Page 46 of Wolf Duke

All the wolves grinned, clearly expecting a passionate kiss. Instead, Evaine scowled and wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps later, my king. After you’ve bathed.”

His brow furrowing, Alaric dismissed the warriors with a wave of his hand then closed the door, giving them privacy. “You’ve never been upset by a little sweat before. What troubles you?”

“The same that troubles you,” she grumbled. “An impending war. Deciding whether to continue the progress or return to Blackstone Castle.”

“I heartily recommend sword fighting as a brief respite from thinking about either,” he sighed, sheathing his longsword.

Evaine bit her lip as her temper flared again. No. Scolding him because she didn’t feel well was unfair. And she had information her mate needed to know. Information possibly new to him. “Wesley came to visit. I think Blanche is scraping his last nerve.”

Alaric chuckled. “I do feel for him. Adventures are not quite so amusing when your mother is there to clip your ear or cut your meat. Wolfling is such an awkward stage. They yearn for all the freedoms of full-grown wolves, yet still want to romp and provoke like cubs.”

“Wesley said mulled wine tasted like someone added herbs to used bathwater,” Evaine replied, smiling at the memory. Then she took a deep breath. “But he also said something else that gave me pause. About Larkin.”

Her mate went still. “Go on.”

“It started as Wesley muttering about his mother. But as he listed all the tasks she was doing, it sounded very much like those of a chamberlain. So I asked what Larkin was doing. And it seems he keeps going missing…on the king’s business. Writing lots of letters and delivering them. Of course, this could be completely right and proper, and we’re just seeing rats with any rustle.”

Alaric didn’t smile. “I haven’t instructed him to write anything, Peregrine, my scribe, does that. And I have sufficient messengers. Larkin certainly isn’t laboring on my behalf.”

Evaine exhaled slowly. “Then whose?”

Was Larkin a traitor?

The question pounded Alaric’s mind like a mallet. History bellowed no; Larkin had been born and cheerfully raised at Blackstone Castle. And apart from a few strange comments, such as placing flowers on Theda’s tomb in Gloucester, Alaric had no real reason to distrust the chamberlain. Yet his actions were suspicious. Evaine had been entirely correct to bring such concerns to him.

“Damn it,” he cursed. “I don’t want to think badly of anyone in my household. But the way those bloody notes kept finding us, no matter where we were…”

Evaine nodded. “It has to be someone close enough to us that they can come and go freely. Who reports only to you or me. No one would question a chamberlain, and we’ve both been far too busy to notice what one wolf does.”

“Then let him explain. Settle this once and for all,” Alaric growled as he opened the door and peered out into the hallway. “Wesley, would you fetch Larkin? Tell him I wish to discuss an important matter. Er…a possible return to Blackstone.”

Wesley bowed, his expression grave. “Yes, my king. At once.”

It seemed like they waited years for his squire’s return. Alaric’s gut churned at the implications of such betrayal; all he and Evaine could do was exchange increasingly impatient and troubled glances as time passed. Finally, Wesley came hurtling around the corner, his boots skidding and cheeks flushed pink. But one glance at his squire’s expression and Alaric’s heart sank. “What news?”

“Larkin has departed with a cart, my king,” said Wesley breathlessly. “About a half hour ago. He told a guard that you wished for fresh game, and he was going to collect it from Huntington.”

“Is that a market of some sort?” asked Evaine, her brow furrowing.

“No, it’s a small village about three miles from here, surrounded by woodland and meadows,” said Alaric, increasingly alarmed. Three miles! Who was Larkin meeting? Only a supremely confident enemy would dare to venture so close!

Evaine took his hand and squeezed it, her expression grim. “If there is to be a battle, I suppose it is a blessing that this place is fairly isolated and not overrun with humans. But if mercenaries have been creeping in…”

“Then I must cull the herd,” he replied harshly. “Wesley, come with me. Evie, I need you to command the tower. Inform Willie and Blanche and all the wolves here that if Larkin is found he must be immediately captured and imprisoned. If I gather further indisputable evidence, I shall amend the order to execute on sight.”

She glared at him. “I should accompany you. I can hunt.”

“I know. Bravely and fiercely,” Alaric replied, cupping her cheek. “Once we have information on the nature and number of the enemy, you may rip as many hearts out as you wish. But for now, I need a commander here I can trust absolutely.”

Evaine huffed out a sigh. “Very well. But do not tarry. And do not dare start a war without me.”

“I swear, my queen,” he promised, lifting her hand and kissing it. Then Alaric turned to Wesley. “Change into plain clothing and fetch your bow and arrow. We’re going hunting.”

After donning a warm cloak, Alaric marched to the rooms housing his guards. He selected four, ordering all to discard their black-and-gold livery and dress as peasants, and to pack a variety of weapons into saddlebags. At first glance, they should appear as nothing more than six friends or clerics out for a brisk ride, but they needed to be prepared for anything.

Soon, Alaric led a brisk canter to Huntington. Good fortune smiled upon them, for an hour later as they approached the woodland area, Wesley pointed out a cart traveling toward a simple stone cottage. Larkin! So bold and confident in his deceit, he’d not even bothered to cover his plaited red hair.

Concealing themselves in a thick clump of trees, the group watched Larkin’s cart pull up next to the cottage. He leaped down, then, after glancing left and right, sauntered toward the entrance. Two figures stepped out to greet him.