Page 6 of Wolves’ Witch

“Easy, boy.” The horse was not soothed, and Aubert gave up trying, turning in his seat to stare at the woman in Edmond’s arms. “I think she is not long for this world.”

“She is in a bad way, yes, but she has fight in her yet. She will rally.” Would she? There was something in her scent, a wrongness, something beyond her treatment at the hands of Faucher, as though death hovered over her with bated breath.

Aubert grunted, the concern in his eyes unmistakable. “You cannot save them all, Edmond.”

Maybe not, but by the Fates, he would save her. “Remi.” The boy maneuvered closer. “Ride ahead to our keep. Have the maids prepare for our arrival, and the men man the gate.”

Renaud had had mercenaries in his employ. Who knew what forces Faucher had at his disposal. Their keep was solid. It had served their family well. It could withstand a siege if necessary.

Their guards lowered the portcullis the moment they passed through the gate, as men rushed across the bailey to their posts on the wall. At the keep door, their head steward and two maids were waiting for them.

“A chamber has been prepared, Mon Seigneurs. And the kitchen staff have food ready,” said their head steward. “Is there anything else you need?”

Edmond gathered the woman in his arms. “A hammer.” They needed to remove the shackles.

“Of course, Mon Seigneur. I will fetch one immediately.”

Aubert tossed the reins to a stable hand and jumped down from the cart, holding out his arms. “Pass her to me.”

“No need.” Edmond jumped down, ignoring Aubert’s scowl. He could not bear the thought of letting her go. Not even into the arms of his twin.

He swept through the keep with Aubert on his heels, following the maids up the stairs and into a bedchamber. Coals glowed in the brazier, the bed was heaped with blankets and in the corner sat a large barrel tub filled with steaming, scented water.

Their maid, Marceline, pointed at the chair. “Sit her there, Mon Seigneur.”

Edmond set the woman down, hovering close, steadying her so she did not fall.

Their steward appeared with the hammer. “I will have the cook make up a salve for her injuries.” He ducked out of the door again.

Edmond lifted the woman’s hand onto the table. She did not protest. “Brother.”

Aubert laid his large hand over hers, protecting it, keeping it still. Edmond raised the hammer and brought it down on the shackle pin. She whimpered and tried to pull away, dark eyes beseeching him, but Aubert held her firmly in place.

“Easy, chaton.” Edmond brushed a palm across her head. “I must remove the irons.”

He hit the pin again—once, twice, three times—and each time she flinched, but she did not fight against it again. Brave. With one more hit, the pin slipped free, and the shackle and chain fell to the floor with a clang. He repeated the process with her other hand, then kicked the shackles away. Faucher would suffer for what he had done to this woman. He would see to it. Lothair be damned.

Marceline fussed over the injured woman, checking her wrists. “The damage is minor. They should begin to heal in a few days.” She nodded, satisfied. “A warm bath, fresh clothes, a salve for her injuries, broth and some rest—that is what she needs.”

He shared a look with his brother. Aubert had noted it, too. The wrongness in her scent. Faucher had not treated her well, but his nose did not lie. There was something really wrong with her. She needed more than food and warmth, but that was a start. As soon as they deemed it safe, they would take her to Constance.

Marceline gestured to the younger maid standing by the door. “Amelie and I will take it from here, Mon Seigneurs. No need for you to be looming over her. Frightening her.”

Frightening her? He growled. They had rescued the woman, and he intended to see it through. Aubert was obviously of the same mind, for his brother’s deep growl amplified his own.

Amelie quailed and stepped back, but not Marceline. She held her ground. “The two of you, standing over her, watching her as she bathes? I will not have it.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now off with you both.”

Aubert hesitated, then hung his head and, like a chastised pup, headed toward the door.

With a reluctance Edmond could not explain, he too backed away. “We will be right outside.”

“Of course, Mon Seigneurs. I will inform you as soon as she is clean and dressed.” She ducked her head in deference, then closed the door in their faces.

Edmond stared at the bedchamber door. “Do you think Marceline may be a distant relation of Gaharet’s cook, Anne?”

A rare smile hung on Aubert’s lips, but his gaze strayed to the closed door, a hint of his wolf in his eyes. Did Aubert feel it too? This pull toward this woman? It had a strange familiarity to it he was not yet ready to contemplate.

“What if Faucher comes for us?” Aubert leaned against the wall, his attention still on the door. “The aumônier is a good man, but…” He shrugged.

Faucher could all too easily throw the aumônier into the room beneath the chapel if he would not talk. And the gate guards would not hesitate to reveal their identities, especially to Eveque Faucher. Keeping silent was not worth the risk of losing one’s immortal soul.

Edmond beckoned Remi over. The boy had been hovering since they had arrived at the keep. “Take a fresh horse and go back along the road. Find a spot out of sight and keep watch. Any signs of pursuit, anything unusual, you ride back here as fast as you can.”

Remi nodded and scurried off, disappearing down the stairs. The boy was proving far more useful than he had ever imagined.

“Now we shall have some warning should Faucher move against us.” Faucher would come. It was but a question of when, and who he would have at his back.