Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(21)

Gaetan shook his head. “Nay,” he said. He sighed heavily in disappointment; he couldn’t help it. “They said that they found a large contingent of Anglo-Saxons off to the east, possibly part of the retreating army, but they did not get too close to it.”

“At least they did not find Kristoph’s body.”

“That is what they said. I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.”

Téo could hear the sadness in his voice and he turned to look at the man. “Do not give up hope,” he said quietly. “The others are still out there, still looking – Lance, Marc, and Denis. They may yet find him.”

Gaetan’s gaze was off to the north where the smoke from Anglo-Saxon fires spilled up into the sky. “I have been tearing myself apart trying to recall where I last saw Kristoph and what could have happened,” he said, reconstructing his memory. “I was off to the northeast; we had both broken through the eastern flank because de Lara had sent word that Harold was dead. Kristoph was right beside me. We came upon a group of men standing around Harold’s body and that is the last I saw of Kristoph. Eventually, we found his horse, but not him. Not… him.”

“Then it sounds to me as if someone knocked him off the horse.”

“Or he was hit with an arrow or a spear and fell off.”

“If that was the case, we would have found his body by now,” Téo said. He shook his head. “Nay, Gate; Kristoph has been taken away. If we have searched all night and have not found his corpse, then the logical conclusion is that the Anglo-Saxon army has him as a prisoner.”

Gaetan turned to look at him. “Oddly enough, I hope that is true. I hope he is alive and a prisoner. At least if he is alive, there is hope of regaining him and I do not have to tell my sister that I let tragedy befall her husband.”

Téo put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We will find him,” he said softly, firmly. “Now, you have not slept in almost two days. You must get some sleep while you can, at least until the others return. If they return without Kristoph, then we will need to form a plan of action and you cannot do that if your mind is desperate for sleep.”

Gaetan knew he was right; Téo usually was. He was older than the rest of them and had seen much in life. His wisdom was a blessing. With a heavy sigh, Gaetan turned for his tent, his gaze moving over the structure.

“Then I shall go and sleep with a dead man,” he said.

Téo lifted his eyebrows casually. “He cannot be worse than some of the women you have bedded.”

Gaetan fought off a smirk. “Cold and smelly. Aye, that describes your sister very well.”

Téo burst out laughing. “If I was not so exhausted, I would challenge you for that insult.”

“If I was not so exhausted, I would accept.”

Gaetan was grinning as he entered his tent, comfortable and well-appointed as usual with the distinct addition of a man in a shroud in the middle of it. Jathan, the priest, was still there, singing soft prayers over the body, reading from a song book he had copied himself in his youth.

But Gaetan had little patience for noise when he wanted to sleep. He motioned irritably to the priest even as two squires burst into the tent and headed for him, helping him to remove his protection.

“Enough prayers for now,” Gaetan told Jathan. “I wish to sleep and I cannot do it if you are howling in the background.”

Jathan immediately ceased his prayers, eyeing his lord as the man headed straight to his padded cot with his squires trailing after him, pulling things from his body.

“Has de Lohr been located yet, my lord?” Jathan asked.

Gaetan held out his arms so the squires could untie his scabbard and his belted tunic. “Not yet,” he replied. “But his horse has been found. And not everyone has returned from the search yet. There is still hope.”

Jathan considered that information a moment before standing up, his joints stiff from having been in a kneeling position for so long. Being the spiritual guide for the Anges de Guerre, he knew what de Lohr’s absence was doing to these men and Gaetan in particular. These were men of war and they knew the consequences of that vocation more than most, but Jathan was convinced that they entered – and exited – every battle believing they were immortal. De Lohr’s death or capture was a serious blow to those ideas of grandeur but more than that, it was a blow to the brotherhood between them all. With the removal of one, they were somehow fractured. Weaker.

The Anges de Guerre were not immortals, after all.

“Then I shall pray for his safety,” Jathan finally said. “And for yours, my lord.”

Gaetan looked at him as the squires pulled off the heavy padded vest on his muscular torso. “Why me?”

Jathan was moving stiffly to the tent opening. “Because whoever has de Lohr shall surely feel your wrath, will they not?” he said. “God give you strength to do what you must do in order to avenge him.”

He left the tent, leaving Gaetan mulling over what Jathan had said. It was quite true. In fact, whoever had Kristoph would, indeed, be punished. Wiped from the earth and all of his brethren with him. Gaetan hadn’t much pondered his sense of revenge because he was more concerned with regaining Kristoph but, now, he was thinking of it a great deal.

Indeed, he would make whoever held Kristoph pay dearly.