Page 44 of Wolves’ Witch

His lips thinned. “Indeed.” He would not be a cuckold in front of his own county. By one of his own vassals. He would have the man gutted in front of Marguerite and stick his head on a pike in her chambers as a reminder. To her and everyone else.

“Careful, Mademoiselle. The last man to share my wife’s bed I had hanged from a beam in his own stable.”

Maybe Therese, Teresa, Tersa, whatever her name was, wanted to be rid of her betrothed. He could not say he blamed her. Her husband had been chosen for his wealth, not his disposition. It was certainly an ingenious way to be rid of him, but Lothair might lose the loyalty of the Escrues if he killed their pride and joy. If it eventuated to be a false accusation.

“No, Mon Seigneur Comte. You do not understand. The chevalier comes not to…” A flush stained her cheeks. “They talk. Nothing more.”

“Oh. What do they talk about, pray tell?” He needed proof of Marguerite’s treason, not gossip or suspicion. Not the word of an alpha werewolf he had recently brought to heel. Marguerite came with connections all the way to the King, and she oft waved them about in his face, reminding him. Lothair was as bound to the King as his vassals were to him. “Mind your words, Mademoiselle, for I will not tolerate liars or schemers.”

Her face paled, and her bottom lip trembled. “I am sorry, Mon Seigneur Comte. I am not privy to these discussions.”

Unfortunate. Perhaps he could use this girl to spy on—

“But I can tell you who the chevalier is.”

He waited. Would she name her betrothed, or another? Which of his vassals would be stupid enough to ally themselves with his wife?

“Seigneur Lance Vautour.”

Lance Vautour? The werewolf who had betrayed Gaharet was sneaking into his keep? He snarled, and the girl retreated further. How, and without any of his guard noticing? Mayhap the same way Gaharet and Ulrik had slipped from his grasp.

“Therese, the next time Lance visits my wife, you will notify me immediately.”

She curtsied. “Of course, Mon Seigneur Comte.”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle. For your loyalty. That will be all.”

She curtsied and fled. He really would have to do something nice for the girl now. Loyalty should be rewarded. Maybe find her a better husband. He called one of his guards to him. “Have every available man searching this keep.” First, Gaharet had escaped. Then Ulrik. Now Lance was sneaking in. There had to be a secret passage. “Move every piece of furniture, every wall hanging in every room. There has to be a tunnel somewhere within these walls. Find it! Pay particular attention to the walls near the postern gate.” With his reconciliation with Gaharet, and by extension, the Langeais wolves, he had made no effort to discover its whereabouts. He had been a fool. “And change the guards on the postern gate.” No doubt his wife had paid off the ones who had been guarding it. Or Lance had managed to persuade them to let him in.

He brushed a mound of cushions from a seat and settled in to wait for his wife. Lance Vautour, Eveque Faucher and this witch Cordelia. That his wife had aligned with Faucher came as no surprise. Marguerite was ever looking to push her advantage. That Faucher had agreed to alliance with a witch defied all logic. And now, a werewolf…

Marguerite was playing a dangerous game, one Lothair was determined to win.

Because losing meant he was dead.

* * * *

Lance urged his horse into a trot, the sounds of Langeais Keep fading away behind him. Comtesse Marguerite was no different from Archeveque Renaud. People with ambitions were always so easy to manipulate. And manipulate he had, stoking the fires by giving Marguerite information about the Langeais wolves, about Lothair’s designs on becoming a werewolf. Now, all he had to do was watch from afar as the comtesse rallied her forces to Lance’s end design. The annihilation of the d’Louncrais.

At the crossroads, he turned his horse toward the Lagarde estate. He was a man of rank and title. Unlike Gaharet, he would not stoop to hiding out in the woods in some rundown farmer’s cottage. Godfrey had no need of his estate. He would not be returning any time soon and no one would think to look for him there.