by E. D. Walker
“But those adventures gave me a taste for it. I wandered in ever-widening circles from my home after that and taught myself to climb trees. I realize now my luck in managing not to be eaten by wolves at the time.” She winked at him. “Or worse.”
He shuddered as he thought of some of the things that could be encompassed in that “or worse”—none of them pleasant for an innocent maiden.
“Our gamekeeper caught on to my mischief before any real harm—besides some scraped knees and torn dresses—befell me. Uncle gave me a sound scold when he found out, and a beating. After, he kept a stricter watch on me, and I ended up spending many of my days reading. I had always been a great reader, which is how I learned all my stories, but he added still more books to my library.
“Then, since I had already received far more education than was seemly for any girl, he decided to instruct me in other languages and in the analysis of texts. Teaching me such knowledge was highly improper, but he couldn’t see the harm.” She fanned her fingers over Garwaf’s fur, smoothing it back and forth, snuggling closer to him.
“A few years ago, Flavio fell ill. After three years of pain, he finally passed last year, which meant Father suddenly had to deal with me. Poor Lord Stephen came to discover that all the qualities he loved so in my mother he deplored in me. A respectable intellect is of very little use in a daughter you’re trying to marry off, since most men don’t like their wives to be too witty.
“Perhaps I’d have been suitable material for a mistress, but having a loud-mouthed shrew like me for a bride? Unthinkable.” She laughed brightly, no shadow of ill use showing in a face that Garwaf found comelier by the hour. “None of the neighboring lords in the area thought me worth a glance, especially as I lacked two qualities that would have made me rather more suitable or at least made my shortcomings rather more forgivable. I had no dowry and no beauty.”
Garwaf growled a vehement protest.
She grinned and patted his head. “Flatterer. Anyway, after having no luck marrying me off, Stephen wrote to his old friend King Thomas and begged him to take me on. The king had just married Queen Aliénor and brought her home. She would need ladies-in-waiting. My father hoped that court life could put some polish on me and I might find a good husband. So here am I.” She hesitated before barreling on. “And grateful, too, to find myself here. With you. That day in the forest, I thought I would die of my loneliness, but then you came. So I thank you, kind sir, for your friendship and your loyalty. Thank you for everything.” She bent and delivered a chaste kiss to the top of his head.
He turned and looked at her with longing. I want to tell you of myself as well, his heart said. I want you to know of my father, the benevolent and noble Prince Michael, and his kind and good lady, Phillippa. I want to tell you of my uncle, King Thomas, 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 am now. Not in this freakish 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. You did that.
He wanted to tell her all this, but he could only stare soulfully into her eyes and sigh.
She 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 month 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. 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. 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 were housed comfortably in the castle now. A brace of dignitaries was 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.
She passed through the courtyard on her way to Llewellyn’s workshop, where the wolf had gone to keep the magician 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. Yet his eyes were hard and dark, 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 gaze.
As the new arrival dismounted, King Thomas, Llewellyn, and the wolf were crossing the courtyard to meet Kathryn. The wolf looked up and saw the newly arrived knight. Garwaf stopped midstride, his eyes widening. 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 man Reynard, knew precisely what had transpired. 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.
King Thomas reacted first, and just in time too, before the wolf had a chance to do greater harm to the man. “Sir Garwaf. You forget yourself.”
The wolf backed off from the fallen man but snarled. Ears back, hackles raised, the wolf tensed for another, probably murderous, 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 furious gaze from the fallen knight and looked to his king.
King Thomas raised his riding crop threateningly, but his eyes were tense at the edges, pleading. “You will not harm this guest of my house, wolf, or so help me I shall be forced to beat you from the place.”
The wolf looked to the fallen knight. He growled once more before he backed off and sat, glaring, but a threat no longer. Kathryn raced from her hidden vantage point and went to the wolf at once, her heart in her throat. She placed her hand on his head. He glanced up, and the first signs of discomfiture began to show in him. He did not seem sorry for the act, but perhaps for the brutality of his attack, perhaps because she had witnessed his wildness?
The man Reynard jumped to his feet indignantly and would have advanced on the wolf had King Thomas not stopped him. “As he has honored my truce, so shall you, Lord Reynard.” A threat hung heavy in the king’s words.
Kathryn looked to the wolf, but he was watching the king and the wounded knight, whose own blood had stained his fine red-striped tunic.
Reynard fumed. With his nostrils flaring in quivering indignity, he was not at all handsome. “Is it now the cust
om of the court to keep wild beasts?”
“The practice has only come into fashion of late, my lord,” Llewellyn said in evenly measured tones. He bowed his head, his voice so bland as to be absolutely colorless. Kathryn detected the magician liked this knight no more than she, or perhaps even the wolf, did.
“If you will come to my workshop, I will tend that arm for you,” Llewellyn said.
“It would be wise,” the king murmured.
Reynard, dignity bruised but unable to cry off, nodded and stalked from the court. The wolf’s gaze followed him, and Kathryn would have given much to know what went on behind the gleaming blue depths of her beast’s eyes.
When Lord Reynard had passed, King Thomas offered his arm to Kathryn, which she accepted silently while the wolf fell into step with them. King Thomas seemed to be addressing his remarks to Kathryn, but he actually spoke to the wolf. “Was that well done of you, my boy? It most certainly was not wise. All will be made right in time, but patience and prudence are required to accomplish that.”
King Thomas walked them out the back and into the garden, where the wolf had just returned from. “I think”—and this the king said to Kathryn—“our friend could use some fresh air. I will speak to my lady wife and see that your duties for the next hour are assigned to some other handmaiden.”
After King Thomas left, Kathryn turned a scathing glare on the wolf, and he had the grace to look abashed. He curled his tail between his legs and followed meekly when she led him to their favorite and accustomed spot in the rose garden. She sat on the bench, the wolf opposite her, appearing as ashamed as he could manage with his limited selection of facial expressions.
“The king is right. That was not well done of you.”
The wolf hung his head.
She sighed. “But such anger is entirely understandable. Considering the circumstances.”
The wolf glanced up. His sharp blue eyes studied her before he slunk toward her, whining softly. Pursing her lips to hold her own emotions back, she held her hand out, palm up in invitation. He rested his chin on her knee, and she smoothed his fur with shaking hands. “I had hoped for a better opportunity than this, but I doubt one will come.” She fished in her dress pocket and held her hand in front of the wolf’s face. The gold lay glittering in her palm, winking at them in the sunlight.
The wolf sniffed the necklace and looked at her face, curious.
“This is for you if you would like.” Heat blossomed across her cheeks. “I have a ring that matches. See?” She held up her hand to show him the golden rose ring encircling her left ring finger. “I thought…” She creased her brows, suddenly shy, awkward.
Before she could grow more flustered, the wolf butted her hand with his nose. She laughed and clasped the necklace around his throat. The necklace looked very distinguished and lent him a regal air not to be found in any common wolf.
She glanced up at the sound of someone approaching, and Llewellyn hovered outside their alcove, wiping his hands with a rag.
“Hello, Master Llewellyn.” At Kathryn’s greeting, the wise man entered the rose garden.
Llewellyn knelt first before the wolf. “May I check your shoulder, my lord?”
Kathryn, to whom the possibility of injury had not occurred, gasped and hovered over Llewellyn the whole time he inspected the wound, which had not reopened and still seemed to be healing nicely.
The examination over, the magician rocked back on his heels and spoke to the wolf. “Our king thinks it best you omit your presence from dinner tonight.”
Kathryn gasped with dismay. This announcement hardly surprised her, but it most definitely disappointed her.
Llewellyn’s wind-weathered face cracked in a grin. “His Highness does not, however, ban you from attending tomorrow’s festivities. He only wants to give you a day to cool down and collect your wits. All right, Garwaf?”
The wolf looked to Llewellyn and inclined his head in the affirmative.
“’Tis well, then, and nothing’s to stop you two, now Reynard’s cleared out, from taking some refreshment at my hut.”
***
The three of them passed a pleasant noon meal together in Llewellyn’s workshop. He pulled out a fine batch of apricot brandy and passed the bottle round. Garwaf drank sparingly, not knowing his wolfish threshold for the brew. Kathryn drank rather more than she should have, but that only made her more cheerful. Llewellyn was a deep personality and also a hearty drinker. He imbibed more than both of his guests put together and showed never a sign of intoxication except for a more pronounced glitter behind his pale eyes.
“Oh, do some magic for me, Llewellyn,” Kathryn asked after her fourth mug. Everyone called him “magician” and “conjurer,” but she had yet to see him display any of these talents he was reputed to have.
Llewellyn clucked his tongue. “I don’t do big magic anymore. Not without a good reason.”
“Why not?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he gave a small shake of his head. “I…made a grave mistake once undoing another magician’s spell. I was foolish, cocky. I nearly killed a great many people. It turned out all right, but it is not an experience I wish to repeat.” He smiled brilliantly, throwing off his dour mood. “Anyway, real magic, true magic, Kathryn my dear, is subtle and invisible. True enchantment is magic from here.” Llewellyn tapped his head. “And here.” He placed a palm over his heart. “My magic now is in the earth and the tilling of fields. I help the plants to grow high and tall. I give them resolve to last the winter. I pour laughter and love in when I brew them into wine. I mix in fortitude and hope when they are made into medicines.”
Kathryn let all her confusion show in her face, and she heard the wolf muffle a small snort. Probably of amusement.
Llewellyn sighed and relented. “All right, then. Just a little spell.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes, they seemed to Kathryn to glow faintly around the pupils. He pointed a finger at the grate by the fire, and a small shower of sparks fell from his fingers to the logs, causing a chipper flame to leap up in the fireplace. Garwaf barked and jumped away from the hearth with a glare at Llewellyn. Kathryn swore in a rather unladylike manner.
Llewellyn’s face flushed, going white around the lips, and he drank deeply of his wine. “Yes, yes, quite impressive, and quite useless in the end. Selfish magic. Silly magic. Why use the supernatural for household chores? Why waste time and energy summoning up an inner flame when some good dry logs and a little friction could do the same?”
Kathryn looked up from the magic fire, which looked like any other fire to her untrained eyes. Llewellyn’s skin had paled now and seemed to have hollowed out beneath his cheekbones. She went to him and helped move him to the bench. “Why didn’t you tell me magic took this much out of you?” Her voice slurred around the edges.
He laughed. “Truth be told, I was curious myself if I could still do that kind of thing. I haven’t done such a spell in a year or more. I’m out of shape.”
Kathryn tsked. The wolf growled a short reproach.
Llewellyn grinned his customary irrepressible smile. “I devoted my life to the shallow magics. But now I’ve discovered a better way—a deeper and ultimately more rewarding way—of putting my talents to use. Instead of using them to build my own fame and glory, I use them to heal and mend, comfort and cure.” His tone then became decidedly didactic. “Whatever magic men of my sort do, the power is visited back on them in some way three times as potent. For every shower of tiny sparks I make, I pay the price somewhere else. In my old age the price comes out in physical strength. In my youth, I believe it came out of my brain.” He sighed ruefully. “I never did know a more thick-skulled fool than myself as a young man. Now, on the reverse side, every time I use my magic to help a wound knit cleaner, or an old man’s bones ache less, or a babe grow straight and healthy, the goodness comes back to me threefold in good deeds and kindness.” He smiled beatifically and suddenly looked ten years younger. “Which way w
ould you say is ultimately the stronger?”
Kathryn smiled and clucked her tongue. “Ah, my Lord Magician, you really are just a soft-hearted pup deep down, are you not?”
Llewellyn blushed and made a maudlin face of false modesty. Kathryn laughed. The wolf jumped on him and playfully batted the magician’s head with his paws. Llewellyn chuckled as well and unsuccessfully tried to shoo both the youngsters away from him.
The rest of the afternoon they passed together, with Llewellyn lecturing them both a little more on magic. When the magician and the maiden had to depart for dinner, Llewellyn fixed the wolf a meal to tide him over for the night, since he would miss the feasting in the hall. Garwaf settled with seeming placidity in front of the fire to eat his supper.
Kathryn had a nasty feeling, however, the wolf only bided his time. Before she left the healer’s hut, she bent down and kissed the wolf’s velvet-soft head. “Do not do anything unworthy of who you are.”
The wolf gave her a poignant look. Kathryn frowned and left the hut reluctantly but quickly so she would not be late.
***
Garwaf sniffed and sighed. I am a wolf, my lovely maiden. As I am there is no ignoble act unworthy of me. I am not a knight anymore. No matter how much I pretend to be. No matter how I wish I still was. No matter how I wish you and I could…The werewolf growled. I am what I am now. And Reynard is to blame for it.
Chapter Ten
Kathryn fought with futility against the gloomy mood that settled over her. Garwaf was banished, and now she also found herself seated far away from all of her usual companions at dinner. Llewellyn waved to her from the high table, but she could barely make her fingers crook to wave back. When the magician looked away, she sank her chin into her hand and stared without relish at her food. With so many of the king’s highest-ranking courtiers coming to the castle, Kathryn, as the unwed daughter of a minor baron, could not hope to get even a glance of the king or queen tonight.
