“Yes, and then we can feed Vill!” Lukaz lifted one of the buckets, and Cardin followed his example. They carried the wooden containers out of the kitchen and down the stone steps. Once they’d emptied the contents into the thick overgrowth at the edge of the forest, Cardin and his son returned to rejoin Ulla in the cottage kitchen.
From the wooden cutting board where she had carefully removed flesh from the hides, Ulla used her knife to scrape the portions of rabbit meat into a large ceramic bowl. Enthusiasm sparkled in her emerald eyes as she handed the bowl to Lukaz.
“Papa, you should be the one to feed Vill. Then he’ll know you’re his friend, too.” Lukaz carried the bowl to the corner of the kitchen where the wolf lay on the floor, watching their every move, anxiously awaiting his meal. The lad gave the dish to Cardin, knelt at the animal’s side, and scratched the wiry grey fur behind Vill’s alert ears. The wolf affectionately licked Lukaz’ joyful face.
With a gap-toothed grin, Lukaz looked up at his father. “Let him sniff your hand first, so he’ll recognize your scent. Then, set the bowl down in front of him.”
Cardin crouched beside his son, cautiously extending his hand to the wolf’s enormous maw. He spoke in a calm, reassuring voice. “Good boy, Vill. Here’s some fresh rabbit meat for you.” He placed the container in front of the wolf, pulling Lukaz to a stand as he rose to his feet.
“He likes you. Now he knows you’re his friend.” Lukaz wrapped his arms around Cardin’s waist, nestling his head into his father’s stomach. “I’m so glad you came home. I love you, Papa.”
A wave of overwhelming love and smothering guilt crashed over Cardin as he held his young son. He glanced across the kitchen and met Ulla’s expressive green eyes. His throat clenching with remorse and regret, he rasped hoarsely, in a barely audible voice. “I…I love you, too.My son.”
Shaken from the onslaught of unfamiliar emotions, Cardin inhaled deeply to regain his usual steely composure. He looked at the little boy who beamed up at him with adulation in his bright blue eyes. “We need to get back to the castle. We promised Uncle Gaultier we’d train with the knights. Let’s say goodbye to Lady Ulla and Vill.”
Lukaz raced across the room and lunged into Ulla’s outstretched arms.
As he watched his son tightly hug the bewitching healer—whose long black curls cascaded around the little boy like a blanket of love— a stark realization struck Cardin like a swift, savage blow to the gut.
She’s become a mother to my son.
Withdrawing from Ulla’s nurturing embrace, Lukaz dashed back to hug Vill’s thick, shaggy coat. “Bye, Vill. I’ll see you soon.”
Across the kitchen, Cardin held Ulla’s verdant gaze, his soul stirring in their entrancing depths. “Thank you, Ulla. I’ll bring Lukaz for his lesson Friday morning. I bid you good day and farewell.Au revoir, et bonne journée.”He turned to address the prone wolf, whose massive head rested on his enormous front paws. “Goodbye, Vill. See you soon.” With a hearty grin, Cardin led Lukaz out the back door, down the stone steps, and away from the cozy cottage at the edge of the woods.
His step light for the first time in many long years, Cardin traversed the leaf-strewn meadow, crossed the castle bailey, and returned with his exuberant son tole Château de Landuc.
Chapter 12
Intercepting Ibarra
Andoni Zilar eyed the six shrewd henchmen—his most trusted assassins— seated around the oval table in his oceanfront abode. He patiently waited for his efficient, discreet valets to finish serving the goblets of mead. Once the attendants had retreated from the private solar, he announced the reason for his clandestine summons.
“Comte Eztebe Ibarra departs for Paris in two weeks.” Zilar took a long pull from his chalice, wiped his firmly compressed lips, and set the goblet down before him. He rose from his seat, reached for a rolled document lying atop a burled walnut sideboard, and unfurled a map on the oak table. “He will travel northeast from Aquitaine, along this projected route.” Retracing the line he’d previously marked on the parchment paper with a long, skeletal finger, Zilar indicated the anticipated path of the importunate Lord of Montmarin. “It will take him approximately six weeks to travel from Biarritz tol’Île de la Citéin Paris. He will arrive in early December atle Palais Royalto sign the Yuletide Treaty with King Philippe le Bel of France and King Guillemin of Finistère from Bretagne. We must prevent—at all costs—this disastrous Alliance with Aquitaine.”
Zilar retook his seat, stretched out his long legs, and crossed sinewy arms over his broad chest. He furrowed his thick, dark brows. “Basati and his brother Gaultier have been called home to Brocéliande. The four dozen knights fromle Château de Beaufort—sent here by King Guillemin of Finistère—have returned to Bretagne, triumphant in reclaiming Aquitaine for King Philippe of France.” Twirling his narrow mustache, he grinned wickedly at the six bearded brutes. “Now is the perfect time to strike.”
The crisp saline scent of the sea wafted in on the cool autumn breeze. Irresistible and intoxicating, the lure ofle Château de Montmarinbeckoned Zilar like a siren’s song. As the future lord of the oceanfront castle, endorsed and endowed by two majestic monarchs—Edward Longshanks of England and James II of Aragón—Zilar would control all shipping along the Atlantic coast from the north of Spain to the mouth of the Seine. And since the Spanish king also held title as Count of Provence, Count of Barcelona, and Lord of Montpellier, Zilar would profit from all trade along the Mediterranean shores as well.
Everything depended on preventing the disastrous Yuletide treaty.
The dreaded Alliance with Aquitaine.
Between Comte Ibarra of Biarritz, King Philippe le Bel of Paris, and King Guillemin of Finistère.
Zilar hissed like a tightly coiled snake. “You will assassinate Comte Ibarra before he reaches Paris. Here—atle Château de Toursin the Loire Valley.” He pointed to a designated location on the map. “You’ll pose as merchants transporting wine to Paris. I’ve arranged for you to stop atle Château de Toursen route. An entourage of knights who are loyal to Longshanks will accompany you, as if protecting the shipment. But in reality, they will provide additional reinforcement should any unforeseen events unfold.” He took another long pull of mead from his chalice. “One of Ibarra’s personal guards—Uribe—is a spy for the English crown. He will unlock the door to Ibarra’s private quarters, enabling you to slip in quietly, perform the deed, and depart without detection.” He scrutinized his men, his steely gaze shifting slowly as he made individual eye contact with each of his adept assassins. “In the morning, Ibarra’s body will be found with the wolf head dagger embedded in his back. We’ll eliminate Ibarra, prevent the disastrous Alliance with Aquitaine. And Basati will be arrested for the murder.”
Zilar shifted his attention to Gizon, the thief who had stolen the bags of silver and the distinctive dagger from Basati in the staged attack behind the Drunken Crow. “Use this weapon.” Zilar laid the unique blade with the curved bone handle and the carved head of a massive wolf upon the table. The emerald eye of the snarling beast blazed in the morning sun. “Basati owes Itzal Baroja a hundred pounds of silver. An exorbitant sum that he cannot repay, thanks to theunfortunaterobbery in the alley near the Drunken Crow.” He snickered and downed the rest of his mead. “Spread the word in every tavern in town. Let it be known that Basati in drowning in debt to Itzal Baroja—a staunch supporter of Edward Longshanks and the English king’s rightful claim to Aquitaine. When Eztebe Ibarra’s corpse is found—murdered by Basati’s blade inle Château de Tours—it will appear that the Basque Wolf of Biarritz repaid his indebtedness with service rather than silver.”
Zilar rang a bell to summon an attendant, gesturing for more mead. Once the competent valet had refilled the goblets and exited the room, Andoni Zilar raised his chalice in tribute. “To your success, my infallible clan. When we eliminate Eztebe Ibarra and successfully thwart the Alliance with Aquitaine, I shall become Lord of Biarritz inle Château de Montmarin.And—as the wealthiest shipping merchant in all of France—I shall reward you most handsomely, my intrepid assassins. Beyond your wildest dreams.”
****
Dolssa was grateful for the night off from work at the Sultry Siren. Tonight, she’d prepared anomelette aux champignonsfor supper in the tiny kitchen of the room she rented above the tavern. By adding a large cookpot over the hearth and furnishing a corner of her bedroom with a small table and two chairs, she’d created the illusion of a separate kitchen and enlarged the living area within her single space. As she sat at the table by the fire, mending both of her worn homespun gowns, images of Gaultier’s handsome face danced in the flickering flames.
It had been weeks since he and his brother Basati had left Biarritz, called home tole Château de Landucin the Forest of Brocéliande. Although she knew it was too soon for a letter to have reached her in Aquitaine, Dolssa kept hoping each day that she would receive news from the man she desperately loved.
Please let me hear from him soon. I pray he’ll keep his promise and come back to me. Before my father discovers where I’m hiding.
