and chambers are empty again. If anything, he will be only too eager to act as if nothing has happened beyond paying an enterprising outlaw for the release of his bride. He will not willingly admit to anyone his brother has come back from the dead, or that there might be some reason for the nuptials to be delayed or postponed. Moreover, there are other reasons for secrecy and silence; reasons which forbid both Etienne and myself from settling our conflict openly and speedily, and those I dare not tell you, for it would most definitely place you in certain danger.”
“But … would it not be better for me to know of this danger?”
The Wolf brushed his fingertips over the tight, damp coils of hair clinging to her temples. “I told you he and I were much alike. Just as I can see so clearly what you feel and think at times, one look, one glance into these wide blue eyes of yours and he would know you were hiding something behind them.”
“Knowing this, you would still send me to face him alone?”
“I think you are more than a match for whatever tests the Dragon may put you through. Furthermore, you will not be completely alone,” the Wolf promised, twining his hands into the wet tangle of her hair. “Nor will you be without recourse if something … anything happens to frighten you. The queen’s official representative at the wedding is Lord Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer. You can trust him. He or any of his men will provide help or sanctuary if you need it.”
His frown cleared and he smiled in an attempt to soften the bluntness of his words. “La Seyne is another blackhearted bastard you will undoubtedly take to task for his boorish manners, but he is loyal to the queen, and none too fond of anyone who shares the humour of Prince John. You can trust him. I do … with my life.”
Servanne’s eyes brimmed slowly with fat, shiny tears. Seeing them, seeing the uncertainty behind them, the Wolf tightened his hands and drew her forward. She tried to avoid his mouth as it came down over hers, but his hands were firm and his lips forceful. His tongue was quick and efficient at reminding her how futile any show of resistance might be, and Servanne moaned softly, helplessly. She went so far as to push against the lowering wall of muscle before her hands betrayed their true desire and crept up and around the bronzed width of his shoulders.
At almost the same moment as Servanne de Briscourt was experiencing the greatest joy in her young life, the Dragon de Gournay was flushing with excitement.
“We believe we have found their lair, my lord,” Sir Aubrey de Vere reported. “We did not dare take the risk of creeping too close lest we betray our presence, but all signs indicate the Black Wolf has made camp in the ruins of an abbey once known as Thornfeld.”
“Thornfeld?” Wardieu’s blue eyes narrowed sharply. “Why am I not familiar with the name?”
“It is … was a cloister inhabited by monks who shunned all contact with the outside world. It is but a halfday’s ride from here, no more, and not five leagues from where we lost the scent of the two foresters the other night.”
“By God, right under our noses,” muttered Wardieu. “And no one thought to search this ruined abbey before now?”
De Vere frowned uncomfortably. “It was believed the brothers who lived there were followers of the Antichrist. At any rate, the abbey was put to the torch and the monks slaughtered, and for nigh on eighty years, no one has set eyes upon the ruins or dared to venture anywhere near that part of the forest.”
“No one? Not even the hounds of our fearsome Lord High Sheriff who professes to have scoured every square inch of the forest in search of the outlaw and his band?”
“It is not an easy place to find,” De Vere said. “The trees are thicker than flies on rotted meat, and the hills are pocked with caves and gorges to easily lead a man astray.”
“Surely the local villagers know of its location, especially those who poach the king’s deer with impunity.”
“Indeed, my lord, and to them this Black Wolf would be a rogue hero; they would not betray his whereabouts even if they knew it. We could only find one toothless old crone who would even admit to knowing of the place, and