Soul of the Wolf

by Judith Sterling

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Judith Sterling’s

  Soul of the Wolf

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Wulfstan pushed open the bedchamber door

  but hesitated on the threshold. Pale and wide-eyed, Jocelyn stood motionless in front of the gaping window. She stared at him as though he were the Devil incarnate.

  “Is it the wolf you fear?” he questioned. “Or is it me?”

  Jocelyn lifted her chin. “That depends on how much the two of you have in common.”

  Curbing a grin, he entered the chamber and shut the door. “We have more in common than you’d suspect.”

  “Oh, I suspect quite a bit.”

  “I suppose you would.”

  She crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

  Careful. Tell her gently. He gestured to the hearth. “Come sit by the fire.”

  “I’m warm enough, thank you.”

  “Then sit on the bed.”

  Her arms tightened against her torso. “I’d rather not.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’ll keep my distance. You’ll be quite safe.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she lowered her arms. She marched to the bed, and as she sat, her tan tunic seemed to meld with the various shades of the pelts around her. Her long, elegant fingers raked the fur. “Happy?”

  He swallowed hard. “Rapturous.”

  His mutinous mind conjured an image of her lying beneath him on the soft fur, arching toward him with the same abandon she’d shown at Woden’s Circle. It stirred his blood, and his manhood. By law, her body was his to claim, his to devour at will.

  Praise for Judith Sterling’s

  FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN

  (first of The Novels of Ravenwood series)

  “Sterling has written a beautiful blend of history and romance. The extra touch of mysticism (the curse) Lady Emma is tormented by is the perfect complement to the story. I will look for more from this author.”

  ~Bestselling author Lynn Sholes

  Soul of the Wolf

  by

  Judith Sterling

  The Novels of Ravenwood, Book Two

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Soul of the Wolf

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Judith Sterling

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Tea Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1383-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1384-9

  The Novels of Ravenwood, Book Two

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  my mother-in-law and father-in-law,

  who have supported me and my writing from day one.

  Chapter One

  Northern England, November 1101

  “I’d rather bathe in a cesspit than share my bed with a Saxon sorcerer,” grumbled Lady Jocelyn de Bret.

  Her nut brown eyes squinted at the relentless sun as she tossed her thick, red braid over her shoulder. The long plait slapped on the saddle, drawing a soft whinny from the even-tempered, tan palfrey that carried the bride ever northward.

  To her destiny and her despair.

  Up ahead rode her chief escort, Sir Robert le Donjon, along with several knights and squires. Behind trailed men-at-arms bound to protect not only the lady, but her sizeable dowry of silks, tapestries, silver plate, spices, and gold. Her companions were as Norman as she, but all were strangers, except Alice, the handmaiden who traveled at her side.

  “Lord Nihtscua is Saxon, to be sure,” Alice said. “As for the sorcery, ’tis only gossip.”

  Jocelyn gazed at the surrounding hills and craggy outcrops. Every minute, the terrain grew rougher, wilder. “His alchemy is his business. But his ancestry…”

  The handmaiden’s hazel eyes narrowed. “You never used to think ill of Saxons.”

  Heat crept into Jocelyn’s cheeks. “Opinions change.”

  “Apparently so. Though I cannot fathom how your mother changed yours, or why she did so on your birthday.”

  Jocelyn stiffened. “What?”

  “That night,” said Alice. “Your mother called you to her chamber. What did she—”

  “I shan’t speak of it.” Jocelyn tightened her grip on the horse’s reins.

  “But my lady—”

  “Enough!”

  Alice lowered her gaze. “As you wish.”

  Jocelyn sighed. “Forgive me. I know you mean well.”

  “It pains me to see you abandon your dreams.”

  “Of motherhood?”

  “And love.” Alice stole a peek at her.

  Jocelyn’s heart twisted, but she ignored it. “That was a childish notion. The king’s edict has forced me to outgrow it.”

  “You can still have children.”

  “Only if I allow myself to be pawed by some filthy whoreson of—”

  “My lady,” Alice warned in a harsh whisper. “Sir Robert!”

  Jocelyn followed Alice’s stare.

  Tall and straight in the saddle, the Norman knight approached on his powerful, gray warhorse. With his dimpled smile, black hair, and eyes of steel, Sir Robert looked every inch the chivalrous cavalier.

  Why couldn’t the king have ordered me to marry you? Jocelyn thought as he reined in his destrier at her side.

  “My lady,” he said.

  “Good sir,” she replied.

  His grin deepened. “We’ve hardly spoken a word since we left Lincoln.”

  “True.”

  “And we’re nearing Ravenwood. I thought you might be anxious.”

  “And therefore desirous of conversation?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that.”

  She returned his smile. “You’ve no idea.”

  “You’d be surprised. ’Tis not the first time I’ve accompanied someone bound to marry a stranger in a strange land.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “No? With whom do I share the honor?”

  “My brother, Lord Ravenwood.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding. “The great William l’Orage.”

  “Just so.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “What persuaded you to serve as my escort?”

  “My growing friendship with Wulfstan.”

  “Lord Nihtscua, you mean.”
/>
  “Right.” The knight shook his head. “I’m still adjusting to his new earldom.”

  With a grimace, Jocelyn shifted in her saddle.

  Robert regarded her in silence for a long moment. “What ails you?” he said at last. “The length of our journey or the mention of your bridegroom?”

  “Both, frankly.”

  “So you’ve heard the rumors.”

  “Aye. Are they true?”

  Robert shrugged. “He does honor the beliefs of his ancestors.”

  “And the magic?”

  “If you’d asked me a few months ago, I’d have scoffed at the very idea. But I’ve seen his powers firsthand.”

  Her skin prickled as a fey wind whispered from the wooded hillside to her right. “Oh?”

  He nodded. “Wulfstan can touch a person and see inside him…share his memories.”

  “All of them?”

  “Only the most painful.”

  She pursed her lips. “That sounds like stealing.”

  “Perhaps, but his visions saved my brother’s wife. She was poisoned by her half-sister, who’d plotted with Wulfstan’s brother. Wulfstan saw inside Lady Ravenwood and identified the poison, which ultimately saved her life.”

  “Lord Nihtscua has a brother?”

  Robert’s face darkened. “He had one…Aldred. My brother killed him.”

  “What became of the sister?”

  “Gertrude? We searched for weeks afterward but never found her. She simply disappeared.”

  Jocelyn took a deep breath of crisp, November air, then exhaled slowly. She glanced at Alice, whose wide eyes betrayed that she’d heard every word of their conversation.

  “I must say,” Jocelyn said, turning back to her escort, “you’ve only heightened my expectations of a wild and hostile land.”

  “’Tis indeed wild,” Robert said with a nod. “But beautiful.”

  And Saxon. Jocelyn peered into the distance, where an army of purple clouds guarded the horizon, poised to engulf the sun. They looked as heavy as her heart and as dark as the secret she would take to her grave.

  ****

  Wulfstan stared at the blazing hearth of Ravenwood’s solar. His ice blue eyes challenged the flames, even as his mane of golden hair resembled them.

  “You’ll find no answer there,” a familiar voice said behind him.

  He turned. From the wide, arched doorway, two pairs of violet eyes regarded him. Emma, the raven-haired Lady Ravenwood and Meg, her elderly relative, entered the chamber as one.

  He folded his arms. “I trow the answer is on horseback as we speak.”

  Meg adjusted her headrail. “I must say I’m looking forward to meeting Lady Jocelyn.”

  Emma looked thoughtful. “Why do you suppose she was christened thus? Jocelyn is a man’s name.”

  “Who knows?” Wulfstan said, shrugging. “Does it matter? She’s coming, and there’s no escaping her now.”

  Meg’s lips twitched. “You’re twenty-six. ’Tis high time you married, and there are far heavier crosses to bear than betrothal to an earl’s daughter.”

  Wulfstan made a face. “The unsightlier this daughter, the better.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Why, pray?”

  “Why else?” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “’Twill be easier to avoid her bed.”

  “Come now,” said Meg. “You’ve had women before.”

  “But not a wife.” Dread spiraled within him.

  Meg cocked her head to the side. “What is the difference?”

  He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Wedlock is sacred, by common law and, more importantly, spiritual law. Once a husband and wife are physically intimate, their souls unite.”

  Emma’s gaze slipped to the fire, then returned to him. “Is that so terrible?”

  He frowned. “Marriage doomed my mother, and her studies.”

  “Your mother married a boor,” Meg said, arms crossed.

  Wulfstan nodded. “And Aldred followed in his footsteps…which is why I’m in this mess.”

  Emma gave him a pointed look. “The king offers you an alliance with one of his richest subjects, and you call it a mess.”

  “He didn’t offer,” said Wulfstan. “He ordered.”

  “He simply wants to keep the peace,” Emma said, stepping forward. “Think on it. Barely a heartbeat after our wedding, Lord Ravenwood killed your brother.”

  “With my blessing. I don’t need reparation.”

  Emma crossed her arms. “Your marriage could be a blessing in disguise.”

  His chest tightened. “I fail to see how.”

  Emma tilted her head to the side, inadvertently mirroring Meg’s stance. “You once told me to think of you as a lone wolf, content to bay at the beauty and mystery of the moon. Do you remember my response?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “You said a wolf cries out to the moon because he’s lonely.”

  Meg grinned at Emma. “’Tis possible.”

  “’Tis preposterous.” He moved away from the fireplace. The heat was too pressing, too intense. “Solitude allows me to focus on my studies.”

  And on the riddle I must solve by year’s end, he thought. The time was right. It had to be.

  He scanned the colorful tapestries which softened the stone walls. The largest one depicted revelers dancing around a fire at the edge of a dark forest. ’Twas a pagan scene, and it called to him. Solace could always be found at the ancestral sites, among the wraiths and whispers of the past. Such a place waited but a half-mile from Ravenwood Keep.

  Abruptly, he turned. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Now?” Meg asked.

  “Now.”

  “But Lady Jocelyn could arrive at any moment,” Emma said.

  “Lady Jocelyn can wait,” he replied.

  Emma’s hands found her hips. “Whither will you go?”

  Meg’s eyes sparkled. “To the nearest sanctuary, I would imagine.”

  “You imagine right,” Wulfstan said, starting toward the door. “I’m going to Woden’s Circle.”

  Chapter Two

  “There it is,” Robert said, pointing.

  Jocelyn’s stomach fluttered, and she swallowed hard. For half a second, she considered redirecting her mount and galloping southward. But such a notion was absurd and utterly hopeless. Duty and honor had brought her this far; they would guide her the rest of the way. She performed a wan smile for Robert’s benefit, then looked toward the horizon.

  High atop a hill, Ravenwood Keep dominated the landscape. Its towers, parapets, and sheer size were nothing short of majestic.

  Not bad for a Saxon dwelling, she thought, admiring the tall, well-fortified curtain wall.

  “Impressive, is it not?” Robert said.

  “Quite,” she admitted.

  “I’m only sorry you’ve arrived in such foul weather,” he continued. “In the sunlight, the walls shine like marble.”

  She lifted her gaze to the shadowy sky. It seemed a heaving mass of gray ghosts, restless and watchful.

  “Alice,” she said, “what is your opinion of Ravenwood?”

  The handmaiden trained her eyes on the castle. “I must agree with Sir Robert,” she replied.

  “About its splendor?” Jocelyn questioned.

  “About the weather,” said Alice. “The keep would look much kinder in the sun.”

  Jocelyn didn’t answer. The clouds might look ominous, but the cool they afforded was heaven. Unseasonable heat had stalked the party throughout its long journey. She’d had enough, of the warmth and the ride. So had her backside.

  A short while later, they rode across the drawbridge and passed through the gatehouse into Ravenwood’s bailey. With a sigh of relief, she dismounted. Then she smoothed the skirt of her embroidered, russet tunic and examined her surroundings.

  The courtyard teemed with life. Household servants bustled amid the clangs and clatters of craftsmen and drilling knights. Not a single body was idle. Even so, Jocel
yn sensed curious stares aimed in her direction.

  “Alice,” she said, turning. But the handmaiden had vanished, no doubt anxious to inspect their belongings. Alice’s gray mare honored Jocelyn with a bored stare, then without ceremony, unleashed a torrent of excrement onto the cobblestones.

  “I see you share my view of tomorrow’s nuptials,” Jocelyn muttered, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

  “Come,” said Robert, suddenly at her side.

  She jumped, then pressed a hand to her chest. Calm yourself!

  Robert grinned. “I see my brother and his wife.”

  Jocelyn squared her shoulders and started across the courtyard. She matched Robert’s stride step for step, then followed his gaze to the keep’s forebuilding.

  Lord and Lady Ravenwood descended the broad, stone steps to the bailey floor. They were a striking pair, the perfect marriage of power and grace. The lord’s eyes were as black as his hair, but his wife’s were a startling violet. The lady fairly glowed. Never had Jocelyn seen a woman so ornamented with joy.

  Robert beamed at the couple as they approached. “Lord and Lady Ravenwood, may I present Lady Jocelyn de Bret?” He turned. “Lady Jocelyn, this is Lord and Lady Ravenwood.”

  “My lady,” William said, bowing.

  “Lady Jocelyn,” Emma said with a smile. “We’re honored to have you as our guest.”

  ’Twas a warm reception, and genuine as far as Jocelyn could tell. “The honor is mine,” she said, keeping her face as serene as possible.

  Emma turned to Robert. “As for you, I insist you stay closer to home for a time. We’ve missed you.”

  “We?” William teased his wife. “Do you think I’ve missed his questionable humor?”

  Robert chuckled and glanced at Jocelyn. “My wit and charm are simply too much for him.”

  William rolled his eyes, then turned as an elderly woman descended the steps. “Ah, Meg.”

  “I thought you’d never return,” Meg admonished Robert. “You owe me a game of chess.”

  “And you owe me a victory once in a while,” Robert replied.

  Meg made a dismissive gesture and focused her violet gaze on Jocelyn.

  Robert performed the introductions and explained, “Lady Margaret is Lady Ravenwood’s great-grandaunt.”

  Meg grinned at Jocelyn. “Please, call me Meg. You’re lovely, my dear, and very welcome.”