****
Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!
Wulfstan woke to the deep, throaty call of a raven outside. In the darkness, the cozy bed jarred him. ’Twas not the pallet in his workroom.
It all came back to him. The bedchamber. The temptation. Jocelyn.
He spied her sleeping form in the shadows, on the opposite side of the bed that felt smaller by the second. She lay on her back, quiet and still.
Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!
The raven. Wulfstan stole out of bed, hastened to the window, and opened the shutters. Crisp air and the dawn’s light crept into the chamber. The raven perched on the sill peered into his eyes.
Beware the stranger, the bird warned.
Wulfstan blinked. “Which stranger?” he whispered. “The one in my bed?”
No. The one you knew before. The raven cocked its head, then flew off into the morning air.
Wulfstan ran a hand through his hair. The wolf—and now the raven—cautioned him about the same person. A stranger who wasn’t a stranger. One he’d known before. Who on earth could they mean?
Not Jocelyn. For that he was grateful.
He glanced her way. Light spilled through the window, illuminating her fair complexion and the red mane of hair that covered the pillow. She was beautiful beyond belief. And she was still asleep.
He approached the bed, grabbed the chamber pot beneath it, and relieved himself. Then he climbed back under the covers beside his wife. She didn’t stir. Her chest rose and fell along with her deep, even breaths.
The swell of her breasts beneath her chemise and the memory of her taut nipple against his palm roused his manhood. She was the first woman on whom he’d focused his powers, and he was just as curious as she about their effect on her body.
He smiled as he remembered her reaction. Her sensual nature was apparent. Was its power a match for his? The need to know was irresistible.
I shouldn’t. ’Twould be risky. Like flirting with fire.
But she was asleep. And he was not averse to a good blaze.
His hand slipped beneath the covers and sought the heart of his experiment. Gently, he rested his hand upon it. Through the thin linen of Jocelyn’s smock, he felt the heat emanating from her mound and the soft hair atop it. His manhood strained against his braies. ’Twas all he could do to keep from tearing them off and waking his bride to recreate the wedding night he forsook.
Calm down. Keep control. Focus.
He willed the energy from his hand into the mound beneath it. Slowly, steadily, he increased the vibration.
Jocelyn moaned in her sleep. Her cheeks colored. Her nipples became visible as they hardened beneath her smock.
“Wulfstan,” she murmured.
His eyes widened. Does she dream of me? Does her soul know ’tis I who pleasures her?
He doubled his effort, and the heat of her sex intensified. Her head rolled back and forth on the pillow. Her back arched as she writhed between the sheets. Her hips gyrated. Her breaths came sharper, faster.
She is a man’s dream, he thought. A miracle of sensuality. Just as he’d expected from the day they met.
Her passion peaked, and she cried out. He whisked his hand away, right as she opened her eyes.
“What was that?” she panted.
He tried to look casual. “Hmm?”
She looked down at her body. “I must’ve been dreaming, but…”
“But what?”
Blushing, she met his gaze. “I’ve never had a dream like that before.”
“Was it a good one?”
“Good isn’t the word.”
“Then how would you describe it?”
Her brown eyes were warm, inviting. “’Twas the kind of dream you want to go on forever.”
He’d never desired a woman so much. He wanted to kiss her long and hard. Shove her smock above her hips. Plunge his engorged manhood into her hot, wet, silken purse.
No! He bounded out of bed and strode to the cold hearth.
“What are you doing?” Jocelyn asked.
He snatched his blue tunic from the chair. “Dressing.”
Silence magnified the space between them. Words unspoken hovered in the ether.
“It cannot be long past daybreak,” Jocelyn said at last. “Won’t you come back to bed?”
He dared not look at her. Instead, he donned his boots. “Why?”
“’Tis warm, comfortable. A quiet place to forget your cares.”
And forget myself, he thought. The bulge in his braies was a stiff reminder, as if he needed one. He started for the door.
She jumped out of bed. “Wulfstan.”
He stopped and turned to her. The morning breeze caught her hair and the hem of her smock. A prettier picture he’d never seen.
With furrowed brow, she stepped forward. “Have I offended you in some way?”
He shook his head. “Not in the least. But I have matters to attend to…as have you, I would imagine.”
“You imagine true. Raymond and I are overseeing the decoration of the hall and solar.”
“Decoration?”
“Bringing in the greens.”
“Oh. Right.”
Her bare feet crunched the rushes as she took another step toward him. “Will I see you later?”
She was riveting. Her tiny toes. Her billowing smock. Her fair face.
“Undoubtedly.” He ripped his gaze away and made a hasty exit.
Hours later, after the midday meal, Robert joined him in the solar. They sat before the crackling fire, sipping mulled wine.
Robert sent him a sidelong glance. “I’ll warrant you slept well last night.”
Wulfstan frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“No reason.”
“Try again.”
Robert shrugged. “Yesterday, you were the definition of haggard. You seem more rested today.”
“That I am.”
“Tell me, did Lady Nihtscua sleep well too?”
Wulfstan shifted in his chair. “Shall I give you a minute-by-minute description of our night together?”
“Please do.” Robert’s grin told a tale.
“You were hoping I’d bed her.”
Robert took a swig of wine. “I shan’t deny it. Did you?”
Wulfstan sighed. “I didn’t.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “What in the name of all wassail are you waiting for?”
“The proper time.”
“When? On your deathbed?”
Wulfstan huffed. “Not that long.”
“I should hope not.”
“Can you talk about something else?”
Robert rubbed his jaw. “I can, but whether I will or I won’t is—”
“Then do it.”
“Fine. Let’s see…a suitable subject…I’ve got one. Freya seems much changed since last I visited.”
Wulfstan nodded. “Aye. Lady Nihtscua has had a remarkable effect on her.”
“On all of you, in my estimation.” Robert looked toward the archway. “Ah. Speak of an angel and she appears.”
Wulfstan followed his gaze. Jocelyn, Raymond, Edith, and Freya strolled into the room. An entourage of cats and bough-bearing servants trailed after them.
Bright and beautiful in red, Jocelyn led the group to the wall farthest from the fire and pointed. “I trow the holly will look best here, along the table.”
“I agree,” said Raymond. “And the fir?”
Jocelyn bent to pet Snow. “Wherever you like, Raymond. I trust your judgment.”
Taller than tall, the steward beamed down at her. “Thank you, my lady.”
Edith shuffled over to Wulfstan. “’Tis exciting, don’t you think? There will even be a Yule log and roasted boar as part of the feast.”
Her smile was contagious, and Wulfstan found it impossible to suppress one of his own. “It gladdens me to see you so happy, Edith. Freya too.”
Edith returned to his sister, who grinned at Jocelyn as the three of them fawned over Snow. Freya was l
ike a different girl, apart from her dead speech. His heart twisted as he watched her.
Jocelyn looked up and stared at him. His stomach dropped. Her gaze held his captive.
Suddenly, she stood. With a determined twinkle in her eyes, she advanced toward him.
Chapter Thirteen
Jocelyn’s stomach quivered as she approached Wulfstan. Had he influenced her dreams? Did he have a hand in the intense pleasure she felt upon waking. If not, did he suspect what she’d experienced? Something in his eyes—while he was in bed and right now, in that chair—suggested he did.
Whether ’twas true or not, his effect on her nerves grew with each passing day.
Nerves be damned, she thought. I know what I want, and I’ll have it.
She halted, equidistant from both the conjurer and the cavalier. “Sir Robert, the snow is deep and the air, bitter. Won’t you postpone your departure and stay another night?”
The two men exchanged pointed glances. Then Robert grinned at her. “My lady, you must’ve read my mind. I was going to suggest that very thing.”
Wulfstan swore under his breath.
Robert looked at him. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Wulfstan muttered.
Robert smiled at Jocelyn. “My squire will stay, of course, but the rest of the party can return to Ravenwood without us.”
His smile was so infectious she released one of her own. “Good,” she said. “We’re supping on plum tartlettes, mutton stew, and rose pudding tonight.”
Robert rubbed his stomach. “I can hardly wait!”
“Well, you’ll have to,” Wulfstan said dryly.
She regarded Robert. “Supper will come sooner if you can occupy your time. Perhaps the two of you would enjoy a game of draughts…or Fox and Geese.” She turned to Wulfstan. “Unless you’re not in the vein to play games.”
“I think that depends on the game,” Robert said. His tone implied a double meaning.
Wulfstan sipped his wine, but his eyes sought Jocelyn.
Her heart skipped a beat. What was he thinking? What did he know that he didn’t say?
“My lady,” said Edith, suddenly at her side. “Might I have a private word with you?”
“Certainly,” Jocelyn replied. She looked from one man to the other. “Carry on.”
She followed Edith out of the solar and into the great hall, which had been decked with a multitude of evergreen branches. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and the hall would be bustling not only with servants but with cottars and villeins too. At present, ’twas relatively quiet.
Edith’s deep blue eyes were wide. “Did I hear rightly? Sir Robert is to stay another night?”
Jocelyn nodded. “Fortunately.”
Edith clapped her hands together. “So you’ll have another chance! Of course, I was astonished when you told me you needed one.”
Jocelyn made a face. “There are times when I doubt his lordship is even attracted to me.”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?”
The memory of his swollen manhood inside his breeches tickled the palm of Jocelyn’s right hand and lured heat to her cheeks and forehead. “He is that. But—”
“No buts, my lady. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.”
“Truly?”
Edith nodded. Then she frowned. “He’s proving stubborner than I thought. Then again, so is your ladyship.”
“Thank you…I think.”
Seemingly deep in thought, Edith tapped her mouth with her forefinger. “The trick will be to make him relax. You’d think stress seeks him out personally.”
“I know. Or he seeks stress. But I rather think a part of him wants to relax, if only for a while. Mayhap he’d like a warm bath…in the solace of the bedchamber.”
“’Tis a start.” Edith arched an eyebrow. “Do you think he’d allow you to bathe with him?”
Again, heat flooded into Jocelyn’s face. “I couldn’t say. But I suspect not. I suppose I could just dive in before he stopped me.”
Edith chortled. “You would too! But the point is to keep him calm…until the proper moment.”
Jocelyn nodded. “So…a filling supper, a soothing bath, and then what?”
Edith snapped her fingers. “You could give him a massage. That always works.”
“What do you mean? Edith, have you experience in such matters?”
“I have, believe it or not.”
“I believe it, but when? With whom? Or perhaps I shouldn’t ask.”
Edith grinned. “I wouldn’t tell just anyone, but I’ll tell your ladyship. Harold is the man for me. We’ve been intimate for some time.”
Jocelyn smiled. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“By some miracle, neither has Gunhild.” Edith looked around the hall, as though expecting the laundress to appear. “And I beg you would keep it that way.”
Jocelyn leaned forward. “Your secret is safe with me.” She straightened. “Does he make you happy?”
“He does. And I trow Wulfstan will make you so. He and Freya have their mother’s kindness in them.”
“Thank Heaven for that. But what of their father? Is there something of him in Wulfstan?”
“His intensity, perhaps. But not his brutality. You need never fear of that.”
Jocelyn sighed. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
“Now,” Edith said, rubbing her hands together. “Once he’s out of the bath, here’s what you do…”
****
Wulfstan trailed behind Jocelyn as they climbed the stairs to the bedchamber after supper. Again and again, he diverted his gaze from her swaying hips to the spiraling, stone steps; inevitably, it strayed back to the former. She looked striking in red. The color suited both her complexion and her temperament. Not to mention the passion he’d awakened in her that morning. His manhood stirred at the mere thought of it.
Stop! Calm. Control.
He crossed the threshold and halted abruptly. Two manservants and a maidservant advanced toward him.
“My lord,” they intoned, one by one, as they scuttled out of the chamber.
Jocelyn closed the door behind them. Her eyes glowed with hidden knowledge.
“What were they—” he started, but the sentence died in his throat as he glanced toward the hearth. Before the fire sat a large, round, wooden tub lined with white cloth.
“Your bath, my lord,” Jocelyn said.
He turned to her. “Really.”
The hint of a smile touched her lips. “Really.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to relax.”
His shoulders slumped. She was right. A warm bath would be restful…if not for her presence.
“Go on,” she urged. “Disrobe and get in while the water is still warm.”
His eyes narrowed. “And where will you be?”
Shrugging, she played at nonchalance, but her twinkling eyes betrayed her. “Why, here, of course.”
Watching me, he thought. “Don’t you need to visit the garderobe or something?”
“Why so modest? You’re beautifully built.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye, and you know it. But if ’twill appease you, I’ll go to the garderobe.” She started toward the door, then paused and turned. “You’re not undressing.”
“You’re not leaving,” he countered.
She made a face and exited the chamber. With a sigh, he unfastened his belt.
Five minutes later, his clothes rested on a chair, and he sat submerged from the ribs down in the soothing water. He wet his hair, then glanced at the doorway as Jocelyn stepped through it.
She shut the door and leaned back against it. Motionless, she stared at him.
“Jocelyn?”
She cleared her throat. “Aye?”
“Would you be so kind as to hand me the soap?”
“Oh. Of course.” She advanced toward him. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”
His chest muscles flexed.
“Thank you, but I can manage.”
He scooped soft, lavender-scented soap from the container she held out to him and worked it into his hair. Then he took another handful of soap and began to wash his body.
She moved to stand behind him. Studiously, he ignored her, even as he rinsed his hair. Until she stepped into the tub with him.
She wore only her smock, of which the bottom third was now soaked. The cloth hugged her knees and shins as she sat on the opposite rim of the tub.
His manhood stirred. “What are you doing?”
“I would’ve thought ’twould be obvious.”
His gaze was riveted on her shapely legs. “Where are your garments?”
“I’m still wearing one.”
“But the others?”
“Beside yours, by the fire.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “By all that’s holy, why did you remove—”
“Between the fire and the warm water, ’twas too hot.” She averted her eyes…lying eyes, it appeared.
“Yet you put your feet into the water. Doesn’t that make you hotter?”
“Oh.” She bit her luscious lower lip and looked at him once more. “I’ve been standing all day, and my feet ache.”
He doubted they ached more than his swollen member. Were it not for the water’s soapy residue, his arousal would be plain.
She squirmed on the edge of the tub. “My feet feel better, but now my backside is sore.”
“What?”
“My backside, buttocks, derriere. Take your pick.”
Oh, I’ll take it, all right. I’ll pull you into the tub and—
“Wulfstan?”
Woden’s blood! He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should stand up.”
Again, she shifted her position. “I think I just need to…ah!” She pitched forward into the water, and her elbow connected with his right knee.
He winced. Water splashed in all directions. Jocelyn regained her balance and sat up straight, facing him. Her white smock clung to her breasts.
He forced his gaze to her face. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Are you?”
“I’ll live.” His focus dropped to her nipples. So taut. So tempting.
Enough of this madness!
Without thinking, he stood up…and instantly regretted it. The point was to get away, not reveal his erection.
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