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you of my uncle, the king, and how he raised me from a child when they died.
I want to explain my marriage to Alisoun to you. How I was young and foolish, how I
thought a comely and courteous wife all one could want from a woman.
I want to tell you how I became what I am. When my transformations started, how they
happened. Why I am trapped now.
I want to tell you all of myself, show you the nicks and dents and scars of my life, and
have you love me even though I be grievously flawed. I want to weave a tapestry of my life to
show you, so you may see and mend the tears time and betrayal and pain have wrought on my
soul.
I have done nothing to earn this regard of yours . . . but I want to.
I want you to know me. Really know me. Not as I now am. Not in this freak form I now
possess, but as my own true self. I want to prove myself to be the knight I was, that I still am,
somewhere underneath all this fur.
I want you to care for me as me, because I am who I am, and not out of pity for what I
have become. I want to be a man for you. I already am a better man in this wolf's body than I
ever was in a human one.
And you did that.
He wanted to tell her all this, but he could only stare soulfully into her eyes and
sigh.
Kathryn leaned against him and he placed his head in her lap once more. They
curled around each other as comfortably as if they were two parts of one whole,
connected again at last.
Chapter Nine
The past week of mornings had been some of the best of her life, and it saddened
Kathryn that preparations for the Feast would keep her from getting her usual walk in
the gardens with the wolf that day.
The day before the Feast had dawned, and there was simply too much to do for
her to get a moment away for herself. Garwaf had amicably agreed to accompany her
on her various errands in the morning. He lacked hands, after all, and so was not much
good in helping with the preparations of the knights.
Courtiers had begun to arrive the night before and had been housed comfortably
in the castle. A brace of dignitaries were also expected to come this morning, and a little
snarl of dread formed in Kathryn's stomach. Her father would be one of them.
She wore a dark gray dress, serviceable and plain, and the rose necklace sat
tucked into the pocket of her gown, a talisman against ill luck. The bauble formed a
hard knot against her side, and she waited for a quiet moment to make her gift to the
wolf, hoping he would like the jewel, hoping he would understand the gift for what it
was meant to be.
Not that she even understood anymore what her gift was meant to be.
She passed through the courtyard on her way to Llewellyn's workshop, where
the wolf had gone to keep the wise man company.
A knight on a large brute of a charger rode in through the gates like he owned
the castle. A big man, deep-chested and tall in the saddle, the knight wore a very rich
tunic of striped silk with the red emblem of a curled dog emblazoned across his chest.
His breeches and boots were of the finest cut and quality.
Here is a rich and important man if ever I have seen one. His eyes were hard and dark,
though, a sneer disfiguring his too-handsome face as he dismounted. The taut
displeasure on the stranger's face unnerved Kathryn, and she shuffled a few steps
farther from the man, dropping her head to avoid any chance he might look at her.
The king, Llewellyn, and the wolf crossed the courtyard from the garden to meet
Kathryn as the new arrival dismounted. The wolf looked up and saw the man. Garwaf
stopped midstride, his eyes widening in shock. Kathryn's stomach dropped with
sudden, nameless fear.
"Reynard." Llewellyn grimaced as he saw the big knight. "That bastard."
The attack happened so quickly no one, least of all the newly arrived knight,
knew precisely what had transpired until after the wolf had pounced. Garwaf ran
toward Reynard, fast as a fiend, and sank his teeth into the man's arm, trying to drag
him down to the ground with brutal force.
The king reacted first, and just in time too, before the wolf had a chance to do
greater harm to the man.
"Sir Garwaf," the king bellowed. "You forget yourself."
The wolf snarled and ignored the king. Ears back, hackles raised, the wolf tensed
for another, fatal, spring.
The king had just come back from a brisk morning ride, and so he still had his
crop in hand. "Sir Garwaf," he bellowed again, and at last the wolf turned his
murderous gaze from the fallen knight and looked to his king. The king raised his
riding crop threateningly, but his eyes were tense at the edges, pleading. "You will not
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