Hearts Aflame Collection III: 4-Book Bundle

by Hart, Melissa F.

  Storm - Volume 2

  Promise - Volume 3

  Smith Dynasty (Trilogy Bundle)

  Forests Dark and Deep

  Synopsis

  Abandoned by her parents at a nunnery by the side of an ancient forest, Riona has always known that she was different. Despite her innate passion and her natural curiosity, she is resigned to spending her life as a pious sister of the order until a pack of werewolves arrive to show her just how special she really is.

  Rordan is the wolf king of the Dunclough pack, and for his beloved people, he will cross any line and break any law. He was ready for anything, but when his chosen prey turns out to be a beautiful, curvy woman with a fiery spirit and a wild streak, he finds that his plans need to change.

  Riona must learn about her sacred heritage while learning about the ways of the werewolves and the heart of the man who abducted her.

  “Riona, Riona come away from there. It's late, my dear.”

  Riona didn't have to turn around to know that Abbess Beni was watching her from the doorway of the apothecary’s chamber, her wrinkled face lined with concern.

  “Just another moment,” Riona said absently, adding another few sprigs of verbena to the mortar. “I'm almost done.”

  “You are always almost done,” the abbess said sternly. “You are misusing your place as the infirmary's assistant to remain up well past the time when novices are meant to be in bed.”

  Riona straightened and reluctantly pulled away from the workbench. The stiffness in her back and the guttering candle at her side told her how long she had been hunched over her herbs.

  “I'm not going to be a novice much longer,” she protested half-heartedly.

  “No, tomorrow you will be a sister of the order, but I seem to remember something about the sisters needing to obey me as well, don't you?”

  The abbess smiled tolerantly and she held her candle close so that Riona could put away the tiny pouches of medicinal herbs, each cloth packet getting folded carefully and replaced in its slot on the shelf above.

  “Everything changes tomorrow,” Riona found herself saying softly. “I won't be a novice anymore.”

  “You will be a fine sister,” the abbess said firmly. “You have the patience and the gentleness of spirit to enrich the world and to do honor to the old gods.”

  There must have been a trace of rebellion on Riona’s face, because the abbess sighed heavily.

  “Go to bed, dear,” the abbess said, lighting her a fresh candle. “Tomorrow is a new beginning for you, and your path will be clear.”

  ***

  With her short stature and sturdy build, Riona was of a different folk than most of the other women who came to the nunnery at the edge of the Dunclough forest. Where most of her fellow novices were tall, fair, and slender as birch trees, she never grew taller after her thirteenth year, though her breasts had ripened and rounded to an almost embarrassingly voluptuous shape. Her hips were as round as pumpkins, and the flesh of her thighs and her belly was soft, though hours of toil in the nunnery's herb gardens had left solid muscle underneath. Abbess Beni had called her “Little Moon” when she first came to the nunnery as a tiny girl, on account of her round face and large pale eyes, and Sister Vicene, who headed the scriptorium, had declared that she must be of wild blood, from the people who lived under no law but their own in the dark forests.

  “Blood will tell,” Sister Vicene had sniffed. “She'll run wild one day, and so much for the teachings of the old gods.”

  Riona had never run wild, not really, but she had satisfied her anger at the scriptorium sister with frogs in her porridge and snakes in the woman's bed. She loved the nunnery, every stone and timber, and she hated the idea of a crabbed old lady telling her that she didn't belong.

  However, in the privacy of her own novice's cell, she did wonder if there was some kind of truth in Sister Vicene's words.

  She pulled off the white cloth veil, allowing her long, curly brown hair to shake down her back, and her novice's robes followed a moment after. She made a face at the white sleeping chemise folded on the bed; it was too tight, and it had always bound at her breasts and her hips. On nights when she knew that the sister in charge of the novices had already passed, she did without. It gave her a subtle thrill to be entirely bare, and on impulse, she flung open the narrow window's shutter.

  It was a cold night just a bare few months before the winter solstice, and the frigid wind rushed into her room as if it was looking for her. Riona took a deep breath of the fresh air and leaned against the window sill. Her window was too high and too narrow for anyone to see in, but from her vantage point, she could see to the forest and the misty mountains beyond. Sister Vicene's words drifted back to her, and not for the first time, she wondered if there really was some truth to them.

  Sometimes, she thought that the stone walls of the nunnery hemmed her in, closing around her until she thought she might choke. On those days, she had to beg to be allowed to go out collecting herbs at the edges of the forest. The infirmary sisters had always insisted that she take another girl with her, and fuming, she had had to drag another nervous novice to the trees. They never wanted to stay out as long as she did, and they always cast nervous looks at the dark shadows.

  Riona had never understood that. To her, the forest was a place of secrets, a place of wilderness and peace. As a child, she had always wondered what it might be like to step underneath those ancient trees, to follow the brooks and see where they led. Now that she was twenty and on the verge of becoming one of the sisters of the order, she knew she should put such troublesome thoughts behind her, but if she looked, she knew they would be there.

  From her window, she could see the tops of the trees swaying in the wind, and from some distant peak or glen she heard the solitary howl of a wolf. She wondered if it was a true wolf, or if it could be one of the shapeshifters who lived in the forest and walked sometimes as wolves and sometimes as men. They were an ancient people who had never given themselves over to the command of the king, lawless and fierce, and they hunted the forest as if it belonged only to them.

  Riona had heard stories all her life about the wolf tribes, and she knew that they were to be feared as both bandits and warriors. Still, a part of her thrilled at that long howl. The sisters and other novices were terrified when the wolves howled, and even Abbess Beni considered it frightening.

  Riona had a different idea. It's a loving call. He's calling his family to let them know that he is safe.

  As if in response to her thought, a second wolf joined the first, its tone higher and clearer. A third and then a fourth added their voices to the night, and soon there was a chorus of howls, echoing hollowly in the crisp cold air.

  Riona realized that the wolves might be quite close, and for a mad moment, she wondered whether they would respond if she howled back. She could feel it in the back of her throat, the urge to rip free with a joyful shout that said here I am, look at me!

  Instead, she took one last gulp of the cold air and closed the window behind her. In the darkness of her cell, she could no longer hear the wolves. She sighed deeply, tears threatening at the back of her throat, so frustrated because she did not know where the strange stirrings inside her came from.

  Resolutely, she put on the nightgown that was inches too tight, and she lay down on her narrow bed. Tomorrow, she would take her vows in front of the entire nunnery and under the eyes of the old god, and her life would be promised. It was a good life. She knew that it was a better life than an orphan with no memory of parents or home could expect, and it would not be without joy. She knew this.

  Riona fell into a restless sleep, her dreams full of the joyful howls of the wolves.

  ***

  From the high bluff, Rordan could look down and see the nunnery. It was a place of men, with four high stone walls, and inside it was a treasure more precious than the king's crown. It took every bit of restraint he could muster not to call his friends together and to attack. He had not
won the place of wolf king by being too hasty, however, and so he waited. Time enough to come in at noon, when the women were gathered. He could afford to wait a little longer, but it was hard.

  “You look impatient,” Ferric said, teasing.

  Rordan bared his teeth at his friend in irritation. “She needs to be the one,” he said, pacing along the ridge. “We have searched for too long. She must be the one.”

  “And if she's not?” Ferric's voice was light, but there was a challenge to it.

  Rordan turned to face him fully. “Then we will keep looking,” he snapped, taking a step closer. Rordan was the larger man by far, and Ferric held up his hands, laughing softly.

  “Then we will keep looking,” Ferric agreed easily. “We never thought you would do anything else. If we did, we would not have made you king, would we?”

  Rordan snorted, turning his attention back to the nunnery. “I seem to remember I made myself king,” he retorted, “or were you and Angus and Siobhan all helping me when I defeated Berach?”

  “Still, you would not have stayed king if the whole tribe had not howled for you, and we did. Long and loudly till the hills went deaf with it.”

  “You're too poetic by half,” Rordan grumbled. “Why don't you try your wiles on Siobhan? See how far you get with her.”

  Ferric's grin widened, and he tilted his head speculatively. “You think I would have a chance?”

  Rordan rolled his eyes. No matter how many years he was king, he would never rule longer than he had known Ferric. “Yes, go and find out.”

  Ferric stepped back into the darkness, returning to the small, smokeless fire they had built, and Rordan kept one ear tuned to the soft conversations of his friends. He couldn't make out the words, but he could hear Ferric's light cheerful voice, then Siobhan's wary greeting. Ferric spoke, Siobhan responded, and when Ferric spoke again, Siobhan growled, and the sound of a meaty smack echoed through the trees.

  They could have been youths again, coming to their first leggy growth and prowling Dunclough like they owned it. Rordan smiled to think of a time when his only care had been getting the most silver fish out of the stream or running down the largest boar they could. They were always together, and though adult responsibilities had pulled them away from it, tonight it felt like old times.

  Rordan turned his eyes back to the nunnery, willing the sun to rise. “It has to be you,” he whispered. “It must be.”

  ***

  Riona was up before dawn for morning prayers, and since it was the day she was meant to take vows, she was relieved of her normal duties. Instead, she was taken to the baths, where Sister Laurin and Sister Michel stripped her to the skin and plunged her into a basin of frigidly cold water. She came up sputtering and with her teeth chattering, but they only laughed and dunked her again.

  “It's good for the soul,” Sister Laurin laughed, pulling Riona's dark hair back from her eyes.

  “And for the body!” agreed Sister Michel, dumping another bucket of cold water over her back. “You want all of this lovely pale skin to stay soft, don't you?”

  “You're both awful, that's freezing!” Riona shouted, but there was no real cruelty to them. She had known both of them since she was toddling, and to them, there was no greater joy than seeing her take her proper place.

  “Such a big girl you are,” Sister Michel remarked, rubbing a cloth over Riona's belly. “My mother's people were big too, and strong as oxen, you know.”

  Riona snatched the cloth from her. “You tell me that near every time you see me,” she said good-naturedly. “And if I'm so big, then surely I can be trusted to clean myself?”

  The laughing sisters drew back, letting Riona settle down into the cold water to clean herself from head to foot. After the initial shock, the cold was bracing, and she scrubbed until every inch of her was tingling. Then there was the pumice stone to remove all of the hard skin from her heels, and a soft sea sponge to clean her body.

  After the cold came the hot bath, and she relaxed into the steaming water, immersed to her chin. Behind her, Sister Michel started to comb out her dark wet hair with clever fingers, and to her side, Sister Laurin got to work clipping her fingernails short.

  “You're going to look lovely today,” Sister Laurin said, and Sister Michel nodded enthusiastically.

  Riona smiled at them, but she remained silent. She could see how much they loved the world of the nunnery, and in truth, she loved it too. Or at least, she loved it when it didn't feel like it was pressing in around her. The walls of the nunnery were thick and strong to protect them from the evils of the world, but sometimes, she couldn't help but think that they were meant to keep her from exploring as well.

  The sisters rinsed her one last time in warm water and left her to dry herself, and as she did so, she tried to put away her thoughts of something more.

  Try as she might, however, the thoughts preyed on her mind, hounding her as she went to break ceremonial bread with the abbess, to the book of holy names to read from the passage associated with her birth year, and to the sacred well to draw water.

  By noon, when she was ready to say her vows, she was ravenous and frazzled. She smiled when the sisters and the other novices gathered in the main hall, and she listened as Abbess Beni spoke about her service in the infirmary and her skills as an herbalist, but a part of her mind chattered at her, telling her to leave before she swore her life away.

  “And now, dear, kneel before the alter and say your vows.” The abbess's face was full love as she gestured to the padded cushion before the alter.

  Stuffing her doubts back down her throat one more time, Riona took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  For a moment, she thought that thunder had boomed out of clear sky, and that the old gods had recognized her lack of faith. She spun around, and through the crowd of shouting sisters and novices, there strode four people who looked like the gods of the wood made flesh.

  Three men and one woman, dressed all in furs, paced quickly through the crowd, scattering them like starlings, making straight for the alter where she and Abbess Beni stood.

  Bandits, she thought with fury, and she grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a carved wooden staff that one of the nearby sisters had dropped in her panic. She stalked toward the invaders, heedless of the danger, but then she realized that the tallest bandit was coming to meet her.

  With a startled shriek, she swung the staff hard at him, making him take a surprised step back.

  “Come on, bastard,” she snarled angrily. “Do you think we won't fight?”

  Behind the bandit's shoulder, his companions shoved the sisters away, brandishing steel swords but not swinging them. It seemed like a mercy, but in her momentary distraction, she had allowed him to take the advantage

  His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist with such punishing force that she dropped the staff, crying out. Riona dug her heels in, but a single tug sent her stumbling toward him.

  He's too strong, too strong by far, she thought desperately, and then from the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of green.

  Abbess Beni, for all of her frailness, bore down on them like a storm. “How dare you!” she cried, swinging wildly at the bandit with a lead candelabra from the alter. “This is a place of peace!”

  The bandit who held her swore, trying to jerk Riona away. He swatted at the old woman, and his large hand caught her on the shoulder. It did not seem like a heavy blow, but it sent her spinning to the ground, and to Riona's horror, she landed on the steps leading up to the alter with a bone-jarring thud.

  “No!” Riona cried, struggling to get to the abbess. The fallen woman looked small, like a bird fallen out of the air, and Riona's brain refused to put the still form on the stairs with the woman who ruled the nunnery.

  She struggled against her captor's hold, startling him enough that he almost let her go, and when he caught her up again, she kicked and flailed, landing at least one hefty blow across his stomach and making him gasp.


  “Let me go, oh please let me go,” she cried, eyes on the abbess.

  “Enough of this.” The woman bandit scowled and reached for her. Before Riona could decide what to do, the woman's hands came up around her throat.

  She's looking for my arteries, Riona thought frantically, but blackness was already beginning to overwhelm her vision. She felt herself start to fall, but before she could, there was nothing.

  ***

  When Riona awoke, she was aware of her throbbing head, a certain tenderness around her throat, and arguing voices.

  “It could have gone better, I suppose.”

  “Better? You choked her!”

  “I put her to sleep. We weren't going to make her come quietly otherwise.”

  “I still think we could have done it more subtly.”

  “You always think everything can be handled at night, Angus.”

  “Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?”

  Riona calmed her thudding heart, lying as still as she could. There was only a little light cast from the fire, but in it, she could see the glint of a sheathed sword not far from where she lay. If she could roll over and reach for it...

  “Shut your noise,” said a new voice. “She's awake.”

  Surprise gone, she lunged for the sword only to find herself clasped in arms that felt as strong as iron bands. She screamed angrily, only to be set back firmly on the ground in a sitting position. The strength of the man must have been immense, for he pushed her back as if she were a tiny child.

  “That's enough of that,” he said, moving the sword away and coming to sit across from her. “We mean you no harm.”

  “I don't believe that,” Riona spat, drawing back to glare at her captors mistrustfully.

  The man who sat close, the one who had kept her from the sword, was the same one who had taken her from the nunnery in the first place. Even sitting he was a big man, tall and broad, with black hair that hung down to his shoulders. In the flickering light of the fire, she could see that his face was proud, as if cut from rock, and his eyes were the vivid amber of struck sparks. There was a strange beauty to him that felt alien to her. She didn't understand it, but even under her rage, she felt a sense of recognition, something that pulled her to this man. In fury, she stomped on it hard.