Flight of the Raven
Page 8
Outside, the wind howled as though wounded.
I know, Emma thought. I agree completely.
Suddenly, she had to be a part of it: the wind, the world. She kicked off the covers and hopped out of bed. Shuddering against the cold, she rushed to one of the large chests lining the wall and threw open the lid. She grabbed a white tunic and slipped into it.
Three knocks sounded on the door, and Tilda’s voice traveled through the thick oak. “My lady?”
Emma unbolted and opened the door. “Come in.”
With a small oil lamp in hand, Tilda shuffled inside. Her gaze darted about the room. Then, hand on chest, she sighed. “You’re alone.”
“Quite,” said Emma.
“Shall I have the fire lit?”
“No. I’m going out.”
Tilda set the lamp on a table. “I’ll help you dress.” Once Emma had donned her purple overtunic, hose, and boots, Tilda reached for a comb. “Shall I plait your hair then?”
Emma hastened to the table and dropped onto the stool before it. “Aye,” she said.
“One braid or two?”
“One. ’Tis faster.”
Tilda combed Emma’s thick, black tresses. “So,” she said. “What happened last night?”
Emma sighed heavily.
“Not that I’m prying,” Tilda continued. “I just…well, I worried about you all night.”
“Thank you,” said Emma, “but you needn’t have. I said I’d refuse my husband, and I did.”
The comb froze mid-stroke. “In the name of all that’s holy, how did you survive to tell me about it?”
“We argued, and then he left.”
“You spent the night alone?”
Emma slouched. “Entirely.”
Tilda plunked the comb onto the table. Then, with speed and skill, she pulled and folded Emma’s hair into a braid. “Where slept Lord Ravenwood?”
“Did he sleep?” Emma asked. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Did you?”
“Barely. And I’ve no idea where my husband spent the night.”
Tilda cleared her throat. “I doubt he’ll stay away forever, my lady.”
Emma shivered. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Hope. And pray.”
“For what?”
“A miracle.”
Tilda tied off the end of the braid, then attended to Emma’s headrail. At last, she announced, “Done.”
Emma sprang from the stool and grabbed her mantle. “Thank you, Tilda.”
The handmaiden bit her lip. “Wither will you go?”
“Woden’s Circle.”
“Do you seek another vision?”
“No, but that’s not a bad idea. Perhaps I could force the issue.”
Tilda gave her a tentative smile. “Well, good luck.”
“I could use some,” Emma said. Then she hurried out the door.
She rushed down the spiral staircase and past the great hall, where some of the feast’s more enthusiastic revelers snored with vigor. Descending the steps to the bailey, she avoided the many faces of Ravenwood, but she could feel their eyes on her. She understood their curiosity. They’d hardly be human if they didn’t wonder about her first night with the new lord.
She exchanged glances with only one person, and that was Oswald, the stout, redheaded gateman. She gave him a brief smile, then scurried through the gatehouse, over the drawbridge, and out to the freedom beyond.
For the first time since exiting the keep, she looked skyward. A swarm of gray clouds cloaked the sun. The playful, yet insistent wind tugged at her mantle. She reveled in the fresh, crisp air and the liberty it represented. Whatever became of her marriage, her love of nature would endure.
She skipped across the fields and up the hill to Woden’s Circle. Then she hesitated. Wulfstan leaned against one of the stones and gazed into the dark forest.
“Good morrow,” she said.
Wulfstan turned. His furrowed brow smoothed, and he grinned.
“Good morrow,” he replied. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Nor I you.” She entered the circle.
She chose the stone closest to the one he favored and leaned against it. ’Twas cold against her back, but firm and real.
“Of course, I’m not wholly surprised,” Wulfstan said. “This was always one of your favorite places.”
“And yours. Whenever you were close by.”
He studied her face. “Sleepless night?”
She groaned. “’Tis that obvious?”
He nodded, and his light blue eyes seemed to radiate compassion.
“You’ve circles under your eyes too,” she said. “Why?”
His frown returned. “All night, I’ve had the sense that something’s wrong.”
“Can you be more specific?”
He shook his head. “I would I could. The feeling is annoyingly vague.”
“It may stem from Aldred’s hasty departure.”
He grinned. “That was rude, but I must say I’m the happier for it.”
She returned his grin. “So am I.”
“You were a beautiful bride, Emma.”
“Thank you, but I trow you’d make an even better looking bridegroom.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not if the gods are kind. My time is better spent learning the ancient arts.”
She folded her arms. “And nothing else?”
He looked wistful. “Just think of me as a lone wolf, content to bay at the beauty and mystery of the moon.”
“I think the wolf cries out to the moon because he’s lonely.”
“Not this wolf.”
“Very well,” she conceded. “Have your solitude, then.”
“Are you here for a vision?”
“Not today.”
“You sound disappointed.”
Her arms dropped to her sides. “In a way, I am. Why can’t I make it happen?”
“You know as well as I. We can focus our energy, even mold it to our will at times. But most often, the images come when they will. They flow to their own rhythm.”
“You sound like Meg.”
“I suppose I do.” He leaned his head back against the stone. His blond hair shone despite the hidden sun. “You know, I’ve always envied you. Your visions of the future have helped a lot of people. Even Aldred.”
She made a face. “Don’t remind me. But why should you envy me? You need only touch someone to have a vision.”
“But I see the past. How can you save a person from what’s already hurt him?”
“You cannot. But knowing his pain, you can better help him in the present.”
He smiled. “Now you sound like Meg.”
“I guess she’s affected us both. If only she could influence my husband. He’s so demanding.”
A gust of wind stirred Wulfstan’s heavy, blue cloak, and his eyes searched hers. “Was he demanding last night?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then you explained the curse.”
“I started to.”
“You must do more. Tell your husband everything you know of it. How it began, how it makes you feel. Tell him of your latest visions.”
Emma pulled away from the stone at her back. “You know of them?”
“Meg told me.”
“How can I tell Lord Ravenwood? He’ll think I’m crazy. Or worse, a witch.”
“You are, in a manner of speaking…or you could be. The root of the word ‘witch’ means to twist or to bend.”
She snorted. “I doubt I could bend his viewpoint even an inch.”
Wulfstan folded his arms, and the wind whipped his hair into a wild, golden mane. “He’ll be like most Normans, and many Saxons, for that matter. They reject the old ways and the reality of magic. But they can’t keep us from knowing the truth, any more than your husband can stop your speaking it.”
“I don’t know. Those who cannot see dismiss those who can.”
She stared into the shadows of the forest. “And if he doesn’t?”
Wulfstan’s expression was grave. “He will, Emma. He must.”
****
William climbed the stairs to his bedchamber two at a time. The heavy door was ajar, revealing Tilda’s plump form leaning over the empty bed. Oblivious to his presence, she smoothed out the rumpled sheets.
He pushed the door, and it yawned audibly. The handmaiden jumped.
“My lord!” she cried. Then she bobbed before him. “I didn’t know…I didn’t hear—”
“Obviously.” He glanced about the chamber. “Where is your mistress?”
“Woden’s Circle.”
“Again?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Gave she any reason?”
“No, but I imagine she’s restless.”
Small wonder, he thought. He himself felt like a caged beast. After all, he’d spent his wedding night in a prison.
Perhaps a brisk walk was in order. A good stretch of the legs, at the end of which waited his reluctant bride.
“Was she alone?” he asked.
Tilda wrung her hands. “I trow so. ’Tis not unusual. ’Tis her favorite place.”
“Mmm,” William hummed.
The maidservant lowered her gaze to her twisting hands.
He looked sharply at her. “You seem nervous.”
She looked up at him. “Aye, my lord.”
“Do I scare you?”
“Aye, my lord.”
His lips twitched. “Carry on,” he said. Then he retraced his steps down the spiral stairs and headed for the bailey.
The wind that swept through the courtyard was cool and refreshing. Beyond the curtain wall, ’twas a strong, primal force. It snatched at his black mantle, teased his hair, and stung his cheeks. And it reminded him of Emma.
The true Emma, he mused. The one hiding beneath the surface.
He would uncover that side of her nature. One day, she herself would embrace it. That was the plan, at any rate.
He smiled into the wind. He’d had many a sorrier task.
The fertile soil of fields that were now his accommodated his steps, and the half-mile walk to Woden’s Circle flew by. He tackled the final hill with long, powerful strides. Then he stopped short at the sound of voices.
“I’d better head back,” Emma said. “Lord Ravenwood might be looking for me.”
A low, male voice answered her. “And he wouldn’t welcome finding us together.”
She was with Wulfstan.
William frowned. Yet his steps were smooth and precise as he crested the hill and cut through the stone circle.
His voice sliced the wind. “You are both correct.”
Standing but an arm’s length apart, they turned to him as one. Guilt haunted their faces.
Emma attempted a smile. “My lord,” she said.
“My lady,” he answered through his teeth.
Husband and wife glared at each other for a long, tense moment.
Wulfstan shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Then he broke the silence. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Stay,” William hissed. “There’s no need to pretend anymore.”
“We met by accident,” Wulfstan said. “I was already here when she arrived.”
“’Tis true,” Emma said. “I swear it.”
William’s gaze slashed from one to the other, then settled on his wife. “Like you swore your empty vows in the chapel? You make a mockery of duty.”
She lifted her chin and stabbed him with her cold, violet stare. “How dare you?”
“I dare because you’ve lied since the day we met,” he retorted.
“No,” she said. “You’re lying to yourself!”
“Open your eyes, Norman,” said Wulfstan. “We are but two old friends sharing memories.”
“And a lover’s tryst?” William pressed. His hand itched to grab his sword, but that wouldn’t win him a place in Emma’s bed. “I want the truth, Saxon.”
Wulfstan’s eyes were like crystal fire. “You’ve already heard it.”
Emma approached William and touched his arm. Her hand was light, and her eyes were now soft. “Please believe us.”
All of a sudden, William wanted to believe. He looked from Emma to Wulfstan, then back again.
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” he grumbled.
Her relief was palpable. “Aye,” she said. “You were.”
Wulfstan took a step toward them. “If our places were reversed, I might’ve thought the same thing.”
William regarded him in silence. He was in no mood for camaraderie.
Wulfstan glanced at the darkening sky. “Now I shall take my leave, before the rain washes me back to Ravenwood. I suggest you two hurry after.”
“We’ll be along shortly,” said Emma. “I would speak with my husband.”
Wulfstan gave her a meaningful look, then bowed to each of them in turn. “Emma. Lord Ravenwood.” His royal blue mantle swirled to life as he turned and disappeared down the hill.
William turned to her. “Well?”
She stared at him. “I—” she began, but the forest interrupted her. A twig snapped. Wings fluttered.
She twisted around and peered into the trees. Then she looked back at him and shrugged. “One of the ravens, no doubt.”
He nodded. “You were saying?”
“Right. There are things I must tell you.”
“Things?”
“About the curse.”
A second crack sounded from within the forest. Instinct warned William of danger before his mind could. There was a slight rustle, then a whoosh filled the air. He lunged in front of Emma to shield her.
As if time itself had slowed, a flurry of vivid thoughts seized his mind. He should’ve ridden Thunder, should’ve worn his chain mail. His wife was in peril. They were both horribly exposed.
Then came searing pain as an arrow pierced his left arm. Emma screamed behind him. If he’d hesitated even a second, the arrow would’ve punctured her chest.
“Wulfstan!” she shouted.
Gritting his teeth, William grasped the back end of the arrow and snapped it off. He threw it to the ground and dashed toward the trees. Within the forest, a horse whinnied, then pounded its hooves into a gallop.
William clutched his injured bicep and warmth trickled over his fingers. “God’s teeth!” he swore as the hoof beats receded in the distance.
He turned back to the circle, and a sharp pain lanced the length of his arm. Wincing, he looked down. There was more blood than he’d imagined.
Emma rushed toward him with Wulfstan close behind.
“Did you see anyone?” Wulfstan asked.
William shook his head, and the motion made him dizzy. “It sounded like one man,” he said, panting. “We must find him.”
“You’re in no condition to look for anyone.” Emma grabbed his good arm. “We must get you back to the keep and remove the arrow immediately.”
“No,” William argued. “The attacker may have left something behind that could lead us to him. I must search.”
“Allow me,” said Wulfstan. “That wound needs tending.”
Wulfstan scrutinized the damaged arm. He reached toward the arrow’s broken shaft, and William swatted his hand away. As their fingers touched, Wulfstan froze, and his eyes glazed over.
“Wulfstan?” said Emma.
He didn’t budge or respond in any way.
She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Not now!”
Wulfstan flinched. Then he shook his head as if to clear it.
“You saw something,” she said.
Wulfstan’s face was pale and beaded with sweat. “I cannot discuss it.”
“Cannot or will not?” she countered.
William had no idea what they were blathering about, or why the Saxon
looked as though he’d seen a ghost. He only knew his arm was on fire.
Wulfstan turned to him. “Can you walk without help?”
“I’ve had far worse wounds,” William said, but his vision had blurred. He was beginning to wonder if the arrow’s tip was poisoned. “I’ll notify my men at once. Robert will bring a search party to aid you.”
Wulfstan nodded. “I could also use my horse.”
“Done,” said William.
Wulfstan turned to Emma. “Get your husband back to the keep.”
Emma gave him a pointed look. “But later, I’ll have your answer.”
Wulfstan avoided her gaze. He hurried into the Long Wood and dissolved like a wraith into its shadows.
William had no choice but to let Wulfstan look where he could not. His arm burned, and his head swam. Yet someone had to search while the trail was fresh. The clouds above were heavy, threatening. A few minutes more, and the rain might wash away any clues that remained.
If Wulfstan didn’t steal them first.
William blinked. Shadows crept into his line of vision. They grew larger and more intrusive by the second. Even so, he spied a conspiracy of ravens perched atop one of the ancient stones. They watched him…and waited.
Emma’s arm slipped around his waist. “Come,” she said. “Let’s get you home.”
“Home,” he repeated.
’Twas a pleasant word. Almost a prayer. And ’twas his last thought before the world went black.
Chapter Ten
The rain pummeled the keep and drowned the midnight moon. Emma stared down at her husband’s sleeping form. ’Twas his first slumber in their bedchamber, in a bed she’d never shared. And because she’d spent most of the afternoon and evening tending his wound, this moment provided her first chance to admire his bare chest.
She’d healed men of all shapes and sizes, but this Norman was quite the specimen. His muscles were well-defined. His skin was like fine linen, shiny and smooth, yet covered with dark, curly hair and the scars of a warrior.
Her shock over the attack had doubled once she realized the arrow was poisoned. The sight of William lying helpless on the ground was frightening, unthinkable. Somehow she hadn’t thought of him as mortal.
She did now. If her knowledge of herbs had been any less, or if Robert hadn’t already been riding toward Woden’s Circle, William would’ve died.