Page 64 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Thirty-Two

Isobella jolted along to the clop of horse’s hooves and the jingle of armor as they trotted through the forest toward Langeais. Edmond, Aubert and D’Artagnon rode as though they’d been born in the saddle. Remi, too. She bounced around like a sack of potatoes, the reins cinched in her white-knuckled grip. Maybe giving her a horse of her own hadn’t been such a grand idea.

Edmond reached over and squeezed her hand. “Relax, Isobella. Gaharet trains all the horses for the Langeais wolves. As did his father before him. And his father’s father. They are used to our kind.”

She forced a smile. The horses may well be used to werewolves, but Isobella wasn’t used to them. The few times she’d ridden behind Edmond didn’t count, and they’d be stupid to believe a few days of training, no matter how intense, meant she had control over her wolf. She side-eyed Edmond, and her belly swooped. This morning hadn’t been about training. Not at all.

“We’ve followed in the footsteps of our ancestor Alexandre, the first black wolf.” D’Artagnon urged his horse across a small, fast-flowing creek. “He was renowned for his ability with horses.”

Aubert crossed the stream, scanning the trees, on constant alert. “We have a long history with more than training horses.”

Remi followed him. There’d been no sign of any trouble so far, but they weren’t taking any risks. Gaharet had decreed they should split up. Too many Langeais wolves in one place might be too much of a temptation for any of their enemies. Faucher would have lookouts on the road, so Aimon and Gaharet would take the road to Langeais. Edmond, Aubert, D’Artagnon, Remi and Isobella would go via the forest. She nudged the horse down the bank toward the stream.

“Are you talking about Cordelia?” asked Edmond. “Or Cordoylla. Whatever her name is.”

Isobella’s turn. Her mount picked up its pace. She squealed and clung to it with every aching muscle in her body as it leaped across the water, then surged up the bank. She settled in line behind Aubert, and Isobella relaxed her grip and patted the horse on its neck. Good horse. Nice horse. Gaharet had trained it to cope with more than werewolves.

Edmond followed her across the creek and drew his mount up alongside her, giving her an encouraging smile that turned her insides to goo. Then he dropped back to take up the rear as the trail narrowed again.

“Erin mentioned Cordelia had caused havoc in the d’Louncrais village some time ago,” said Edmond. “I wonder… There are a lot of years between the creation of the first Langeais wolf and Gaharet’s grand-père’s time. A time-traveling witch could turn up in any century she chose.”

She could. She probably had.

D’Artagnon glanced back over his shoulder, the skin around his scar puckering with his frown. “You think there might be other times?”

Yes. Isobella was almost certain of it. She’d given it a lot of thought as she’d bounced along with her death grip on the saddle. That, and what had happened in the training room. What might’ve happened if Gascon hadn’t interrupted them. What she wanted to happen when she had the chance to be alone again with them. Her mates. That word alone sent a thrill skipping through her body.

“Could be.” Aubert cocked his head. “We have our amulets for a reason.”

“There was the break in the pack, too, remember?” said Edmond. “When the Langeais wolves became three packs instead of one.”

Remi nudged his horse beside Aubert. “There are three packs?”

“The Ludenwic wolves in Bretaigne, the Rus wolves in the cold reaches of Rus, and us,” explained Edmond. “I wonder if Cordelia had something to do with that.”

“Huh.” Remi lapsed into thoughtful silence.

Aubert stared down at the young boy, shaking his head. “No.”

Remi raised his hands. “What?”

Edmond chuckled. “You are easy to read, lad. The Ludenwic wolves and the Rus wolves will not turn you either.”

Isobella avoided the boy’s questioning look. She might be their mate now, but she’d already pushed the boundaries of pack law when they’d turned her. Remi turned to D’Artagnon.

The scarred chevalier ignored him. “Erin is bound to find more mentions of Cordelia in my father’s journal, and I think Constance might know the story behind the amulets.”

Isobella would like to hear about that. Anything to do with Constance’s coven would be interesting. How they’d connected with the Langeais wolves, and more about this curse that had made them. Curses were funny things. They could come back to bite the caster in ways that couldn’t be anticipated. It didn’t stop witches like Cordelia from using them against their foes. The Langeais wolves were proof of that. She bet Cordelia hadn’t expected them to thrive like they had.

They emerged from the cool shadows of the forest and reined in their horses. Below them wound the road leading toward the gates of Langeais. The sun had slipped lower, and dusk cast its shadow over the streets. On the hill, looming over the village, was Langeais Keep. It would be dark soon, and though darkness would favor them, it still sent a shiver down Isobella’s spine. The last time she’d been here, Faucher had confined her beneath the chapel. She’d believed she would die there.

“Is it possible there is some restriction on this time-travel spell?” asked Edmond.

They all turned to look at her.

Isobella shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s not exact science, and mistakes can be made. You can end up in the wrong place like I did, but there’s nothing in the spell to suggest there’s a limit on how many times you can use it.”

A frown more common on his brother marred Edmond’s forehead. “Then why does she wait so long? Apart from Didier being a lousy stable hand on Gaharet’s estate, we have heard naught of Cordelia until now. The time before that was…what…in our grand-père’s lifetime?”