Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(79)

As she hoped, the men on guard were startled by the sounds of the rocks and immediately went to investigate. Ghislaine hurried out of her hiding place and onto the rickety bridge, hearing the men down below by the river as they spoke to one another, unable to find the source of the sounds that had drawn them away from their posts.

But to Ghislaine, it was the sound of hope – hope that she would escape that terrible town where Gaetan had left her. Even with her bad leg, she was able to shuffle across the bridge quickly enough so that by the time the guards returned to their warm fire, she was already on the other side, in the trees where they couldn’t see her.

Now, she had a fighting chance to find Gaetan.

In the dark, in the dead of night, she simply began to wander.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




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The Hunted


“You know he’s in love with her.”

It was a statement, not a question, coming from Luc de Lara. He was standing with Wellesbourne, de Reyne, de Moray, and St. Hèver in front of the tavern where the knights had spent several hours eating, drinking, and having a rare and relaxed conversation. They were currently waiting for the rest of the men – de Wolfe, de Russe, du Reims, de Winter, and Jathan to finish relieving themselves back behind the tavern in a communal toilet. They’d all had a few visits to it during the course of the night but now that they were leaving, there were those who needed to make one final visit.

Those who didn’t were standing in the dark street and it was de Lara’s quiet statement that hung in the air between them now. The mood had gone from warm and satisfied to uncomfortable all in a split second.

“Who?” Wellesbourne said. “De Russe? That much is obvious. I have not seen him pay so much attention to a woman since Abbeville, at least two years ago. Do you remember? The potter’s daughter.”

De Reyne snorted. “His father would never permit it,” he said. “The Count of Roeselare would never stand for his son to marry such a low-born woman.”

De Lara nodded. “He puts a great deal of pressure on Aramis to marry well. No wonder the man tries to stay away from women; his father has all but turned him off of them. But the Earl of Mercia’s sister is another matter altogether.”

“He will never have her,” de Moray, the grumpy old man of the group, spoke softly. When the others looked at him, curiously, he simply shook his head. “She will marry another.”

“Who?” de Reyne wanted to know.

De Moray looked at the collection of men, his brow furrowed. “Have you not seen the way Gate behaves with her? It is not only de Russe who is in love with her, but de Wolfe. I have seen lesser women tear apart strong men so I would be lying if I said this does not concern me.”

De Reyne cast a long glance at St. Hèver, who simply shook his head. “Gaetan is not in love with her,” Kye said quietly. “Interested, I would believe, but the man is not in love with her. I do not believe he knows how.”

“Gate has Adéle warming his bed,” de Reyne put in. “She has already given him two sons. He has no need for anyone else, least of all a Saxon woman.”

St. Hèver nodded in agreement. “If anything, he will take her as a concubine.”

“Until he tires of her,” de Reyne said knowingly.

“Exactly.”

Those two seemed to agree but the others did not. De Lara put up his hands in a supplicating gesture.

“Are you two so blind that you do not see it?” he asked. “Watch how he behaves around her and then you will understand what I mean. De Russe may be in love with the woman but I can promise you that Gaetan is as well. Did you not see how he held her hand when that fossil of an apothecary was carving into her leg? That, good knights, is a man who feels something. Mark my words.”

“Why did you let me drink so much?”

The question came from around the side of the tavern as de Winter suddenly appeared, groaning, followed by Aramis, Gaetan, and the others. The group at the front of the tavern instantly quieted their gossip as the others came to join them. Now, Denis de Winter was evidently miserable and was blaming everyone but himself, so the subject shifted from talk of Gaetan and Aramis to de Winter’s spinning head.

“I can feel the world rock when I close my eyes, which means tomorrow my head will be swollen,” Denis said. “Someone should have stopped me.”

Téo, walking beside him and grinning, slapped the man on the back. “Your head is already swollen and misshapen no matter what you do,” he said. “You have the biggest head I have ever seen.”

De Winter put both hands on his head, outraged. “I do not.”

“It’s the size of a full moon, Denis. I am surprised you can get it into your helm.”

De Winter scowled at him. “Then my head must reflect the size of my manhood,” he sneered. “I can hardly get it into my trousers.”

“That’s not what she said.”

Soft laughter erupted from the group but Denis didn’t like that fact that he was evidently being insulted on his most important body parts. “Who is she? I demand to know.”

Téo simply laughed at him, shaking his head at a drunken de Winter who had a big head and an even bigger manroot. He looked at Gaetan, who was smirking at de Winter as the man looked down into his trousers to make sure he was as well-endowed as he thought he was.