“Of course I have feelings for him. We’ve been friends a long time.”
“Only friends?”
“Why should you care?”
William wondered the same thing. “I must guard my interests.”
Emma dropped her gaze to the puppy and began to stroke its belly. “Right,” she said. “That’s all I am. An interest. Chattel.”
He watched the smooth, rhythmic motions of her hand. She’d favored Thunder with the same gentle touch. “I meant no disrespect.”
“I know,” she murmured, her head bowed, her eyes downcast.
A rush of tenderness seized him. He leaned over and brushed her forehead with a feather-soft kiss.
Her lips parted. They were full, luscious, and as sweet a temptation as he’d ever known.
The spaniel in her lap let out a high-pitched whine. Emma giggled, but her cheeks flared with color when the puppy burrowed against her and sniffed her crotch.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she said. In one quick motion, she scooped him up and stood. Then she bent over a stall and placed him inside it. “Back to bed. You’ve had enough petting for one night.”
The curve of Emma’s backside was like a beacon. William got to his feet and stole toward her. Desire coursed through his veins, and his body heat devoured the chill in the surrounding air.
Emma straightened and turned. Then she jumped at the sight of him standing so close. “You have a gift for sneaking up on people.”
He moved closer and stopped mere inches away. Her hair smelled sweet and held a hint of roses. ’Twas a pity she’d have to cover it with a veil once they were married.
He nodded toward the puppy. “How do you know he’s had enough petting?”
Her reply sounded breathless. “I just do.”
“That’s not an answer. Do you know why he sniffed you?”
“All dogs do it. Their sense of smell is precise, and it makes them curious.”
“But with such precision, there must’ve been a reason why he nuzzled you just now.”
“What reason?”
“He sensed the change in your scent after I kissed you.”
Her eyes widened. “What change?”
“I think you know.”
“I think you’re rude.”
“Let’s just say, I’m perceptive.”
“There was no change in me.”
“Would you mind if I verified that?” He bent down as if to repeat the dog’s action.
She gripped his shoulders and tried to push him away. “I certainly would!”
Grinning, he straightened. “Since you’re so unwilling, I must be right.”
“You wouldn’t attempt such a thing in the light of day.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“The sun would show your every move.”
“Since when do you crave the sun? I thought you favored storms.”
“I do.”
“Then drink of mine.”
Emma backed into a thick, oak beam. Recovering quickly, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You’re a bold one.”
William closed the distance between them. “A warrior cannot afford to be timid.”
“We are not engaged in battle.”
“But we are engaged to be wed.” His gaze lowered to her tunic’s skirt. “At least part of you welcomes me.”
She stiffened. “Don’t celebrate your victory just yet.”
“You’re right, my lady. We’ll do that tomorrow night.”
A shiver racked her body. He stepped forward and slid his arms around her waist. Her scent was intoxicating.
“You’re cold,” he said, bowing his head. Her plump, ripe lips were but a breath away. “Let me warm you.”
His mouth found hers. Her lips were warm and yielding, a delicacy to be savored. He teased them open with his tongue and probed gently, tasting her sweetness with slow, lingering movements. Her tongue slid along his and joined in a delicate duel of taste and texture.
His hands roamed her tunic, molding the soft fabric to her waist, hips, and buttocks. He squeezed her bottom and pulled her close so she could feel the full length of his arousal.
She tore her mouth from his. “Sir!”
His lips traveled to her right ear. “My lady,” he whispered.
She trembled. He felt the small quake as though ’twere his own.
“Still cold?” he teased. His teeth grazed her earlobe.
Again, she shivered. “I…”
His tongue traced her silken flesh, down the length of her neck. His right hand slid upward and cupped a breast. With light, measured strokes, his thumb caressed her through the tunic.
He grinned as the nipple hardened beneath the cloth. He himself was hard as steel.
“You like that?” he whispered against the hollow of her throat.
She shuddered.
“Yet you shiver from cold,” he said. “How ever shall I warm you?”
He blazed a trail of hot kisses from the base of her throat down to the breast cupped in his palm. Gently, his teeth skimmed the linen that shielded the rigid pap.
“I-I’m not cold,” she stammered.
He tweaked her nipple. “But your teat points straight as an arrow.”
“And you know why,” she said in a thick voice.
“So do you,” he said, straightening.
Her eyes had become dark pools of passion. Her body was lush and inviting. But this was neither the time nor the place.
With a sigh, he pulled away. “’Tis late.”
“And tomorrow will be a long day,” she added.
“Tonight will be longer.”
She inched out from between his body and the wooden beam. “Tilda must be waiting to see me to bed.”
He grinned. “’Twill soon be our bed.”
She avoided his gaze. “I must go.”
“As you wish,” he said. “Until tomorrow.”
Emma stumbled to the door and jerked it open. She turned and regarded him once more. “Tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
At daybreak, Emma climbed the small hill to Woden’s Circle. Pervasive fog seemed to cushion her feet and blur her conflicting emotions. She was all too glad to let reality fade into the mist behind her. Truth be told, a part of her wanted to keep walking until she disappeared into the swirling fog. Forever.
The stone ring was pagan in origin. Perhaps ’twould swallow her up and whisk her to an enchanted, parallel world. A fairyland where she could forget duty and curses, and her beguiling, dangerous bridegroom.
In a way, he was just as magical as the stones atop the mound. He teased, mesmerized, and wove a sticky web of seduction. In both the prison and the kennel, he’d made her forget herself.
That was the one thing she could never do.
Emma crested the hill and entered the towering circle. Then she stepped inside the gateway at its core. Already, her raven guardians had gathered, perched en masse on the ancient stones.
She closed her eyes, stretched out her arms, and touched the cold, gray stones. Her prayer was a single word. “Please.”
The ground and stones thrummed with energy, and the vision came, just as before. Violet eyes. Margaret’s troubled expression. Her swollen belly. Her finger pointing to what waited beyond.
Emma turned and peered through the mist. She saw herself, lying in bed.
Her body lay abnormally still. Her face was an ashen shell. She was dead.
Horror ripped her from the vision. She slapped a hand to her chest, and her quick, strong heartbeats reassured her. Breathing deeply, she wiped the sweat from her brow.
The message seemed clear: if she became pregnant, she would die. ’Twas the curse’s terrible promise.
“As if I need reminding,” she muttered.
“What you need is a watchdog.”
Emma whirled around. “Meg, what are you doing here?”
With her long veil and flowing, white tunic, Meg seemed an extension of the enveloping mist. “I could
ask the same of you. And today of all days.”
“Why should today be any different?”
“’Tis your wedding day!”
Emma threw her hands in the air. “And already, ’tis ripe with useless reminders.”
“What has you in so foul a temper?” Meg asked.
“Let me see,” said Emma. “I live under a curse. I suffer Aldred’s putrid presence. I’ve just had a terrifying vision. And today I marry a conceited Norman who’s little more than a stranger. Take your pick.”
Meg’s violet eyes were as shrewd as her wit. “I’ll choose the third complaint, if I may.”
Emma’s shoulders slumped. “I saw my mother again. She wants me to heed the curse.”
“Mayhap she wants you to break it.”
“And how would I do that?”
“You know how. With true love.”
Emma snorted. “Have you seen any lately?”
“Not yet, child.”
“Not ever, you mean.”
Meg folded her arms. “’Tis unlike you to be so negative.”
Tears pricked Emma’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just have hope.”
“I might if Sir William were capable of love.”
“Why do you think he’s not?”
Emma’s mind flooded with images: Sir William summoning her to the prison tower; his black eyes gleaming with suspicion in the hall; the way he’d teased her in the kennel, as if he knew exactly how to drown her in a sensuality she dared not embrace.
“He’s cold and calculating…and unbelievably stingy with his trust,” she said at last.
“You’re out of breath,” Meg remarked.
I am, Emma realized. Her emotions had so entangled her that she was panting like a puppy. What was next?
“Believe me,” she said, “Sir William is hopeless.”
Meg looked thoughtful. “I’ve known many a worse case.”
She was right, of course. One had only to imagine Aldred as a bridegroom to learn the definition of hopelessness.
All at once, Emma’s mood broke. She pushed her shoulders back and stood a little straighter. “Did you follow me here?”
“No. I was restless. So I came to be with the ravens and the spirits…and the wind that carries them.”
Emma understood. Age, beauty, mystery, and might coexisted within the stone ring. Its magic, and the souls who’d experienced it, were timeless.
“I wish I’d known my mother,” she said softly.
Meg patted Emma’s arm. “She was a passionate woman, and though she feared the curse, she wanted you desperately. Perhaps that’s why her love reaches out to you, even now.”
“As a warning.”
“As a blessing.”
“I’d feel better if she were with me today.”
“She will be. You’ll be wearing her gown.”
“That I will. ’Tis amazing how well it fits. Tilda made only a few alterations.”
“You’ll be beautiful.”
“I’ll be petrified.”
Meg chuckled. “Try to relax. Stress only clouds the mind. Let’s go back to the keep and break our fast.”
They left the circle and started down the hill. The fog began to dissipate.
“We’ve a busy day ahead,” Meg said.
Emma rolled her eyes. “And an eventful night, no doubt. At least Sir William agreed that we should withdraw to our chamber alone after the festivities.”
“Without witnesses? Your guests will be disappointed.”
“What I must tell my husband is private, and we’ll serve enough wine and ale to drown any objections.”
Meg nodded. “’Twill be easier if you’re alone.”
“Easier, but not easy.”
“I know, but don’t spoil the day by fretting about tonight. When the time comes, your heart will guide you.”
“I’d rather my head did.”
“The heart is wiser.”
“Explain that to the curse.”
Meg paused and laid a hand on Emma’s cheek. “No,” she said, her violet eyes dark with emotion. “You must explain the curse to your husband.”
****
The lord’s private chapel was the most beautiful place in the castle. As William awaited his bride before the altar, he studied the small chamber.
The ceiling and walls had been carved and painted with artistic grace seldom seen outside royal households. The altar was draped with shining, white satin. Its centerpiece was an enormous gold cross, flanked by two, large beeswax candles in gold candlesticks. Behind the altar, a single arched window featured costly glass stained in blue, green, and red. No one who entered the chapel would question the wealth of Ravenwood’s lord.
He’d abandoned his customary black attire for blue. ’Twasn’t an easy choice. Blue was a symbol of purity, and he’d sinned enough in his lifetime to make the color shrink from his flesh. Still, the tunic was embroidered with silver thread, and a jewel-studded belt was the perfect complement. ’Twas his finest court apparel and the only clothing worthy of the occasion.
Emma had insisted that Wulfstan give her away. William had agreed, though the compromise was as palatable as sour wine.
But Lady Emma will be mine by the end of the hour, he thought. After that, Wulfstan can go to the Devil. Who knows? Satan’s company might be a welcome respite from Aldred’s.
He glanced at Robert, who stood tall and stoic at his side. Robert’s gaze roved about the chapel.
He’s assessing the riches into which I marry, just as Aldred is gauging his losses.
The Saxon’s scowl was as fervent now as when he first entered the chapel. Gertrude, who looked equally grim, sat beside him on the bench. The only smile in the room belonged to Meg. Her countenance was as serene and lovely as the chapel itself, and something in the tilt of her head reminded William of Emma.
The next instant, he needed no reminder. Emma crossed the chapel’s threshold on Wulfstan’s arm, and William forgot about Ravenwood’s wealth and the horror of battles past. All he could see was his bride.
She glided toward the altar with the poise of a queen. She wore lavender silk and a fine, richly embroidered veil over her hair. Amethysts and rubies dotted a silver belt which accentuated her waist and hips and trailed down the front of her skirt in one long, shimmering line.
Her violet eyes sparkled as she approached the altar. In that moment, she embodied all that was good and the essence of desire. She resembled the haunting beauty of a storm. His storm.
He chafed at Wulfstan’s presence. But before he knew it, Father Cedric bent his shiny bald head over the prayer book and began the ceremony.
“Beloved brethren…” the chaplain intoned.
Beloved, William mused. By whom? God? Each other?
The only evidence he’d seen of real love between a man and woman was the bond his parents had shared. His mother, though strong and proud, still mourned her husband’s death.
Would anyone mourn his? Although he’d bedded many women, he’d entrusted his heart only to one. That had been the mistake of his life, one he’d paid for, body and soul.
“Sir William,” said Father Cedric, “will you take this woman as your wife, and love and honor her, guard her and keep her in health and sickness, as it befits a husband should do his wife, and forsaking all others for her sake, stay only with her all the days you both shall live?”
William sobered. He could never love Emma, but he would strive to uphold the other vows. “I will,” he said.
Father Cedric turned to Emma and asked her the same. William held his breath.
“I will,” she said in a strong, clear voice.
He relaxed. Beside him, Wulfstan placed Emma’s right hand in the priest’s. With the formal betrothal complete, Wulfstan and Robert joined the other three guests on the bench. Then Father Cedric motioned for William to take Emma’s right hand.
Her fingers were ice-cold. He willed his warm
th into them as the chaplain continued with the ceremony.
Her voice was softer, less certain, as she repeated her vows. “I, Emma, take thee, William, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…”
Her voice trailed into silence for one heart-stopping moment. Then she squared her shoulders and continued, “To be bonny and buxom in bed and at board, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, if holy Church will it ordain, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Father Cedric blessed the simple gold band which lay on his prayer book, then handed it to William.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” William said. “With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly chattel I thee honor.”
He pushed the ring onto Emma’s thumb. “In nomine Patris,” he stated. He moved the ring to her index finger. “Et Filii,” he said, then placed the ring on her third finger, saying, “et Spiritus Sancti.” Finally, he slid the ring on her fourth finger. “Amen.”
She avoided his gaze as they knelt before the priest to receive the blessing. Only when they rose to leave did she look up at him. Her eyes were dark with emotions and thoughts he couldn’t read, but he squeezed her hand to reassure her. She gave him a closed-mouth smile, and he grinned in return. Her hand was now warm and accepting.
Together, they turned and strode from the altar. The puckered brows of Aldred and Gertrude were like a chorus of disapproval, but Meg’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Both Robert and Wulfstan smiled at the couple.
Once outside the sanctum, William sighed and glanced at his bride. It felt almost natural to walk beside her.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.
“No…my lord,” she said. “Quite lovely, in fact.”
“’Tis you who are lovely,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her cheeks colored. “Another compliment? Take care, or I shall swoon.”
“Not until bedtime,” he warned playfully.
Her smile disappeared.
“Fear not,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.”
“Your teeth don’t concern me,” she muttered. “I’m sure you’ve a much sharper weapon at your command.”
William laughed. He felt happier than he had in months. He was Lord Ravenwood now, and his lady embodied wit and beauty.
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