Page 62 of Wolves’ Witch

Isobella tensed beside him. “I don’t think you want a confrontation with Cordelia. Not if you can avoid it. If Lance is using her spells… That’s a battle I would suggest avoiding at all costs.”

“Maybe,” said Gaharet. “But it is one we must inevitably face. Though Farren is right. We need not face it now. That leaves Faucher, Douglas and Didier.”

Aubert thumped his hand on the table. “Douglas is ours.”

“He hurt our mate,” Edmond backed his brother. “It is our right to vengeance.”

“You can have Douglas,” said D’Artagnon, pulling his mate close, “but Didier is mine.”

“That leaves Faucher to me.” Gaharet rose. “D’Artagnon, Aubert and Edmond will handle Didier and Douglas. Remi will guide you. Aimon, you will come with me to see Lothair. Perhaps between the three of us we can find a solution that will not have the pontiff and all his cardinals descending on us by the hordes.” His gaze settled on his mate, halting her protest. “Ulrik and Farren, you will stay here and help guard our mates. I will not have Lance catching us unawares again.”

Bek’s eyes blazed fire. “I think we did a damn fine job of dealing with Lance the last time he came to visit. Why do we have to stay behind? Because we’re women?” She turned her ire on her mate. “If you think I’m going to put up with that misogynistic crap from you, well, you’ve got another think coming, buster.”

Edmond smirked at Ulrik. “You think Isobella has a challenge on her hands with the two of us?”

Ulrik scowled. Edmond chuckled. He was not wrong. Rebekah was no timid girl. She would test Ulrik at every turn.

Gaharet shook his head. “The females will stay behind.”

Erin bristled. “Females? Uh-uh. I’m with Bek on this one. How about you, Kathryn?”

The copper-haired beauty’s eyes lit up. “I have become rather proficient with my sword.”

Aimon almost choked on his tongue.

A muscle in Gaharet’s jaw twitched, but he maintained his calm. “You”—he swung his gaze to take in all the women at the table—“all of you, are strong women, and you exceeded my expectations when you fought off Lance. I am proud of the werewolves you have become.” He inclined his head to Kathryn. “And your ability to wield a sword. But you are the future of our pack, and I need to know you are safe. You will stay here.”

“But—”

“No buts, Erin. You are with pup. You will stay behind. Ulrik and Farren will organize the men to stand watch, on the walls and inside the keep. If Lance uses that spell again, he will face experienced chevaliers and a werewolf who can hold his own against him. As well as all of our she-wolves.”

Erin rose, her hands on her hips and her sigh full of exasperation. “I’m pregnant, Gaharet, not dying. Stop treating me like I’m some kind of invalid. Besides, what if Cordelia should decide to pay us a visit? Then, what? Hm?”

Gaharet would not budge. “In all the pack’s experiences with Cordelia, she has never attacked this keep directly. That suggests there is a limit to her power. That she fears to do so because she is not certain she will triumph.”

“Just because she hasn’t tried it before, doesn’t mean she won’t now.” Erin was not backing down. “Everything we’ve learned about her from your father’s journal, from Constance, and now Isobella, tells us she is a powerful witch.”

“Constance can create a ward around the keep,” offered D’Artagnon.

“So can Isobella.” Edmond crossed his arms, sharing in D’Artagnon’s smugness that their mates had not insisted on going. Isobella was strong and capable. She had proved that on their journey here, but he would be lying if he said he did not wish her to remain within the protective walls of the d’Louncrais keep. Far away from Douglas and Faucher.

Gaharet towered over his mate. “You are staying here. I am the alpha, and my word is law.”

Erin’s gaze turned frosty.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” Isobella’s words cut through the tension, breaking the stand-off between Erin and Gaharet. “Douglas is a warlock.”

“So is Didier,” said Constance. “I am not certain how skilled he is, but he is Cordelia’s son. He may be stronger than we think.”

The dismay on D’Artagnon’s face mirrored his own feelings. From the thunderous scowl on Aubert’s face, his too.

Isobella couldn’t quite meet Gaharet’s stormy eyes, and she gripped her hands together in her lap. “I don’t mean to question you, Gaharet, but at least one of us is going to have to go with you to help with Didier and Douglas. And Cordelia might not attack this keep, but a small group of you on horseback might be exactly what she’s waiting for.”

“I will stay here and ward the keep,” said Constance. “Isobella should go with Aubert and Edmond.”

“No.” Both he and Aubert were out of their seats, their gruff denials echoing in the hall, D’Artagnon’s relief adding irritation to his displeasure.

Constance regarded them with her unusual eyes. “I am sorry, but Isobella needs to be the one to go.”

“Constance has visions,” D’Artagnon said. “She is never wrong.”

A steel band tightened around his heart, and he turned away from the empathy in D’Artagnon’s remaining eye. Edmond slumped into his seat.

“So be it.” Gaharet stared them all down, his wolf close to the surface. “Isobella will go to Langeais with Aubert and Edmond. The rest of the women will remain here. There will be no more discussion. Not from anyone.”

Edmond met the grim determination in Aubert’s eyes. They had once thought they had lost their mate. They had been wrong. Isobella was their true mate, and nothing—not Faucher, not Cordelia, nor the fickle hands of fate—would take her away from them. Not while he and Aubert still breathed.