Soul of the Wolf Read online

  Jocelyn blinked at the woman’s casual manner, but a smile crept into her countenance. “I thank you.”

  Robert twisted to scan the crowded bailey, then turned back to Emma. “Where is Wulfstan?”

  Jocelyn’s smile disappeared, and her stomach lurched. There was little chance her bridegroom would be as agreeable as the others.

  Emma shared a brief glance with Meg. “He’s occupied at present,” she said quickly, “but he’ll show himself anon.”

  Robert snorted. “With his wedding on the morrow, I should hope so.”

  Emma threw him a warning look, then turned to her guest. “Lady Jocelyn, you must be weary after so long a journey. Shall I show you to your chamber?”

  Jocelyn wished she were weary, but at the moment, she was a bundle of nerves. “I thank you, no,” she said. “I’d prefer a brisk walk, to stretch my legs and feel the solid earth beneath my feet again.”

  “I can well understand,” Emma said.

  Jocelyn looked to Lord Ravenwood. “Is it safe to walk outside the curtain wall?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” William answered, “but I wouldn’t stray too far. The rain will soon be upon us.”

  “Would you like some company?” Robert asked.

  For all of two seconds, Jocelyn considered his offer. Then her imagination galvanized to create a polite excuse.

  Emma cleared her throat. “I think not, Robert. I suspect the lady desires peace and privacy, to gather her thoughts.”

  Jocelyn nodded and flashed Emma a grateful smile. Lady Ravenwood responded with a conspiratorial wink.

  “Very well,” said Robert. “Might I suggest a stroll through the orchards? They’re quite extensive.”

  Meg stepped forward, and her eyes twinkled. “But not enchanting. Only Woden’s Circle has that distinction.” She clasped her hands together and exchanged a second glance with Emma.

  “Woden’s Circle?” Jocelyn said.

  “A ring of stones at the edge of the forest,” Emma explained.

  “Half a mile’s walk in that direction,” Meg said, pointing. “You couldn’t ask for a more peaceful setting.”

  Jocelyn shrugged. “It sounds ideal.”

  Meg smiled. “But you should hurry if you want to avoid the storm.”

  “I shall,” Jocelyn said with a nod.

  Several bows and curtsies later, Jocelyn spun on her heel and strode to the gatehouse. She crossed the drawbridge with purpose, sparing only a cursory glance for the wide, deep moat. Stepping onto open ground, she lifted her face to the chill, beckoning wind and headed east.

  The keep slipped farther into the distance. She was alone again and free, with only nature as a companion. The clouds swirled, the breeze sang, and the meadow cushioned her fleet steps. Tomorrow her fate would be sealed, but this moment was hers.

  A low hill rose before her. Pausing, she breathed deeply of the crisp air and the scent of pine needles. She removed her brown mantle, tossed it over her arm, and started up the hill. Not far ahead, a bird’s caw mingled with the rustle of leaves.

  And there was another sound, deep and low. A male voice. A smooth, rich timbre interwoven with the wind. It wended its way into her ears like music.

  She hesitated and listened. The man spoke. The bird uttered a series of notes as though chuckling. The man spoke again.

  She frowned. Were they conversing? Absurd. Perhaps the man recited poetry. If so, what bird on earth would respond to it?

  Whether verse or vernacular, the language was foreign. ’Twas likely the Saxon tongue.

  There was nothing to do but obey her curiosity. She took a deep breath and crept to the hill’s peak.

  At first, she saw only the towering stones, nine of which formed a circle. Two more stood at the ring’s center, crowned by a final, horizontal stone.

  It looks like a gateway, she mused, studying the central piling.

  A tall man stepped from behind one of the weathered stones into the path of the wind. Only his profile was visible above his whirling, blue cloak. He was clean-shaven and fair-skinned, with strong features and straight, shoulder-length hair so blond it shamed the cowering sun.

  He was simply the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Her gaze, her whole being, was riveted on him; his was glued to a raven perched atop a bordering stone.

  The bird cocked its head toward her. Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!

  It flew off into the whispering forest as the man turned.

  ****

  Wulfstan heeded the raven’s warning and found himself staring into the deep brown eyes of a beautiful stranger. Fiery red hair framed the woman’s high cheekbones, pointed nose, and full, pink lips. Her russet gown was the perfect complement to her cream-like complexion and lustrous hair. She seemed the embodiment of earth and fire. And passion.

  Who was she? In all his visits to Ravenwood, he’d never seen…

  The truth dawned. No. Impossible. Not this gorgeous creature, this born seductress.

  Her elegant clothes and proud bearing spoke for themselves, but he would hear her answer. “Who are you?” The words sounded harsher than he’d intended.

  Her eyes flared. She lifted her chin and pushed back her shoulders. “The Devil’s concubine. Who are you?”

  He folded his arms. “I am Wulfstan.”

  She gaped at him but didn’t respond. Neither did she move.

  Impatience goaded him. “Lord Nihtscua,” he continued. “And you are?”

  She regained her composure and advanced toward him, halting an arm’s length away. “Lady Jocelyn de Bret.”

  So ’twas she. His stomach twisted.

  “I see,” he said. But he wished he didn’t. A man could lose his soul staring into the warm, inviting depths of her eyes.

  Time stood still as they regarded one another in silence. At last, she blinked.

  She cleared her throat. “May I ask a question?”

  He dropped his arms to his sides. “You may.”

  “The language you were speaking…’twas Saxon?”

  He nodded. “Did you understand any of it?”

  “No. Did the raven?”

  He raised his eyebrows. She was shockingly perceptive. Caution was crucial. “Aye.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  She pursed her lips. “Can you understand ravens?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What about other animals?”

  He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged. “No reason. I was just making conversation.”

  He ran a finger over the thick, horizontal scar above his left eye. “Some subjects are best left untouched.”

  Her gaze dropped to the mantle slung over her right forearm. She transferred it to her left arm and kept her gaze lowered. “Have you any questions for me?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Her brown eyes claimed his once more. “None at all?”

  He frowned. “What would you have me ask?”

  “Something about my dowry, mayhap. Or my travels.”

  “Very well. How fared you on your journey?”

  Her lips twisted. “In truth, my dowry fared better than my backside.”

  He fought a grin. “Fear not. You’ve only one more trip on horseback, tomorrow. We’ll leave for Nihtscua immediately following the wedding feast.”

  “How far must we ride?”

  “Not twenty miles.”

  “Lovely,” she said without enthusiasm.

  A sudden gust of wind roused the forest. The trees quivered and sighed beneath the purple sky.

  “The rain is near,” he said. “Shall we return to the keep?”

  She shook her head. “You return if you like. I’d rather stay.”

  “To be drenched by the storm?”

  “’Twill be refreshing. I’m still warm from the walk.”

  A cold raindrop splashed onto Wulfstan’s cheek. “I doubt you’ll remain so. Come, don
your mantle and—”

  “There’s no need. I’m quite warm-blooded. I was about to propose you take my mantle back to the keep. ’Tis cumbersome when wet.”

  She held out the garment to him. With a grumble, he took it. The woolen cloth was remarkably hot from her touch.

  A second raindrop skimmed the tip of his nose. “I’ll take my leave of you, then,” he said, bowing. “My lady.”

  “My lord.”

  He turned and started down the hill. His mind was spinning. Lady Jocelyn was stunning, intelligent, and headstrong. Her Norman blood was apparently hot. Abstinence would be no easy matter.

  At the bottom of the hill, the sprinkling rain became a deluge. He paused. Surely his bride would wish to return to the keep now.

  With a satisfied grin, he retraced his steps to the crest of the hill. There, his smile disappeared.

  Jocelyn’s back was to him. She had freed her hair from its tight braid, and the long locks clung to her hips. Her delicate hands caressed one of the ancient stones, then pushed against it. Arching her back with cat-like grace, she lifted her face to the rain. Water poured down on her, and she accepted it with abandon.

  He couldn’t move. His heart thumped in his chest. She seemed a primitive goddess amid the pagan stones, and part of him wanted to join her.

  No. Remember your quest. Keep your promise.

  Gritting his teeth, he tore his gaze from the intimate scene. He spun around and marched down the hill, leaving his bride behind.

  Chapter Three

  An hour later, Jocelyn sat before a roaring fire in a clean, well-appointed bedchamber. Snug in fresh clothes and warm slippers, she felt detached from the driving rain. Her handmaiden had hung her soaked clothes to dry. The air was damp, but sweet with the scents of chamomile and mint rising from the rush-covered floor.

  Alice grabbed a comb from the side table. With a heavy sigh, she began to untangle Jocelyn’s wet hair. “You’ll probably catch a cold. What will your bridegroom think when you sneeze your way to the altar?”

  Jocelyn winced as the comb struck a knot. “I’m in excellent health, and my bridegroom can think what he pleases.”

  “Have you seen him yet?”

  “I have.”

  The comb froze. “And?”

  “And I lived to tell the tale.”

  Again, Alice sighed. “I can see that. I only wondered—”

  “If he lives up to the mystery?”

  “If he’s handsome.”

  Jocelyn frowned. “He has eyes and ears enough.”

  “But what does he look like?”

  Jocelyn stared into the hearth’s crackling flames. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

  Ice blue eyes invaded her memory. The Saxon was…

  Gorgeous. Virile. Mysterious. And not at all what she’d expected.

  The fact that he communicated with ravens was odd enough. Odder still was her attraction to him. ’Twas acute, and problematic.

  If her father were alive, he’d be shocked. Heaven knew what her mother would feel. Disgust, perhaps. Or pity. The widow’s painful secret would forbid anything nicer.

  Knocks sounded on the chamber door, and Jocelyn flinched. The crunch-crunch of floor rushes followed as her handmaiden approached the door.

  “Who’s there?” Alice asked.

  Jocelyn bit her lip. Please let it be a servant, or Sir Robert, she prayed. Anyone but… “Lady Ravenwood,” was the muffled reply.

  God and His angels be praised, Jocelyn thought, standing. She turned as Alice opened the door.

  Dressed in pink and armed with a smile, Emma entered the room. She crossed to the hearth, then motioned to the two chairs before it. “Do sit down.”

  As they both sat, Jocelyn cleared her throat. “This is a comfortable chamber. Thank you for your kindness.”

  Emma gave her a nod. “I’m glad you approve, though I doubt you find our weather so agreeable.”

  “On the contrary, I enjoyed my walk in the rain.”

  Emma’s smile brightened. “I relish a good storm myself.”

  Jocelyn returned her grin and felt herself relax. She glanced at Alice.

  The handmaiden was smoothing the white, linen sheets of a trundle bed she’d pulled from beneath the main bed. And she was pretending not to listen.

  “Tell me,” said Emma, “have you any siblings?”

  Jocelyn nodded. “A younger sister, Constance, but no brother.”

  “I would I had a brother,” Emma remarked. “I suppose Wulfstan is as close as I’ll ever come.”

  At the mention of his name, Jocelyn shuddered.

  Emma cast a troubled look at the window’s closed shutters. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” said Jocelyn. “But may I ask you a question?”

  Emma straightened in her seat. “Anything you like.”

  “How long have you known Lord Nihtscua?”

  “All my life.”

  Jocelyn folded her hands in her lap. “What sort of man is he?”

  Emma tilted her head to the side. “Quiet, studious, dedicated to the old ways.”

  “You mean your ancestors’ religion?”

  “Aye, but that’s not to say he rejects Christianity.”

  Jocelyn frowned. “No?”

  Emma shook her head. “Wulfstan believes—as do I—that all faiths are valid. Each is a unique interpretation of the one creative source.”

  “Many would call that heresy.”

  “Many are narrow-minded. God manifests in different ways to different people. So long as a person strives to do good, his creed is a private matter.”

  Jocelyn nodded, mulling over Emma’s words. “You may be right.”

  Emma shrugged. “Right or wrong, people believe what they will. You’ll see what I mean when you reach Nihtscua.”

  Jocelyn’s stomach dropped. Outside, the wind whistled, seeking entrance to the keep. The oak shutters rattled from the strain.

  Emma’s violet eyes filled with compassion. “Be not troubled. Wulfstan is a good man. Some at Nihtscua fear him because they misunderstand his beliefs, and because fear became their way of life under Aldred’s power.”

  “Nihtscua,” Jocelyn said slowly. “’Tis a Saxon word, is it not?”

  “Aye. It means ‘shadow of night.’”

  A nervous giggle escaped Jocelyn’s throat.

  “I know,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “’Tis not the most encouraging name.”

  Jocelyn glanced at Alice, who had long since abandoned any pretense of work. The handmaiden sat wide-eyed on the trundle bed, elbows on her thighs, chin propped in her hands.

  With a sigh, Emma stood and tugged at her long, pink sleeves. “Well, I’ve work to do, so I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Will you join us in the hall for supper later?”

  Jocelyn rose, but her gaze dropped to the confusion of herbs strewn over the rush-covered floor. “Verily, I’d rather sup here, in this chamber. The day was long.”

  “I understand,” said Emma. “I’ll arrange it.”

  Jocelyn lifted her gaze once more. “Thank you, and you needn’t send a large supper. My appetite has gone into hiding.”

  Emma gave Jocelyn’s arm a sisterly pat. Then she strode to the door. “I almost forgot,” she said, turning. “My handmaiden, Tilda, will help you dress for the ceremony tomorrow.”

  “How very kind.”

  “I hope your appetite returns by then. We’ve planned a wedding feast to rival even the king’s banquets.”

  Jocelyn managed a smile. “I’ll do my best to enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure you will, but I beg you would take a word of advice from one who’s been in your place.”

  “Of course,” Jocelyn said.

  Emma’s smile seemed heartfelt, as warm as the sibilant fire. “Marriage is a beginning, not an end.”

  ****

  To Wulfstan, the lord’s solar seemed a symphony of light, composed of the hearth’s glow and the teardrop flames topping candles of every shape and size.
The lord himself and his brother sat with Wulfstan before the fireplace.

  Robert stretched languorously in his cushioned, high-backed chair. “A singular supper, William,” he said, patting his belly. “Your cook deserves the highest praise.”

  William grinned. “His skill is admirable, but you have Emma to thank for the selection of dishes. Naught but the best would do.”

  Robert assumed a mien of importance. “I am most grateful, but it seems a lot of trouble just for my homecoming.”

  William chuckled. “As you well know, ’tis for Wulfstan’s benefit, and Lady Jocelyn’s.”

  At the mention of his bride, Wulfstan frowned. “Emma could’ve spared her effort by half. Lady Jocelyn shirked the meal altogether.”

  Robert cocked an eyebrow. “Are you worried she’ll shirk her duty to you?”

  A muscle worked in Wulfstan’s jaw. “Not in the slightest.”

  Robert glanced at William. “Emma, too, supped alone after her first meeting with William.”

  Wulfstan looked to Lord Ravenwood. “Is that true?”

  “Wholly,” said William.

  “Patience is the key,” Robert advised. “Especially in Lady Jocelyn’s case. She seems a bit wary of Saxons.”

  “So was I when I first came north,” William said. “Don’t read too much into her behavior, Wulfstan. ’Tis a simple case of nerves.”

  Wulfstan doubted there was anything simple about his bride. He stared into the grate. Among the sighing flames, he again saw Lady Jocelyn, welcoming the rain and stroking the hallowed stone. Something stirred in the pit of his stomach. His heart beat faster.

  Enough!

  He turned back to the brothers. “I’m glad Ravenwood is her introduction to Saxon life. Nihtscua still needs a lot of work.”

  Robert nodded. “Aldred left it in horrible repair.”

  A shadow crossed William’s features. Then his face brightened. “Emma tells me you’re leaving directly after the banquet.”

  “We are,” said Wulfstan.

  Robert sat forward, and his keen eyes searched Wulfstan’s. “An odd decision.”

  Wulfstan averted his gaze. “A necessary one.” Easy, too, for he wanted no revelers following him and his bride into the bedchamber.

  William cleared his throat. “Emma also mentioned you’ve no ring for the ceremony.”