halt and she strode on, not looking back.
‘Wyn,’ he said flatly, ‘go back to him. I do not want you here.’
‘Don’t bother, Razi,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not about to waste my time arguing with you.’ She kept walking, but Razi did not follow, and she was forced to stop and look back at him.
His face was utterly hard. ‘You will not meet these men.’
‘Yes, I shall,’ she said. ‘I shall most certainly meet these men. I want very much to meet the men who stole his hands and enslaved his family. I want very much to look into the faces of the ones who hurt those poor girls at the inn. I want to know why it is they still wander about Algiers day after day without you baying for their blood, Razi. I want to know why it is that our brother has called them to his table. I will not sit on my arse like a good woman and let this go on without me. If Christopher is to be once again denied his vengeance, I shall be there to find out why.’
‘This is not the time for childish displays of defiance,’ he cried. ‘I have had the weight of these creatures hung around my neck since I was fourteen years old, Wynter. Christopher’s life has been blighted by them for as long as he can recall. Do not step in now and act as though you understand a whit of what we feel.’
Wynter didn’t bother to reply. She simply stood with her hand on her sword, waiting for Razi to start up the slope again. Razi snarled and looked away. His eyes slipped to the tents behind which the hounds still voiced their frustration and rage.
‘Do not expect me to go in there with my sword drawn,’ he warned quietly. ‘I doubt Alberon’s plans will afford me the luxury. This world is not simple, Wynter. One cannot always have the blood one wants.’
The dogs howled again, and Razi’s furious mask slipped a little. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Oh, do not fret, brother,’ said Wynter coldly. ‘It is only the warhounds. Christopher is a good man, and strong. I have no doubt that he has already regained his self-control. I wager he has grown uncommonly good at suppressing his feelings. He has, after all, been associating with the likes of us for long enough.’
Razi snapped his eyes to her, and Wynter stared flatly back at him.
‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Fine! If you’re coming, let us go.’ And he strode towards the waiting tent, Wynter by his side.
LE GAROU
THE GUARDS around Alberon’s tent eyed Razi and Wynter as they approached. Oliver was standing in the shadow of the awning, and he came quickly forward, striding down the slope to head Razi off before he got anywhere near the wary soldiers.
Wynter expected Razi to shove his way past, but instead he halted, regarding the knight from under his brows.
‘Do not do this, my Lord,’ warned Oliver quietly, ‘please.’
Razi spoke just as quietly, his voice inaudible to the watching men. ‘Either let me past, or kill me, Oliver. Which will it be?’
Oliver regarded him closely, and Razi held his gaze. ‘I shall get access, or die trying, Sir Knight. I ask you again, which will it be?’
Oliver’s eyes fell to Wynter.
‘I shall accompany the Lord Razi.’
Oliver briefly squeezed his eyes shut; then he gestured the soldiers to give the lord and lady access. Wynter and Razi strode into the shade of the awning and straight through the door. Oliver stood for a moment in the sunshine, as if too weary to move, then he followed them in.
The map-table and its four chairs had been brought inside. Alberon sat on one side of it, David Le Garou on the other. David’s Seconds lined the wall behind him, loose-limbed and ready, watching their leader’s back. At Razi’s entrance, they straightened as one, their slanting eyes filled with amused delight.
David Le Garou rose smoothly to his feet, all his teeth showing in a grin. His eyes dropped to Wynter, then back to Razi. ‘Al-Sayyid,’ he murmured. ‘What a pleasant surprise. I had heard that you were dead.’
‘Why are you here?’ asked Razi.
David lifted his eyebrows and he turned to Alberon in feigned shock, as if expecting the Prince to reprimand his brother for his rudeness. There was a moment of heavy silence. Alberon drummed his fingers on the table. Once. A gesture of contained anger.
‘I take it that you