Soul of the Wolf

by Judith Sterling

“I saw no need,” Wulfstan said, shrugging.

  William raised his eyebrows. “A ring is not required, but ’tis a nice gesture.”

  “Mayhap, but one I’ll have to forego.”

  William’s black eyes sparkled. “I think not.” He reached into the leather pouch at his waist and handed Wulfstan a ring, ornate and gold, crowned with a large, square-cut ruby.

  For a long moment, Wulfstan examined the ring. Then he focused his gaze on William. “Whence came this?”

  “The Holy Land,” William answered.

  “And I may borrow it for the ceremony?”

  “Not borrow. Keep.”

  Wulfstan’s jaw dropped.

  “’Tis yours,” William said, “or rather, your bride’s.”

  Wulfstan found his tongue. “But why?”

  William sobered. “Emma and I owe you a great deal, and I always repay my debts.”

  Gratitude washed over Wulfstan, and he sat a little straighter. Lord Ravenwood’s trust had been hard won. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank you is customary,” Robert said, grinning.

  Wulfstan chuckled. “Right you are.” He regarded William. “Many thanks.”

  William raised a hand and shook his head. “You earned it.”

  Robert turned to his brother. “I’ve been invaluable to you since birth. Have you any such trinket for me?”

  William gave him a meaningful look. “No.”

  Robert rubbed his hands together. “Good. Then we can turn our discussion to a more interesting topic…the bride to be.”

  A knot formed in Wulfstan’s stomach.

  William folded his arms. “I thought we were discussing her.”

  Robert’s grin was sly. “To a degree…but our talk has been too tame. I want Wulfstan’s true opinion of his bride.”

  Wulfstan stood hastily. “And I want some wine.”

  He strode to a nearby table and snatched up a red, ceramic jug. With dispatch, he filled a cup and took a long draught. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves tickled his tongue as the warm, mulled wine slid down his throat. The taste was exquisite, and soothing.

  With dramatic flair, Robert cleared his throat. “Well?”

  Wulfstan threw him a withering look. Cup in hand, he returned to his chair and dropped onto the thinly cushioned seat. “Well what?”

  Robert rolled his eyes. “What do you think now that you’ve seen her?”

  Wulfstan’s gaze strayed to the bolted window. “She is…tolerable.”

  The brothers burst into laughter.

  William recovered first. “Are we talking about the same woman?”

  Robert’s dimples had never looked so deep. “Tolerable?! If that’s true, then a hawk is pigeon’s prey!”

  Wulfstan grimaced. “Fine. I admit it. She’s agreeable to the eye.”

  “To more than the eye, I’ll wager,” Robert said wryly.

  “That does not concern me,” Wulfstan said, willing it to be true.

  Robert stood and poured himself a cup of wine. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Right,” William said, nodding. “Emma told me of your decision.”

  Robert looked from one to the other? “What decision?”

  William regarded his brother. “Wulfstan is determined to resist his bride’s allurements.”

  Robert’s gray eyes widened. “You jest.”

  Wulfstan shifted in his chair. “’Tis true.”

  As if in a daze, Robert shook his head and reclaimed his chair. “How in the name of a pauper’s pottage will you resist her?”

  Wulfstan eyed the dark wine in his cup. Then he gazed into the relentless, insatiable fire. “With great care.”

  Chapter Four

  “Hold still, my lady,” Alice pleaded, brandishing needle and thread. The bedchamber’s dried rushes rendered a loud crunch as she knelt in front of Jocelyn. “If you’d eaten yesternight, there’d be no need to shorten your hem.”

  “No, but my vomit would’ve buried the floor,” Jocelyn said. Even now, her stomach churned. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then she looked down at her bridal gown.

  The dress was a masterpiece of golden silk, with intricately designed brocade trimming the neck and sleeves. Peeking out from said sleeves were her hands, half-numb and unusually cold.

  Her neck, however, was hot, shielded by her loose hair. The red tresses flowed in gentle waves down her back and shone like a coat of fire against the gold fabric.

  Another brown-eyed redhead, the handmaiden Tilda, attended to Jocelyn’s veil. When finished, she stepped back to examine both her handiwork and the gown. “Ah,” she sighed, smiling at Alice. “Her ladyship looks like a dream.”

  “If only this day were a dream,” Jocelyn muttered.

  Tilda’s smile disappeared. With knitted brow, she wrung her hands. “Oh. Forgive me, my lady. I guess I was caught up in the romance of the day.”

  “Romance?” said Jocelyn.

  Alice looked up from her rapid stitching. “Calm yourself, Tilda. Her ladyship is just tense.”

  Tilda nodded. “’Tis only that…all of Ravenwood is buzzing.”

  In an attempt to bring heat and feeling back into her hands, Jocelyn balled them into fists. “Doubtless they’re excited about the banquet.”

  Tilda nodded. “To be sure, the feast will be a treat. But the wedding intrigues us most.”

  “Wherefore?” Jocelyn asked.

  Tilda’s round face took on a wistful expression. “Wulfstan…that is, Lord Nihtscua…has always been a man of mystery. Now he shall wed a lady whose beauty rivals his magic.”

  Heat crawled into Jocelyn’s cheeks. “The people say that, do they?”

  “Aye,” Tilda said, beaming. “They think you two make a charming pair.”

  Jocelyn didn’t know how to respond, so she looked toward the open window.

  A raven perched on the sill, as if to observe the proceedings within. It cocked its head to the side and stared at her.

  Are you my bridegroom’s friend? she wondered. Silently, she chided herself. ’Twas only a bird.

  The raven bobbed its head thrice, as though nodding. Then it flapped its wings and soared into the cloud-infested sky.

  Jocelyn shifted her gaze to the large, oak bed and studied its green curtains. If only I could fly away, she thought. But for her, there was neither escape nor reprieve.

  She cleared her throat. “Tilda, has my bridegroom ever been…violent?”

  The Saxon girl frowned. “Not that I’ve heard tell of.”

  Jocelyn bit her lip. “But his brother was.”

  Tilda’s expression darkened. “Aldred the Merciless might well have been the Devil himself.”

  Needle in hand, Alice crossed herself.

  Jocelyn’s stomach quivered. Could violence be a family trait, lying dormant within Lord Nihtscua? A compulsion at his very core?

  Alice bent lower to scrutinize the gown’s hem. Then she wiped the sweat from her brow and stood. “Done.”

  A loud knock sounded on the chamber door, and Tilda rushed to heed it. Jocelyn and Alice shared soulful glances.

  At the threshold stood Meg. Her violet eyes twinkled as she caught sight of the bride. “You look stunning, Lady Jocelyn. Nigh unto a princess.”

  Jocelyn’s heart raced. “Thank you.”

  Meg winked. “Courage, my dear. We’re ready when you are.” She turned and disappeared down the stairs.

  Courage seemed useless in the face of utter paralysis. Jocelyn’s feet felt rooted to the floor.

  Move, she commanded herself. You can do this.

  “My lady?” said Alice.

  Jocelyn inhaled deeply. The sweet aroma of mingled chamomile and mint filled her senses. “I’m fine…and I’m ready.”

  Tilda smiled. “Then I’ll guide your ladyship to the chapel.”

  Jocelyn followed her out of the chamber and down the spiral stairs. Alice trailed behind. The trio passed through a smaller room, then climbed another staircase. Jo
celyn kept her gaze glued to the stone steps, partly to avoid tripping, but also to focus on something other than her pounding heart. Poise was imperative.

  All at once, Tilda halted before an ornately carved, stone archway. The sanctum’s painted walls waited just beyond.

  “We’re here,” Tilda whispered, backing up to join Alice in the shadows.

  Jocelyn’s stomach, racked by nerves and hours of hunger, growled in protest. ’Twas a tortured sound, but so untimely it forced her to crack a smile.

  Well, the sooner I marry, the sooner I dine.

  Turning, she bestowed grateful smiles on the two bright-eyed handmaidens. Then she straightened her shoulders and entered the chapel alone.

  The guests numbered four: Emma, William, Robert, and Meg. Above the altar was a large, stained glass window; before it stood the priest and the bridegroom.

  Jocelyn’s pulse quickened. Wulfstan looked resplendent in royal blue. The collar, sleeves, and hem of his tunic were embroidered with silver thread, and a bejeweled belt encircled his waist.

  His attire was grand, but his eyes ruled her thoughts. Until this moment, she’d believed she had a clear memory of their color. But the memory couldn’t compete with the here and now. His eyes were ethereal, intense, alarming. And they’d been riveted on her from the instant she entered the chapel.

  She wrenched her gaze from his and fixed it on the short, bald priest. With head held high, she approached the altar and stopped at Wulfstan’s side.

  The priest sniffed and opened his prayer book. “Brethren,” he intoned, “we are gathered together in the presence of God and his angels and of all the saints to join together two bodies, which is to say, of this man and of this woman, that they may be but one body and two souls…”

  Wulfstan looked down and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Jocelyn could almost feel the stress emanating from his body.

  “I charge you now,” the priest continued, “by Father, Son, and Holy Ghost that if either of you knows any reason why you may not legitimately marry, you should say so now.”

  Without warning, Jocelyn’s stomach howled. The stone walls and vaulted ceiling reverberated with the wretched noise.

  The priest’s head snapped up, triggering a muffled laugh from one of the guests. Jocelyn’s forehead and cheeks were on fire.

  Perfect, she thought. This day just gets better and better.

  She stole a glance at Wulfstan. He stood statue-still, except for the telltale twitching of his lips.

  The priest cleared his throat and continued the ceremony. All was calm…for about two seconds.

  Jocelyn tightened her abdomen as another hunger pang coiled within her belly. Don’t you dare!

  Determined to quell any further gastric solos, she focused her will on the task. How long she fought the battle was uncertain, but suddenly she felt the priest’s stare.

  “Your ladyship?” he pressed.

  Wulfstan leaned toward her. “We’re waiting for your answer. Will you take me as your husband?”

  Again, her cheeks burned. “I will.”

  The priest turned to Wulfstan. “Take her ladyship’s hand,” he instructed.

  Wulfstan’s warm fingers grazed her palm. Then his whole body went rigid. His eyes took on a faraway look.

  “My lord?” she said.

  He didn’t respond…in any way.

  “My lord!”

  The next instant, Meg was at her side. “Wait,” the older woman cautioned. “Let him finish his vision.”

  Jocelyn’s skin prickled as she recalled Sir Robert’s words. Lord Nihtscua could invade one’s thoughts and plunder cruel memories.

  She looked at the altar. Its massive gold cross and candlesticks were precious indeed, but there was no greater treasure than the mind. Memories were sacred, and deserving of privacy.

  Wulfstan’s arm jerked. Startled, Jocelyn turned back to him.

  His face was pale and beaded with sweat, but the vision appeared to have ended. Brusquely, he dropped his arm. Then his gaze locked with hers. His crystalline eyes seemed to pierce her soul.

  He knows something, she thought. But how much?

  “Shall we continue?” the priest asked.

  Wulfstan blinked and turned to him. “Aye, Father Cedric. Continue.”

  The guests fidgeted on the benches, and Meg retreated to her seat. Jocelyn’s stomach was as quiet as a tomb.

  The priest glanced heavenward and heaved a sigh of relief. “Then take your bride’s hand.”

  Wulfstan complied, this time without incident. But his hand was now cold.

  Jocelyn stared up at the arched, stained glass window. Its colors were also cold, dimmed by the sunless sky.

  The priest squared his shoulders. “Now, repeat after me…”

  ****

  The great hall was chock-full of merrymakers. An endless stream of cheers, talk, and laughter rose from the trestle tables below the dais. Music poured down from the minstrel’s gallery, where harp, lute, and flute prevailed.

  A procession of servants carried in the food. There was boar’s head, venison, peacock, and swan; eel pie, capons, and pheasants. Spread among the courses were cheeses, apple and plum tarts, and sugary marzipan subtleties shaped as castles, ravens, and wolves. To wash it all down, there was wine and ale by the barrelful.

  Wulfstan observed the revelry from the high table. Emma, William, Robert, and Meg were also there. To his left sat Jocelyn.

  Hours had passed since the ceremony, but his vision was still fresh in his mind. No wonder his bride distrusted Saxons. Her secret was huge, and its discovery had changed her view of the world.

  But it just might buy me the time I need. Time away from her bed.

  He doubted his celibacy would distress her. She’d all but ignored him during the feast, though she’d easily interacted with everyone else. To be fair, he’d limited his conversation to brief exchanges. He preferred the solace of his own thoughts. The trouble was, they centered on his bride.

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She looked breathtaking in her golden gown. Beauty and grace incarnate. Perhaps most impressive was her appetite. With single-minded focus, she’d inhaled every course.

  Even now, she popped a pine nut sweetmeat into her mouth and chewed with zest. She glanced at him as she swallowed, then turned to him. “Tell me, my lord. Do I amuse you?”

  She sucked the trace of honey from her thumb and forefinger. Her lips were full, eager.

  His heart skipped a beat. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason…except that you’ve been gawking at me for a good while.”

  “I have not gawked.” He shifted in his chair. “I’ve watched.”

  “I see. Have you come to a conclusion?”

  “About what? Your boundless hunger?”

  She gave him a pointed look. “About whether or not you’ll tell me of your vision.”

  He stiffened. “My visions are private.”

  A fight flickered in her brown eyes. “So are my memories. Did you raid them deliberately?”

  “The Sight comes when it wills, not when I do.”

  She pursed her lips. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do I know you speak the truth?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “You tell me.”

  He ran his thumb over the bejeweled hilt of the dagger at his waist. “Very well. You don’t trust me because I’m Saxon.”

  She averted her gaze and looked at the glittering ruby ring which miraculously fit her finger. “I don’t trust you because you’re a stranger,” she said in a strained voice, “and because you won’t share your vision.”

  He folded his arms. “’Tis my burden.”

  Her eyes found his. “’Twas mine first.”

  In silence, he regarded her. Her determination was admirable. The memory invoked was dark, but ’twas hers to relive if she so chose.

  “I’ll tell yo
u,” he said at last, “but not now.”

  “When?”

  Robert’s face popped up behind her. He pulled his seat forward with a loud scrape. “Is there a problem?”

  Wulfstan unfolded his arms. “Of course not.”

  Robert grinned. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I smelled tension.”

  “Your nose would be better employed sniffing the food in front of you,” Wulfstan said.

  Robert shook his head. “I think not. My stomach has reached its limit.”

  “Mine too,” Jocelyn said.

  Robert smiled at her, then shifted his gaze to Wulfstan. “And what of the bridegroom’s appetite?”

  “’Tis satisfied,” Wulfstan said.

  Robert’s sly expression revealed his true meaning. “Are you certain? ’Tis early yet, and I thought you might change your mind.”

  Wulfstan glared at him. “My resolve is firm, and I’m in no humor to suffer your jests. Drink your wine, and let me speak to my bride in peace.”

  Robert’s dimples deepened. He grabbed his silver goblet from the table and raised it in salute. “As you wish.”

  Jocelyn’s chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply. Wulfstan swallowed hard. The lure of hidden, curved flesh tantalized him, but he would have none of it.

  Quickly, he lifted his gaze to her face. “The feast should end anon. Once you’ve donned your travel clothes, we’ll make for Nihtscua. ’Twill be a small party; besides us, only your handmaiden and five men to mind the carts.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What about protection?”

  “Not necessary.”

  She frowned. “I wish I could believe it.”

  “Then do.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, folding her hands together. “But you never answered my question. When will you describe your vision?”

  “Later.”

  “Before we leave?”

  Wulfstan propelled his thoughts to the journey ahead and the hours of darkness beyond. “No,” he said finally. “Tonight.”

  Chapter Five

  Jocelyn couldn’t decide which was rawer: her backside or her nerves. The journey north felt interminable, and she received no encouragement from her…

  Husband. Good God, he’s my husband. And I am Lady Nihtscua.

  She shivered.

  He kept always out of range, riding several horse lengths ahead in what seemed a deliberate attempt to avoid her. For most of the afternoon, she took his evasion in stride. Chatting with Alice was more comfortable anyway. When talk lagged, she contemplated the extensive woodland to the east and the dark clouds which hastened the dusk.