Luck of the Wolf (20 page)

“What will you do afterward?” she asked.

He walked away from her, hands knotted behind his back. “We will go to New Orleans, as we planned.”

Her heart sank. “May I ask why?” she said.

“She should meet her family.”

That was hardly an answer, but Babette feared his honesty. She had speculated that Cort might make Aria his lover so that he could flaunt his conquest in the Reniers' faces. How much more terrible for them when he presented “Lucienne” as his bride.

But surely that was not why he had offered to marry
her. Surely he would not go through with his revenge once Aria was his wife. He could not be so cruel.

She had promised Yuri not to tell Cort what she had discovered about Aria, and the hope that Yuri would change his mind about helping di Reinardus had kept her quiet. But now it was time to admit part of the truth. The part that might convince Cort to abandon any idea of meeting the other Reniers.

She paused to assure herself that Yuri was still occupied with his bottle in the dining room.

“Let us sit down,” she said.

Something in her tone must have alerted him, because Cort shot her a glance full of suspicion.

He had a right to be concerned. This would be much worse than he imagined.

“Please,
monsieur,
” she said.

He gestured toward the sofa, and she took a seat. He chose one of the chairs and sat on the edge, his body nearly vibrating with tension.

“I will get directly to the point,” she said. “I have recently learned that Aria is not who we believe her to be.”

To his credit, Cort did not become angry with her, or with Aria—at least not openly. He listened with his gaze fixed on Babette, revealing nothing of his feelings. She told him everything Aria had told her: about her childhood and youth in a distant European country, her guardian's plan to find others like her in America, his death and her journey to San Francisco in search of
loups-garous
like herself. And her false claim that she had lost her memory.

The one thing she didn't tell him was that Lucienne Renier had in fact been Alese di Reinardus, lost princess of Carantia…and of her certainty that Alese wasn't
the only royal heir. It was far too much for one man to accept all at once.

But Cort was far from stupid. “If Aria isn't Lucienne,” he said, “why did Yuri claim they were identical in appearance? Why does Brecht believe she is a Renier?”

Babette could not entirely avoid the subject, so she shared another small part of the truth. “It seems to me,” she said, “that Aria must in fact be related in some way to the Reniers. Yuri has said that they have connections in Europe, though they may not have the same surname. It is possible that even distant relatives could share a certain similarity of appearance.”

Cort stared at her, and she could see the thoughts working behind his eyes like the cogs of some intricate machine. “If that is so,” he said slowly, “her guardian could have been looking for the Reniers all along. But why was she living alone in this Carantia if she had kin in America? What became of her parents? Why did her guardian plan to bring her to California instead of New Orleans?”

“Aria never knew these things, and her guardian failed to tell her before he was killed in an accident in New York. She doesn't know the names of those her guardian sought or where to find them.”

“So she was prepared to go with us to the Reniers, unaware that she might be their kin?”

Babette nodded. “Surely you can understand why Aria kept the secret of her past. She did not wish to disappoint you. And she needed a family to go to.” Babette met and held his gaze. “But now she has found something far better than distant relatives who might not even know she exists. She has found
you
. And you are all she wants.”

Cort didn't reply.

Babette couldn't let the awful silence stand. “Can you understand?” she asked softly.

“She didn't trust me,” he said. “She let me believe a lie.”

“And you let her believe your only reason for helping her was pure gentlemanly concern.”

He got up, took a few awkward steps across the room and turned around with the same uncharacteristic lack of grace. “Did Yuri know this?”

“I informed him after Aria told me about her real past. I was hoping to convince him—”

“That he should give up the idea of selling Aria to the Reniers? Why did you wait so long to tell
me?
”

“Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier,” Babette said without apology. “But surely you see that perpetrating such a deception on the Reniers would be a mistake.”

His mouth curved in a harsh smile. “Why—if she
is,
essentially, one of them?”

“Why should you wish to put your own wife through such an ordeal?” Babette asked. She leaned forward. “Do you love her, Cort?”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “I care for her.”

“Then you cannot go through with this farce. I know you have had another reason for wanting to take Aria to New Orleans. What exactly is your revenge worth, Monsieur Renier?”

The boiling emotions he had held in check spilled over. “Damn Yuri,” he snarled. “What else did he tell you?”

She decided against explaining that she knew about Cort's “low origins” in the Louisiana bayous. “I know that you were soundly rejected by a woman who is one of
the New Orleans Reniers,” she said. “And by her family. Yet I find it difficult to believe that mere spite—”

“Believe what you choose,” Cort said. “Aria has already agreed to meet them, even though she has evidently known all along that she is not Lucienne. If she is prepared to do this—”

“She knows you were involved with another woman. Does she know this woman was one of them?”

“None of this is your business,
madame,
” he said coldly.

“But it
is
my business what you do with Aria when you are finished using her.”

“She will not come to any harm.”

“If you betray her, you will destroy her.”

“Your part in this is nearly finished, Madame Martin. You will be paid as promised.”

Like a whore who had performed her service and was to be dismissed without a thought. But
this
whore still harbored secrets that could change everything. If Babette betrayed Yuri now and told Cort who Brecht really was, surely Cort would have the sense to take Aria away immediately.

Or Cort might kill the human who had betrayed him, just as Yuri had feared.

“I do not want your money,” she said. “I only want Aria's happiness. Can you promise me that?”

He turned to leave. “We will speak no more of this,
madame.
”

Babette followed him. “I promise you, if you fail to take proper care of Aria, I will—”

T
HE SOUND OF
the door banging against the wall cut off her threat. Yuri staggered into the room, a bottle in his hand and a sneer on his face.

“You'll what?” he said, weaving his way toward Babette. “What can
you
do? You're nothing but a whore, after all.”

In an instant Cort was between Yuri and Babette, his clenched fist half-raised. “I told you not to speak to the lady in such a manner,” he said.

“I'm not calling her anything but what she is,” Yuri said. “He took another swig from the bottle. “She gave herself to every man who wanted her in New Orleans. She ran the biggest brothel in the Vieux Carré.” He giggled. “What d'you think about that? A whore teaching Aria to be just like her.”

Cort hit him. The bottle flew from Yuri's hand, and he struck the nearest wall with a grunt of pain and surprise.

“No doubt you think yourself very clever, Baron Chernikov,” Cort said. He turned back to Babette.
“Madame,”
he said quietly, “is this true?”

There was no point in denying it now. “It is.”

“And did you…teach Aria how to—”

Babette looked away. “Yes.”

He didn't ask her why. He merely stared at her as
if she were a cockroach he planned to smash beneath his boot.

“I congratulate you,
madame.
You convinced me that you were a true lady.”

The blood seemed to rush out of her head to pool at her feet. No insult had ever seemed so awful to her, and for a moment she hated him as much as she hated Yuri.

It was on the tip of Babette's tongue to tell him then and there what Yuri planned. She was no longer thinking clearly, and Yuri deserved whatever punishment Cort gave him.

But she said nothing, and after a while Cort turned and left the room. Yuri lay slumped against the wall, his chin on his chest and saliva dribbling down his chin.

She went to stand over him. “Are you satisfied?” she asked.

He lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, but she could see no sign that he had been seriously injured. “Why…didn't you tell him?” he croaked.

Kneeling was no simple matter in the dress she wore, but Babette had done far more challenging things in a bustled and corseted gown. “Because I didn't want you to die,” she said.

He tried to laugh, but the sound was a horrid mix of cough and groan. “I overheard all of it,” he said. “I wasn't quite as drunk as you thought.”

“Then you know they are to be married.”

“I never would have believed it. He must think it will make his revenge all the more satisfying.”

“There is no certainty that he is still intent on revenge,” Babette said, clinging to her last fragile hope.

“He's waited eight years for this.”

“I refuse to believe he would go to these lengths for
such a purpose. Would he be so eager to take Aria to Placerville if he were not sincere?”

Yuri braced his hands on the wall behind him and pushed himself to his feet. “Hmm. That does present a problem.”

The bile rose in Babette's throat. “Di Reinardus's men?”

“Da.”

She remained on her knees. “And you plan to let Aria and Cort go to them like lambs to the slaughter?”

He gave her a pained look. “Did I not say I would consider the information you had given me?”

“Do you mean you won't betray them?”

“My dear girl.” He took one of Babette's hands and lifted her to her feet. “Have a little faith. I have thought of a way to misdirect di Reinardus and his men while the four of us to go to Placerville. I will, of course, be placing our lives at risk, but…”

“Oh, Yuri.” Babette embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. “I knew you could not go through with it! What will you do?”

“Leave that to me. If you truly believe Cort will marry the girl, you must spend your time preparing the bride-to-be.” He turned her hand and kissed her palm. “I, too, must prepare. There is one thing you can do for me….”

“Tell me.”

“I will be gone the rest of this day and possibly into the night. Give any excuse you can think of, but do not let him look for me.”

The tension in his voice gave Babette pause. She almost wondered if he might be lying to her.

It couldn't be so. She refused to accept that even her
love-blinded eyes could fail to recognize such blatant treachery.

“I will do all I can,” she said.

He kissed her hand again.
“Spasibo, moia lubov.”

My love
. Babette's heart fluttered like that of a girl given her first compliment by a young man. Yuri had never once used that word before.

But the pleasure didn't last.

Yuri let go of her hand, glanced around the room and started for the front door. He didn't even pause to pick up his bottle.

Babette shook out her skirts and returned to the sofa. For a long while she sat there, thinking, going over every one of Yuri's expressions, movements, words.

She could not be mistaken. He had chosen to do the right thing. And yet…

Babette felt carefully under the cushions for the object she had hidden there when they first arrived. The tiny pistol fit her hand perfectly. It was small, but it would be just as effective as a much larger weapon if the time ever came to use it.

 

T
HE JOURNEY TO
Placerville took years.

That was the way it felt to Aria. She would have been happy to run as a wolf, carrying her clothing and necessities in a pouch around her neck, but Cort had been stubbornly opposed to the idea. Rather than take the wagon, which he rejected as too slow, he and Yuri rode the two horses Yuri had brought from Placerville when he and Babette had first arrived, while Aria and Babette rode the stolid wagon horses.

Babette had advised Aria to pack her simplest dress for the ceremony, since it was near-white and suitable for a young bride, even if she was no longer a virgin.
Aria wore her trousers for the journey, while Babette had produced a riding habit that had obviously been made for a different kind of saddle. She smiled frequently, though sometimes she seemed a little nervous. Aria felt a more than a little nervous herself.

As for Yuri, he was completely different than he had been for the past weeks. He didn't bring a bottle with him, and he observed everything with the sharp gaze she had become accustomed to before they'd arrived at the lodge. He didn't seem happy, either, but Aria hadn't expected him to be. In a way he was losing Cort to a woman he had never really liked. She could almost feel sorry for him.

It was Cort's behavior that puzzled her the most. He spoke to her with affection and smiled often. That was the problem; he smiled
too
often, and Aria glimpsed strain in his expression on more than one occasion. He rode as if he had lived in the saddle since childhood, but his body never quite lost the hint of stiffness she had seen the night after he'd told Babette of their plans. Of course,
he'd
never been married, either, and he had lost the only other woman he had ever loved. Aria was determined never to let him regret his proposal, no matter what she had to do to make sure of it.

The first night was difficult, because she had to be close to Cort without being able to touch him. She knew it wouldn't be polite to kiss in front of Yuri and Babette, and Babette seemed to think it was important that she be on her best behavior now that she was to be a bride. The older woman sat up with Aria when she couldn't sleep, and explained the simple ceremony that would bind Aria and Cort together forever. Even that seemed silly to Aria, but it was a small enough price to pay for such a wonderful result.

On the second day Yuri fell ill. He leaned heavily over his horse's neck, swayed in the saddle and would have fallen off if Cort hadn't caught him just in time. The Russian collapsed against a tree trunk and clutched his head as if his hands were all that were keeping his skull in one piece. He resisted every effort to move him, and Cort seemed resigned to stopping early to let him recover.

Strangely enough, it was Babette who made light of Yuri's condition. “It's because he has stopped drinking,” she said to Cort. “You mustn't let him delay you. I'll remain behind and see that he recovers.”

Yuri chose that moment to fall unconscious, and all discussion of Cort and Aria riding on came to an abrupt end. Cort threw a blanket over the Russian and asked Aria to gather wood while he made a fire. Aria could hear him talking to Babette, and it almost seemed that they were arguing.

She wanted to listen, but she had promised Babette she would behave like a lady. When she returned to the clearing where they had made camp, neither Cort nor Babette acted particularly upset. Yuri seemed to recover very slowly, and every time it seemed that they might continue the journey, he got sick again.

On the third day Cort lost his patience. “I begin to think you are right,
madame,
” he said to Babette. “We must tie Yuri to his horse. We will run out of provisions if we don't move on.”

We could hunt,
Aria thought. After all, Cort had promised to try to accept the wolf side of himself.

But he wasn't ready. She needed time to teach him. And she didn't want to stay here one moment longer, anyway.

“I can ride behind him and hold him up,” she offered.

Babette and Cort turned to stare at her as if they had forgotten she was there. Babette frowned.

“No,” she said. “It will not do. I will remain behind with Yuri.”

“I wouldn't leave you alone here,” Cort said. “It is not safe.”

“What possible harm could come to us?” Babette gave a little laugh. “Surely you do not suggest that these woods are inhabited by man-eating wolves.”

“There are bears,
madame.
And men worse than any beast.”

“I can handle that kind of beast,” Babette said. “I also know how to shoot, if you'll leave me a gun.”

“Cort is right,” Aria said. “We can't leave you alone.”

“I assure you that I can—”

“Out of the question,” Cort said. “If Yuri can't travel, we'll wait another day.”

Babette glanced at Yuri, who lay wrapped in his bedroll under a tree, and for a moment she looked as if she had been caught in a mountain blizzard wearing nothing but a thin gown, with no provisions and no hope of rescue.

“Aria,” she said, “if you don't mind, I would like to speak to Cort alone.”

“That will not be necessary,” Cort said. He knelt beside the fire and pretended to tend it, though all he did was poke at the ashes with a stick. Babette stood over him, her fists clenched in her skirts.

“I would prefer to be discreet,” she said, “but I will do whatever is necessary to make you see reason.”

Cort threw the stick in the fire and looked up at her.
Aria could feel his anger, the dangerous kind of anger she'd seen in him when he had fought Brecht's men in the alley. After a long silence Cort turned to Aria. His eyes were as bleak as Babette's.

“Aria, please watch Yuri while we're gone,” he said.

“Whatever you have to say,” Aria said, “I think I should hear it.”

“Forgive me,” Babette said, “but it is a private matter between us.”

There was nothing Aria could do but stamp her feet and behave like a child, and she had no intention of sinking so far.

“Very well,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. “But please don't make me worry by being gone too long.”

Neither Cort nor Babette smiled at her attempt at a joke. Cort got up, came over to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

“This won't take long,” he said, and kissed her forehead.

Aria grabbed his hand and tried to hold him, struck by a sense of something terribly wrong. But Cort pulled away, nodded to Babette and escorted her into the trees.

Aria crouched, picked up the end of the charred stick Cort had tossed into the fire and drew a word in the dirt at her feet.

L-o-v-e. Love.
Cort still hadn't told her that he loved her. She knew that would come in time, but it was difficult to be patient. Why couldn't he talk about what he felt?

Because he was a man.

That was what Babette had said. Aria cradled her
chin in her hands and stared into the flames. Her eyelids grew heavy. She didn't want to sleep. She wanted to be awake when Babette and Cort returned. She knew very well that they were talking about
her
. This time she would make them…

An unfamiliar scent brought her out of her doze. It didn't belong to Cort or Babette or Yuri, who was snoring in his bedroll, but it definitely belonged to a man.

Before she could wake up enough to wonder who else could be in this part of the mountains, the first scent was joined by another, and another, still at a distance but approaching in a circle around the clearing. The horses tossed their heads and snorted. The sharp stink of sweat and fear seeped into Aria's skin.

She sprang to her feet. Her body quivered with the need to Change, but she couldn't afford to be without her voice. She spun and raced in the direction Cort and Babette had gone.

She found Cort running back toward camp, looking like a shepherd whose entire flock had been killed by bears or mountain cats and left to rot on the hillside. He came to a stop when he saw her, and his skin seemed to lose all its color.

Aria didn't have time to wonder why. “Someone has come,” she said. “Several men. They're all around us.”

Cort lifted his head to sniff the air. His face went from pale to dark in an instant, and his pupils dilated until the yellow was nearly swallowed up by black.

“Where is Yuri?” he asked.

“Still in camp. Who are they? Could they be—”

Babette ran up behind Cort, panting heavily. “Aria? What has happened?”