Page 40 of Wolf Duke

Outside the gatehouse, two servants waited with wooden buckets of warm water to rinse Evaine and Alaric clean. Then they entered the ground floor antechamber and changed back to human form. Alaric swiftly put his robe on, but when Evaine reached for hers, a small square of parchment dropped onto the floor.

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

Evaine frowned. “I don’t know,” she replied slowly, unfolding the square, then walking over to the small window for better light to read.

Queen Evaine,

Nothing is as it seems. The king will do to you what he did to Theda. If you wish to know more, wrap a note around a stone and drop it from your chamber window. I am prepared to meet any place, at any time.

A friend

Shock robbed her of breath. While every wolf in the Western Lands knew where they were, who could come so close to put a note in her robe? And make such an outrageous claim?

“Evaine?” said Alaric sharply. “What is it?”

She handed over the note. “Read it.”

Shortly afterward, he sucked in a breath. “They dare imply I killed Theda?”

Evaine met her mate’s furious gaze, her own grimly thoughtful. “Someone holds great malice toward you. Who would say such things yet claim to be a friend?”

Chapter

Nine

South Wales

If humans truly wanted to defeat wolves, no bloodshed was required. Why waste strength on battle when forced wagon travel would turn any wolf quite mad?

Alaric scowled as he lifted the canvas cover and peered out at the beautiful rainswept countryside. Usually he would be on horseback, galloping his way around South Wales from Newport to Cardiff to Swansea in a few days. Instead, because Willie and his guards held such grave fears for his and Evaine’s safety after that strange note, they’d both been trapped in this torture device called a covered travel wagon for an entire damned week.

They’d both left Swansea very reluctantly; Evaine had been especially enamored of cockles gathered fresh from the bay and they’d devoured a small mountain, delighting in the change from venison, pork, and beef. But once again at dawn this morning, they had asked their bodies for forgiveness then climbed into the wagon for the next portion of the journey. This time: to the ancient town of Carmarthen. While it was only about thirty miles or so, Alaric desperately needed a distraction from the creaking and jolting and swaying. How did wagons manage to hit every rock and rut in the road with such precision?

Evaine scowled as she attempted for the thousandth time to find a more comfortable sitting position. “I really don’t know why we must continue traveling in this monstrous wooden trap. Surely if there was a threat, they would have struck in the places with a much larger population to disappear into. I swear my arse will be black and blue from this bench seat.”

“I know,” he replied, irritable beyond belief. “Yes, a royal progress requires constant travel, but there is no need to make it worse with wagons.”

“And it was just a note, promising information if I met with them. Not an actual threat.”

Alaric refastened the canvas flap, then settled back on the seat which still felt harder than stone despite the cushions. Even thinking about that damned note made him angry. Perhaps it hadn’t outright stated he’d had his first queen killed, but the implication was certainly there. Theda’s death—he couldn’t bring himself to call her his mate any longer—had occurred after a visit to Silas, her personal soothsayer. Silas had sworn under oath that Theda’s death was accidental, but had fled Blackstone the next day. If anything was suspicious, surely it was that!

“I know we discussed it until we were hoarse,” he said slowly, “but perhaps it would have been better to at least discover who the friend was. If they had any information about Silas. There are so many questions to be answered.”

Evaine leaned forward and patted his knee. “No. As you said, nothing was certain. We didn’t know if they even were a friend, some brigand wanting coin, or a mercenary tricking me out into the open. In truth, I’m far more concerned that a guard or trusted servant was persuaded by a stranger to put that note into my robe.”

“Unless it wasn’t a stranger,” said Alaric. Abruptly needing his mate closer, he took her hand and tugged her onto his lap so her knees were parted either side of his, and she could rest her head on his shoulder. As her delicious scent surrounded him, both soothing and sensual, his spirits soon lifted. “By the by, I might have an idea to pass the time.”

His mate leaned back a little, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I’m sure you do, my king. But I can think of a better one: tell me something interesting about Carmarthen, and…I’ll raise my gown.”

Alaric straightened. His mate truly was the most brilliant she-wolf in the realm. “Some say it’s the oldest town in Wales.”

She wrinkled her nose, then wickedly rubbed her breasts against his chest. “I said something interesting.”

His cock stirred. Goddess, even now the heady, musky fragrance of her cunt was drifting up to his nose. “Kings need inspiration. Show me your breasts.”

With a sly grin, Evaine lowered and raised her gown’s square bodice, teasing him with brief glimpses of her sweet pale pink nipples. Unable to resist, he clamped one hand around the back of her neck to hold her in place, then used his other hand to wrench down the velvet and fully reveal his treat. When he took one nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, even nipping it with his teeth, Evaine moaned and moved restlessly on his lap. “Suck me.”

“Edmund Tudor, the human king’s father, died of the plague in Carmarthen,” Alaric began, between rough, hard suckles. “He’s buried there in a tomb within the Greyfriars church.”