Page 71 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Thirty-Six

The heavy gates cracked open, and the sight of rows upon rows of mounted armored men—keep guard—came as no surprise to Aubert.

The commander of House Allard blanched, then gathered himself and strode forward. “Stand aside. I have orders from the comtesse to bring these people to Eveque Faucher immediately upon apprehension.”

The keep guard remained resolute, blocking the gate. They answered to one man—Comte Lothair de Anjou. Aubert thanked the Fates this time Lothair was on their side. For he would have fought ’til his last breath, with his bare hands, his teeth, his wolf if he had to, with no thought to preserving the secret of their existence, to ensure Isobella was never again at the mercy of Faucher. Edmond, too.

The commander glared at the keep guard. “Who dares defy the Comtesse Marguerite?”

The keep guard stepped aside as one, like the sea parting for Moses in the fables told by the church, though the man revealed would never be mistaken for a prophet of God. They called him Lothair le Diable for a reason, and as he strode toward them, the golden dragon of his surcoat undulating across his shoulders with each powerful step, he looked every bit the devil they proclaimed him to be. Beside him, the black howling wolf’s head in the center of his blood-red surcoat as ominous as his expression, was Gaharet.

The commander of House Allard was not a small man, but against the leashed ferocity emanating from Lothair, and the aura of the Langeais wolves’ alpha, he shrank, his confidence melting like snow in the sun. Though Aubert had to give the man his due. He did not retreat.

Lothair halted in front of the commander. “I dare.”

The commander swallowed, and his men shifted restlessly behind him. Aubert did not envy the man’s position. If he were lucky, he might keep his head, though the odds were against it.

Lothair raked a gaze colder than winter ice over the commander. “You will hand your prisoners over to me, and you will remove your warriors from my village.”

The commander squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “My orders come directly from the Comtesse de Anjou. I do not answer to you.” The tremble in his voice made a mockery of his bravado.

Lothair smiled, but there was nothing soft or friendly about it. “Oh, but you will. Aimon! Now!”

A surge of hoofbeats on the cobblestones echoed across the valley as mounted keep guard formed up behind the chevaliers of House Allard, Aimon in their lead. The keep guard, both in front and behind, drew their swords, creating a ring of steel. The chevaliers, less confident now, raised their own swords.

Aubert stepped in front of Isobella. Edmond did the same, and it pleased him when D’Artagnon shielded her from behind. He hoped it would not come to a battle, not with Isobella trapped in the middle of all these armed warriors, but it all depended on the commander. On the order he gave his men.

“You will leave not only my village,” said Lothair, “but also my county. My men will escort you to the border.”

That Lothair did not raise his voice made his words all the more sinister. The commander did not retreat.

In the blink of an eye, Lothair had his weapon against the commander’s neck. “Are you prepared to die for the Comtesse Marguerite?”

The commander’s throat worked, his sword hand frozen at his side.

“What is it going to be, Commander?” Lothair pressed the blade a little harder, drawing blood. “I can assure you she would not risk her life for you. She would not give you a thought. She most certainly will not reward your bravery.”

From the gossip in the village about Marguerite, Lothair was not lying. Spoiled, self-serving, unfaithful—those were the kinder things spoken about the comtesse. One could only assume Lothair had taken her to wife for her connections, not her disposition.

The commander surveyed the keep guard. He could not win this battle. He had to see that.

The commander sheathed his sword. “Lower your weapons.”

With obvious wariness, the chevaliers did as they were ordered.

Gaharet jerked his head at them, and Aubert needed no further persuasion. Edmond took Isobella’s hand, and all four of them weaved their way free of their captors to stand behind Lothair. Aubert did not like the way Lothair’s gaze fixed on Isobella, on the way Edmond held her hand. Nor the curiosity that burned in his eyes like molten steel. The man saw too much. For a human.

Lothair gave a nod to his keep guard, and they swarmed around the chevaliers. “Take this as my one and only offer, Commander. Go home to your families alive. Or I will send you back in pieces.”

The commander nodded, short and sharp. “We journey to the border,” he ordered his chevaliers.

“Wise decision.” Lothair sheathed his sword. “Aimon, see that they reach it.” He turned toward the keep, then halted, glancing back over his shoulder. “And Commander, inform Marguerite’s father that if I see one chevalier from House Allard within my borders again, I will wage war on his house until there is not a single soul left who bears its name.”

The commander spun on his heel, and the mounted guard marched them away from the keep toward the city gate. Aubert followed their progress until the darkness swallowed them all but for the faint clop of horse’s hooves and the jingle of chain mail. He frowned. It was not like Lothair to not make an example of the commander. Would that be something he would come to regret?

Remi appeared from behind the gate, his hands on his hips and a jaunty tilt to his head. “Thank you, Remi. You did a marvelous job of saving the day.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “Might that not be worth a reward?”

Edmond rolled his eyes. “Your reward is that you get to keep living in our keep and do not have to go back to the streets.”