. She was here for one thing and one thing only. To help the Langeais wolves with Faucher.

Faucher.

She flopped over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Wouldn’t the Faucherians get a shock if they discovered Faucher had witch blood? So hell bent on ridding the world of shifters and witches and anything paranormal, yet their beginnings, the man whose teachings they followed, was the very thing they abhorred.

Isobella rolled over onto her side. Was that the key to bringing him down? Find his origins? Gaharet seemed to think it important. And what of Cordelia? How in the name of all that was holy were they supposed to deal with her? A woman who’d created a type of shifter the world had never seen before—or since—was not to be ignored. The irregularities in the ancient stone walls offered no answers.

Isobella plumped the pillow and rearranged the covers. Her body craved sleep, but her mind wouldn’t rest. She counted the beams of the roof. She counted the knots in the wood. The rough stones in the walls.

The coals in the brazier burned low, and finally her eyelids drooped. She had two last thoughts before she slipped into blessed sleep. If Isobella managed to pull off the mission of the century and rid the world of Faucher, now she was cancer free, she could plan her way back home. And when she did, should she take Douglas back with her to face the coven, or should she leave him here to suffer his fate?