by E. D. Walker
Garwaf fought but could not keep himself from pricking his ears up.
King Thomas tipped his head to the side. “I’ve seen no indication of her discontent. At least not lately. For the past month, at least, I would stake my life she was happy as can be.”
Visibly flustered, the baron floundered on, “Well, you see, I think, um, something happened yesterday to alarm her.” He leaned in to the king and said in a confiding whisper, “I believe she and the queen had a bit of a spat over a gown she borrowed that, um, well, the wolf, he ruined the dress and—”
King Thomas waved that away. “Easily mended. I’m sure your daughter apologized, and I’ll certainly be happy to buy my wife a new gown to replace the ruined one. Is that all that makes Lady Kathryn dissatisfied with her situation here?”
The baron ran a hand through his hair and wiped some sweat away. “She had other reasons, I believe, ones she did not want me to convey to you, sire.” He darted a meaningful look at Garwaf, who peered at the man through his lashes.
Garwaf’s insides writhed with guilt. This is about yesterday.
Lord Stephen flicked a look at him, then hurriedly glanced away, his hands clenching and unclenching with unease. “Long has Lady Kathryn contemplated a spiritual life, sire, and she begs me to take her with me today so I can escort her to the convent at Bourlonge.”
Garwaf’s eyes sprang open, and he stared at the baron, his heart suddenly racing. Kathryn’s leaving?
Still glancing anxiously in Garwaf’s direction, Lord Stephen smoothed his hands down the front of his tunic, leaving damp stains from his sweating palms behind. “She will have, by now, conveyed her deepest regrets to your estimable lady, and so it is only left to me to express to you her sentiments. She will always remember her time at your court with fondness, and she regrets that she could not linger here longer.” The baron let his breath out in an obviously relieved sigh.
Garwaf leapt to his feet, staring at the man in unconcealed horror.
“Now I must convey my sincere compliments to your lordship and take my leave so we can make an early start. The road to Bourlonge is a long one.”
Garwaf staggered down the steps. She is leaving now? But I haven’t seen her since the feast. She hasn’t even said good-bye to me. I behaved badly yesterday, but surely my actions don’t warrant this. What could have changed her feelings so quickly? As he glanced around in dazed horror, he found himself staring into the smug face of Reynard where the man stood behind the flustered baron.
Without thinking, without pausing to draw breath, Garwaf pounced and landed on Reynard’s chest, bringing the large knight crashing hard to the cobbles of the court.
The effect on the assemblage of lords was instantaneous. Some knights leapt to Reynard’s defense. Others drew their weapons to protect the wolf. Lord Stephen only scrambled to get out of the way. Llewellyn shoved through bodies and fought his way to the standoff in the center of the hall. Garwaf perched on a defenseless Reynard, snarling into the terrified knight’s face, sharp fangs bared in menace. You did this. You drove her from me.
***
Llewellyn elbowed his way through the throng of onlookers. Salvation of the situation lay in the fact the wolf had only knocked Reynard down. He had not yet seriously injured the knight.
The king moved to intervene, but the crowd was too thick, jostling, and dense. There was no time to waste. Time for Llewellyn to try his hand at taming the wolf. He just hoped he didn’t lose an appendage in the process. Llewellyn did so very much like his hands.
Reynard had gone white as a sheet and had not so much as batted an eyelid while he lay pinned beneath the wolf. He had hurt the back of his head, and it now oozed blood. His eyes were slightly glazed. Still the knight was enough in possession of his senses not to give the homicidal wolf sitting on top of him any reason to strike. That wouldn’t last forever.
Llewellyn crept up to the wolf on his hands and knees. “Gabriel,” he whispered, “whatever this man has done, however he has driven a wedge between you and Kathryn, this won’t help. You are not a wolf. Use your mind. Come back to yourself. Gabriel.” He leaned down to force the wolf to look into his eyes and to move between the wolf and Reynard. Garwaf would have to hurt Llewellyn to get at Reynard. “Remember, my lord. Do not forget the oath you have but lately spoken. You are more than what you have become. Prove it now and let this pig offal go.”
The wolf looked down. Humanity flickered in his eyes, and Gabriel stared back at Llewellyn from the wolf’s face.
But suddenly Garwaf’s face contorted in a fierce snarl, and the wolf lunged. Reynard flinched and cried out.
The wolf let the man shriek himself hoarse for exactly one heartbeat, then pulled back from his feint. Garwaf then wagged his tail, climbed off the prone knight, and sat back in obvious satisfaction. The hall erupted into relieved laughter at once. At Reynard’s expense. Llewellyn pressed a palm over his mouth but could not contain his relieved laughter.
Reynard bolted upright, rubbing the bump on his head and nursing his wounded pride.
Llewellyn sat on the floor, hands draped on his knees, laughing too hard to get up. He fought valiantly around his mirth, then finally managed to stumble to his feet between chuckles. “Would you like me to look at your head, my lord?”
Reynard glared at Llewellyn, drew his fancy cloak tight about himself, sneered at the wolf, then stomped from the hall.
***
Garwaf yipped happily, scanning the crowd for the king. After a moment, he realized Reynard’s was not the only scent absent from the hall. Lord Stephen’s smell of fresh-turned earth and beef stew had gone as well.
Kathryn. Garwaf charged from the hall, pounding through the doors and onto the cobbles of the court just in time to see Reynard galloping into the distance only a few horse lengths behind Kathryn and her father.
Llewellyn, not one to shirk his duty, had followed Garwaf from the hall. The magician and the king stood side by side, panting for breath as one man. “My lord, Reynard may harm the Lady Kathryn if left to his own devices on the road with her.” He clutched his chest and rasped for more breath. “Her father is not as young as he was.”
The king nodded. “Nor as heavily armed as Reynard.”
Kathryn and that hideous beast? No. She may not want me with her anymore, and small blame to her after how I have behaved these past few days. But I care too much to risk her all alone on the road with that slimy filth. Without pausing, the wolf bounded out of the court to follow the dust trail of the horses that had but lately left the king’s castle.
Chapter Fourteen
Kathryn made sure she was ready to depart and had taken her leave of the queen quite early. Lately, the queen had been ill, and all the other ladies were too squeamish to wait on her. A small amount of guilt tickled at Kathryn to be leaving Aliénor now, but she hoped the queen’s sickness would pass before too long.
Kathryn’s father had brought only one horse and, when she explained to the queen that she and her father would probably take turns in walking and riding to the convent, Aliénor offered up her own mare. Kathryn protested, but the queen only clucked her tongue. “Not for you to keep, you tiresome creature. Just to borrow. Besides, if you have my pretty girl with you, I shall have a good excuse to visit you sooner than later.” Aliénor smiled but with sadness in her eyes. She hugged Kathryn and kissed her cheek.
The queen escorted Kathryn to the courtyard and ordered her own dainty horse, Gaenor, saddled and loaded with Kathryn’s meager luggage. “Shall I wait for your father with you?”
“And deprive the court of their beautiful queen?” She laughed and shook her head. “Go back to the garden and your ladies, my lady. I’ll be fine.”
Aliénor left with obvious reluctance.
Kathryn would miss the queen and the court and the ladies and the knights and the king and Llewellyn…and the wolf. She would miss it all, but still she knew this was the best possible decision. She would only be in the way when the duke retur
ned. If she was near, there would be awkward and painful scenes to play out. By leaving, she acted in the best interests of everyone.
I’m being a coward.
“Oh, quiet, you,” she snapped at herself.
Fortunately for Kathryn’s inner solidarity, her father came rushing out just as the sun rounded the horizon toward late afternoon. Winded and flushed, her father’s face blazed as red as a tomato. Lord Stephen wiped sweat from his broad brow, then grasped her by the arm to drag her to their horses. “Come on, fool girl. Best to go while the going is good.”
Baffled rather than bolstered forward, Kathryn dug her heels in and would have asked questions but for the look of sheer terror her father turned on her. Silence seeming the best course, she mounted the queen’s mare and set off at a brisk gallop beside her father through the castle gates.
They rode for some time. Not until the sun began a headlong rush toward its bed for the night did Kathryn notice the sound of a third pair of hoofbeats behind them. When she turned and recognized Reynard, a manic glint in his eye, she was immediately too scared to notice anything else.
Eventually she perceived the small dot behind Reynard farther down the road. Too small to be another horse, yet her other pursuer ran on all fours. Her throat closed with fear. She prayed this second following shadow was not who she was almost certain that it was.
***
Unsure precisely what he planned for the wench, Reynard wanted only to hurt the bastard who had humiliated him so completely in front of all the court. Kathryn was the best and most readily available means of doing this. Her father was a trifling matter not to waste one’s time on. What defense could an overweight graybeard mount against Reynard, who was cunning and in the prime of his vigor?
Reynard kicked the flanks of his horse hard to get an extra burst of speed. They neared the forest, and dusk would be the perfect time. Once into that line of trees with the concealing cloak of night to abet him, who was to know what had happened to the poor girl? Or who had done such thoroughly appalling violence to her?
Oh yes, Reynard intended to be very thorough.
***
Kathryn. Oh Kind Fate, please, please, do not let me be too late. Don’t let him so much as touch a hair on her head. Please. Oh please…
Garwaf’s lungs were on fire, and his legs ached as if four monsters stabbed every nerve ending in his limbs. He had never run so fast or so hard in his life. Not even the day the hunting dogs were after him, the day he’d met Kathryn. Then he’d been running for his life. Now he ran for hers, praying the whole way that he would be fast enough to reach her in time.
***
Lord Stephen still galloped his horse hard for the forest as if a demon bit at his ankles. Kathryn was more reticent to enter that enclosing darkness with Reynard so close at their heels and night riding along at his shoulder.
Any number of accidents could logically befall one in there, and any number of excuses would be ready to Reynard’s hand should they befall Kathryn in a hive of such reputed villainy. She reined in her horse. “Please, Father, the day is too far advanced. Let’s return to the castle and get a fresh start in the morning.”
Her father halted just shy of the tree line. He wheeled his horse around violently. “No, girl, best to be away before that damned creature gets any ideas and comes after us.”
He’s running from the wolf? Oh dear. Had something else happened at the assembly to make her father fear the beast so?
“Father—” she started, then broke off with a small gasp.
Her father turned his horse too sharply. The beast bucked and threw Stephen before running into the forest.
“Father.” She jumped down and ran to where her father lay dazed in the dust. Just as she began really to worry, Stephen came to himself.
“Filthy nag.” His voice sounded thick, his words slurring.
“Now will you go back to the castle?”
The sound of hooves made her whirl around as Reynard at last caught up with them. With a creak of leather, Reynard dismounted. “Can I be of assistance?” He tried but could not conceal from Kathryn the smirk playing about his cruel lips.
Her father rose at once and swayed, holding his head, which bled a little on the side from a blow with a rock. The baron collected himself and made an obeisance to the higher-ranking noble. “If your lordship would lend his assistance, I should be most gratified.” He tried to bow without falling over but just managed to stand with Kathryn’s steadying hand on his arm.
“You’re destined for Abbess Marie’s convent at Bourlonge?” Reynard asked, a speculative gleam in his eye.
“Aye.” The baron blinked bleary, unfocused eyes. Kathryn almost toppled from supporting his weight.
“Well, then our way lies together.” Reynard smiled. “For I am on my way to collect my dear sister from that same convent. Your horse has run off, sir?”
“Yes,” her father slurred, becoming more muddled by the moment. He sagged again, nearly knocking Kathryn down too. “In there.” He pointed to the forest and blinked as if trying to get his eyes to focus.
“We shall go in together and search, then. Before the sky gets much darker.” Reynard clasped Kathryn by the arm, his grip like steel bands around her flesh, and jerked her away from her father.
Lord Stephen fell over in a faint at once without Kathryn’s supporting shoulder.
Reynard yanked Kathryn toward the forest. “You, my little peach, will now be taught to mind your manners.”
She struggled, and he pulled her to him impatiently, bending her arm behind her back. She let out a cry of pain and tried to kick him, but her skirts blunted her blows.
Reynard’s smile was predatory as he looked at her, a thin sneer pulling back over his bright teeth. “You will come to wish you had not refused my kindly attentions before. I shall have to make sure your wolf gets a good look at my handiwork when I’ve finished. That way he will never forget what I did to you.”
Summoning her courage, Kathryn spat in Reynard’s face. “Garwaf may be a wolf, but you are the animal.” Her other hand still free, she swung her fist back and clipped Reynard full force across the jaw.
He cursed and rubbed his mouth. His face contorting, he hauled his arm up and backhanded her. This was no laughing matter, as he wore a heavy leather gauntlet and had a fist like an anvil.
Her head snapped back, and she sagged in his grip, though she remained conscious. Barely. She stumbled but still tried to break free, tugging and shifting her weight away from him.
He easily pulled her forward. Hauling her close, he slapped her again with casual brutality, then once more for good measure.
The pain of the first blow fused into the second as her face erupted with stinging heat, her cheek throbbing. Her cheek stung, and her lip had split open against her teeth so that she tasted thick, coppery blood.
Her head grew fuzzy. She should have been struggling, but her arms did not obey the signals of her addled brain. She was limp limbed and half unconscious as Reynard drew her to him, grunting in pleasure. He pushed her roughly to the ground. While he pinned her legs with one of his, she wriggled beneath him. Reynard slapped her again, and her head lolled back, her cheek scratching against the road. The dirt of the ground felt coarse and cool beneath her cheek, and her nostrils filled with the scent of Reynard’s sweating body as he loomed.
Grinning in savage satisfaction, Reynard bent toward her. She closed her eyes, trembling, but her eyes popped open the next moment at the sound of paws skittering in the dirt.
***
The wolf leapt forward and sank his teeth in. He dragged Reynard to the ground and proceeded to maul the fiend, striking, yanking, thrashing to get him off Kathryn.
She managed to wobble to her feet for precisely one moment. Her eyes closed, and she tumbled bonelessly to the ground and lay there as still as death.
No. Garwaf whined. Please, no. He was about to go to her, but Reynard tackled him from the side and punched him about the head an
d ribs. Reynard hefted a large branch, but at his first attempt to bludgeon Garwaf, the branch hit with rib-cracking accuracy only for the rotten tree limb to disintegrate in a shower of sodden wood chips. “Oh shit.”
Garwaf landed on him, all flashing teeth and sharp claws savaging Reynard in the failing light. Reynard shoved him off and scrambled away. Garwaf moved to stand between him and Kathryn, hackles raised, teeth bared.
“Nice doggy,” Reynard crooned.
Garwaf snarled and moved forward a step.
Reynard backed off, stumbling to his horse.
Garwaf darted a glance to Kathryn. She was still not moving. No was the only coherent thought spinning through Garwaf’s mind. He crouched in the dirt beside his lady and keened softly, butting her bruised cheek with his snout. She still did not move.
Shaking with grief, he collapsed into the dirt beside her body, his cold nose pressing against her wrist, his lupine head on her arm. He closed his eyes. Let Reynard come. Let me die, then, if she will not move.
Kathryn stirred. “Your nose is cold.” Her voice was thick, but she spoke. She lived.
Garwaf leapt to his feet and nudged her with a paw. Up, my beauty. Up. We’re not back to the castle yet. Up.
Kathryn shakily propped herself on her elbows and gazed at him in the near dark, her eyes vague, dazed. She rubbed her head with her other hand and winced as she brushed her bruise. “Reynard,” she said and turned.
Garwaf had much keener eyesight than she did, especially so near nightfall. He clearly saw the crossbow Reynard leveled at him. He growled defiance at the knight, preparing to spring. Garwaf might get an arrow bolt through his gut, but Reynard would end up with a broken neck. Garwaf’s probable death would be worth it to hear that satisfying crack.
***
Kathryn moved before the wolf could. Half conscious and head aching, she still knew him better than he could lay claim to knowing himself. And damned if she’d saved him from the king’s hunt just for him to get shot by Reynard the Lecher, a stone’s throw away from sanctuary.
