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The commander gestured to his men. “Gather up their swords.” He turned away. “Bring them. And keep a close watch on the witch.”

Edmond marched along beside Isobella, keeping her between him and Aubert. He would have liked nothing more than to have thinned out the numbers of House Allard—the commander would have been first on his list—but Isobella was right. It would not have been without risk. Not with so many chevaliers against only three of them. Four, with Isobella. Their mate was not to be underestimated.

Once again, she had proved herself versatile and inventive. A plant—an enormous burn nettle. It was all he could do not to throw his head back and roar his laughter at the night sky. It had been a wondrous thing to see it swaying over the chevaliers. The perfect distraction and it had worked brilliantly. Remi had slipped away through chevaliers too busy avoiding its stinging leaves to notice. The boy was quick on his feet. They could only hope he was quick enough. That Lothair would, or Gaharet could, mobilize an opposing force.

That the comtesse had brought so many of her own family’s chevaliers through the gates of Langeais should be incentive enough for Lothair. An army within the walls of his village, so close to his keep, that was not under his control… Lothair would see it as a threat. A challenge to his authority. That was what they were counting on.

They marched through the streets to the occasional banging open of a shutter as faces appeared, only for the shutters to slam shut again. No villagers wanted anything to do with the trouble brewing in their streets. Halfway to the keep, he caught a scent on the breeze, and the hint of coiled anticipation. A more subtle note than the overconfidence of their captors. And something else, something familiar and wolfish. House Allard were not the only warriors out in force tonight.

He shared a look with Aubert, and another with D’Artagnon. They had caught it too, and as they crossed the silent square, they closed in around Isobella. He still had a dagger tucked inside his boot. Aubert would have at least two. D’Artagnon, as well. Isobella had her magic, and they were all werewolves. Whatever Lothair had planned, they would be ready for it.

As they approached the keep gate, the chevaliers faltered and bristled with raised swords. The gate was closed. Isobella reached for his hand, and he gave it to her. Did she understand what was happening? Had she caught the familiar scent on the other side of the closed gate?

The commander eyed the open portcullis, then strode forward with a confidence he should not have been feeling and rapped on the gate with the pommel of his sword. “Open the gate.”

His words echoed back to them, heavy with authority. Edmond pulled Isobella against his body. He did not want her harmed should battle break out around them.

The commander rapped on the gate again, the dull thuds echoing over the valley. “Open the gate by order of the Comtesse de Anjou.”

Behind them, a lone wolf howl rose into the still night air. Aimon. It sent a ripple through the chevaliers. As it should, if they had any sense about them.

“Open the gate.” The cry went up from behind the walls, and relief swept through the chevaliers like a wave.

Aubert’s grin showed a hint of canine as he reached beneath his tunic for his dagger. House Allard would be in for one hell of a surprise.