Page 37 of Wolves’ Witch

“I got you the result you wanted, did I not? You thought Gaharet would say no. This way, he could not. Would he want some poor woman to suffer? Hm?” Remi cocked an eyebrow, a jaunty tilt to his head. “I think not.”

No, Gaharet would not wish to see some poor woman in pain, but he would not have taken lightly to them turning her without sanction. And yet… There was a hint of a smile on Gaharet’s lips.

“What are we going to do with you, Remi?” muttered Edmond. “And it is Mon Seigneur Gaharet to you. Show some respect.”

Gaharet held his hands up. “We cannot change what is done. All we can do is deal with the consequences. Isobella needs to start her training first thing on the morrow.”

“Edmond will do it,” said Aubert. Now Edmond looked like he might protest. “I will take Remi to Langeais. Keep the boy out of trouble. The beggars might have new information.” About Faucher, his alliance with the comtesse and this witch Cordelia. And the warlock, Douglas. Aubert had a need to track down Douglas for more personal reasons. He would not claim Isobella as his own, but he would see those who had hurt her paid for their betrayal.

“Are you sure that is wise?” asked Edmond. “If Faucher sees you, or if any of the chevaliers from House Allard do, they will not fail to recognize you. We can send Ulrik with Remi, then we can train Isobella together.”

“Remi trusts me more.” It was a lame excuse even to his own ears, but the more time Edmond spent with Isobella—alone—the better. “And we will use the pleasure house.” During their hunt for Lance, they had learned from Remi of the secret entrance into Langeais—over the wall and through the pleasure house window. It had proved useful then. It would aid them again now. “We will hide there. Remi can make contact with the thieves.”

“I will be faster without you. Quieter, too.” Remi smirked. “Mon Seigneur Aubert.”

“Without werewolf senses, you might stumble on Faucher or his troops on the road,” he countered.

“Remi is right.” Gaharet’s grimace said he did not like admitting that. “But so is Aubert. On the morrow, Aubert, you will escort Remi to Langeais. Once he is safe in the pleasure house, you will come back here. Edmond, you will begin Isobella’s training. Aubert will join you upon his return.” Gaharet’s tone brooked no argument.

Merde.

“Now we have settled that”—Remi’s gaze bounced from Aubert to Edmond—“who is Sabine?”

Aubert snarled and hauled Remi toward the door, ignoring his brother’s glare. He was trying to do the right thing. Separate himself from Isobella. It would be hard leaving her, leaving his brother. It had been a long time since he had undertaken a mission without Edmond, and the thought of it had a lump settling in his chest heavier than a blacksmith’s anvil.

Is this what it would be like when Isobella chose Edmond? For Edmond would want a life with his mate unencumbered by his brother’s constant presence. Would he lose not only a mate, but his connection with his twin as well?

After the twins departed, dragging Remi along with them, Gaharet sat at his desk staring at the coals in the brazier. He had been but a score years old when Edmond and Aubert had met Sabine. A peasant girl with ambitions to rise above her station, she’d seen Aubert and Edmond as her way out of poverty.

Gaharet had never liked her. Everything about her had left a bad taste in his mouth, but his father had cautioned him against speaking his truth. She was Edmond’s and Aubert’s true mate. Though Gaharet was certain his father had found no more appeal in Sabine than he had. And it had troubled his father that both Edmond and Aubert had experienced the mating pull. His father’s fears had not been unfounded.

Gaharet sighed, testing the ink on the parchment. Satisfied it was dry enough, he folded it, dripped a blob of hot wax on it, and stamped it with his seal. “Gascon,” he called his head steward into the room, and handed him the parchment. “See that Comte Lothair receives this with all urgency. Make sure it is delivered into his hands personally.”

Gascon bowed and left the room.

Edmond was right. Isobella was not like Sabine. Gaharet liked her. Her honesty shone through in every word, in every emotion she made no effort to hide. There was a goodness about her, a softness Sabine had been lacking. Would that she had been their first true mate, perhaps things would not have escalated as they had.

Maybe… He crossed his ankles and leaned back in his chair. There had been a remarkable lack of scent trail—no scent trail at all—to explain how Sabine had ended where she had, her throat slit and her body thrown in a ravine. Or who had led or carried her there. Not a full day after Aubert and Edmond had reconciled. Had there been something else at play? Witchcraft? Distorting the call of a true mate? With a time-traveling witch worrying at the pack’s heels, Gaharet could not afford to discount anything.