Soul of the Wolf

by Judith Sterling

  “I am not guiltless, Jocelyn.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Who among us is? You cling to your contrition as though ’twould give you strength, but it harms you. Do you think your mother would wish to see you so unhappy?”

  His heart felt heavy. “Probably not. But ’tis for her sake I’ve been working so hard. She begged me on her deathbed to solve the riddle of the Wolf Stone…and bring to Nihtscua the peace and joy that she could not. I promised her I would.”

  “So you’ve been pushing yourself day and night to keep that promise.” Jocelyn laid her hand on his cheek. “You’re a good son, Wulfstan. Your mother would be proud.”

  His heart twisted, as much for the loss of his mother as for the generosity of his wife. Jocelyn never ceased to surprise him. She was a bright star on the darkest night.

  “You’ve suffered a lot,” she continued, taking his hand in hers. “My mother suffered as well, yet she found happiness after her ordeal. I know you will too.”

  His heart warmed at her words. He squeezed her hand. “I hope you’re right. And I’m grateful.”

  “For what?”

  “You.”

  For a timeless moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Finally, he released her hand and lay down on his back.

  He stretched his arms above his head. “Let’s sleep now.”

  Jocelyn remained where she was, staring down at him.

  He gave her a quizzical look. “What is it?”

  She bit her lip. “May I request one Yule gift?”

  The hair on his arms and neck prickled. ’Twas all the warning he needed to know her request—and his response—held significance. What would she ask of him? How could he deny her anything after she’d shown such compassion?

  “Name it,” he said.

  “Will you share my bed one night more?”

  He began to sweat, despite the nip in the air.

  “Just to sleep,” she explained. “And talk. I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

  As have I, he thought. Perhaps too much. It felt good to confide in her; even better, to feel understood. With every moment they shared, his desire for her waxed. His resolve to keep his distance was waning fast.

  Her brow wrinkled. “Say something. Please.”

  With a sigh, he lowered his arms. “Very well. One night more.”

  She flashed him a smile and stretched out on her back again. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He pulled the sheet and coverlets up over them both. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  He chuckled. “I suppose not. Sleep well, Jocelyn.”

  “You too.”

  In no time at all, he fell asleep. Neither memory nor dream haunted his slumber.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jocelyn woke with the dawn. The other half of the bed was empty.

  “Wulfstan?” she called, sitting up.

  No answer. He’d obviously left the chamber. Sir Robert would be heading back to Ravenwood shortly, and they’d promised to see him off. Perhaps Wulfstan was with him even now.

  She lifted his pillow and sniffed it. The lingering scent of lavender produced a flood of memories from the night before. The bath. His gorgeous body. The pleasure he’d given her. The bond between them as they held hands after his nightmare.

  She’d done her best to absolve him of his past, to help him believe in a better future. For the first time, she realized how much she craved that future, as much for him as for herself. ’Twas true she wanted children—just as she always had—but Wulfstan wasn’t some glorified studhorse. He was a deep thinker, a deep soul. ’Twould be a privilege to share his journey.

  If he would just make love to me, he’d see there’s nothing to fear. Our union won’t undermine his powers. ’Twill enhance them.

  How she knew that she couldn’t say, but she was determined to wield her own power to make it happen. Tonight.

  Alice helped her dress and braided her hair, after which Jocelyn hurried to the solar. A roaring fire, half-empty jug, and two used cups showed her husband and their guest had been there. She hastened to the keep’s entrance but slowed her pace as she neared the open doors. The two men stood off to the side on the steps. As long as she hugged the inner wall, they wouldn’t see her, but she could hear them.

  “Surely her ladyship is up and about now,” Robert said.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Wulfstan replied. “We were awake till late in the night.”

  “I’ll bet you were.” Robert’s tone was laced with meaning.

  “’Tis not what you think.”

  “Perhaps not. But I only need observe the melting snow to know that you yourself are thawing.”

  Jocelyn’s heart beat faster. Could it be true? The air drifting in through the open doors was decidedly warmer. The seed of faith buried deep in her heart sprouted.

  Wulfstan lowered his voice. “I’ll admit, I am beginning to care for her.”

  Jocelyn held her breath.

  “As a friend,” Wulfstan added.

  With a roll of her eyes, Jocelyn released a silent sigh. Friend. ’Tis far too tame a word. Just you wait, Husband. You’ll feel more than friendship before this night is through.

  “And naught else?” Robert pressed.

  Wulfstan hesitated, then gave his answer in a firm voice. “Definitely not.”

  Jocelyn’s lips twisted. Wulfstan sounded resolute, but she drew hope from his hesitation. She pushed back her shoulders and strode through the open doorway, beyond which the bailey teemed with activity.

  “Oh,” she said, feigning surprise at the sight of Robert and Wulfstan. “There you are.”

  Robert bowed his head. “My lady.”

  Wulfstan’s gaze captured hers. “Good morrow.”

  She smiled. “’Tis good indeed…and much warmer than yesterday.” She could’ve stared into Wulfstan’s eyes for eternity, but she forced her gaze to Robert. “Must you leave?”

  Robert nodded. “I promised Lord and Lady Ravenwood I’d return by Christmas Eve, and that is tonight.”

  “I understand,” Jocelyn said. She looked down at Robert’s towheaded squire, who stood at the bottom of the stairs holding the reins of both the knight’s horse and his own. “Guy, do you have the food we packed for you and Sir Robert?”

  Guy patted the bag attached to his waist. “Right here, my lady. Thank you.”

  Robert regarded Jocelyn. “Thank you for your kind hospitality.” He turned to Wulfstan. “And yours, my friend. Be good to each other, and be happy. Till next we meet.” He started down the steps.

  “Fare thee well,” Wulfstan said.

  “Godspeed,” Jocelyn added.

  Knight and squire mounted their horses and headed for the gatehouse. After a final wave good-bye, Jocelyn turned to Wulfstan. “Well, that’s that. What now, my lord?”

  Wulfstan averted his gaze. “Now I work.”

  He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm. He stared, first at her hand on his arm, then into her eyes.

  She didn’t blink. “You mean to honor your promise, don’t you?”

  “Which promise?”

  “My Yule gift.”

  His eyes darkened. “Aye.”

  “I look forward to it.” Her hand dropped to her side. “But why must you work at all? Tonight is Christmas Eve.”

  A faraway look stole over his face. “My ancestors called it Modraniht, Night of the Mothers. I have no intention of failing mine.”

  “How could you fail her?”

  His brow furrowed. “All too easily.”

  “As long as you try—”

  “You must excuse me. I’ve much to do, and the day is short.” He turned away and hurried into the keep.

  She sighed and slumped her shoulders. Then she straightened and lifted her chin. “Aye,” she murmured. “In winter, the days are short.” But the nights are long, and tonight, you’re mine.

  As expected, Wulfstan missed the midday
meal, but the rest of Nihtscua and the village attended in force. The buoyant chatter at the lower tables served as a stark contrast to the hush that swaddled the high table.

  Toward the end of the meal, Jocelyn turned to Freya. “You miss him, don’t you?”

  Freya set down her spoon and focused her wide blue eyes on Jocelyn.

  “Wulfstan, I mean,” Jocelyn said.

  With a doleful expression, Freya nodded. Then she pointed to Jocelyn.

  “Aye. I miss him too.”

  Freya gave her a half-hearted smile, then twisted in her chair to study the crowd. Guessing that the girl sought Edith, Jocelyn scanned the hall to help.

  Suddenly, a familiar face stood out. ’Twas the crone from the woods. The woman shoved aside her trencher, turned to the high table, and looked Jocelyn right in the eye.

  Jocelyn laid a hand on Freya’s arm. “Please excuse me. There’s someone I must speak with.”

  She stood and strode to the end of the dais. By the time she reached the floor, the old woman had left her seat and scurried across the hall. She’d almost gained the exit.

  Oh, no you don’t, Jocelyn thought. Not this time.

  She hastened to stop the woman, but Edith cut her off. “My lady, is aught amiss?”

  “Edith, do you recognize that…” Jocelyn’s question fizzled out as she realized the crone had already left the hall.

  “What?” Edith asked. “Whom?”

  Jocelyn sighed. “Never mind. She’s gone. At any rate, I think Freya has need of you. She’s still sitting at board.”

  Edith gave her a nod. “I’m on my way.”

  Not two seconds after Edith left, Alice took her place. “My lady, I’ve arranged everything for tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Jocelyn said.

  “Lord Nihtscua is in for a surprise!”

  “A welcome one, I hope. Forgive me, Alice, but I must step outside for a moment.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Jocelyn rushed out of the keep and into the bailey. Sidestepping numerous puddles created by the melting snow, she looked up and down the courtyard. There were fewer people than usual, as many were still enjoying dinner in the hall, but there was no sign of the mysterious woman.

  The clangs from the smithy ceased. A chill not born of weather coursed through Jocelyn. Frowning, she glanced behind her. She’d felt certain someone stood at her back, yet not a soul was there.

  Not a living soul, anyway, she thought and shivered again.

  On impulse, she strode to the chandlery and slipped inside, where she could observe the smithy undetected. The small, open window gave her a perfect view, and there’d be no questions asked. Moments before, she’d spotted the chandler and his apprentice in the hall.

  At first, she saw nothing but a seemingly empty workshop. A minute later, Sven emerged from the shadows. His hands gripped a thin, diminutive item—perhaps seven inches long—wrapped in coarse woolen cloth. Beside him, the curious crone moved into view. The two exchanged words, and Sven handed her the swathed item. Was it a gift? A necessity? Whatever the case, the woman concealed it beneath her gray mantle. She spoke once more, then took off in the direction of the gatehouse. Sven stepped outside and squinted at the sun. He looked left and right, and finally toward the chandlery.

  Jocelyn shrank back from the window, but she doubted Sven saw her. He stared for a long moment that tested the limits of her patience. Then he retreated into his workshop, melding with the gloom therein.

  Jocelyn slunk out of the chandlery and hurried to the gatehouse. The gatekeeper straightened as she entered.

  “Can I help your ladyship?”

  “Offa, did an old woman in gray pass through here moments ago?”

  “Coming in or going out?”

  She looked past him toward the open drawbridge. “Out.”

  “I did see a woman in a gray cloak,” Offa said. “Moving fast too. Toward the village.”

  Jocelyn pressed her lips together and strode to the gatehouse’s outer door. Several people walked along the road; some toward the castle, others away from it. Three wore gray. Only one hustled toward the village.

  Jocelyn frowned. She’d promised Wulfstan to wear a headdress if she visited the village. By the time she was thus bedecked, the old woman would be long gone. She stamped her foot.

  “My lady?” the gatekeeper said in a troubled voice.

  Sighing, she turned to him. “All is well. Thank you for the information.”

  Foiled by fashion, she thought as she plodded back to the keep. But nothing will stop me tonight.

  ****

  With great deliberation, Wulfstan set red pigment into the last of the runes he’d carved on the wooden stave. He’d spent most of the day designing, hallowing, and engraving the new talisman.

  Carefully, he placed the stave on the table to dry. Then he stretched his limbs and turned to the open window. Outside, the wind sang a lament. A fitting hymn for Modraniht.

  He closed his eyes. Mother, give me your guidance. I’ve worked so hard, and I’m tired. Tired of setbacks. Tired of regrets…of striving every day to blot out the horrors of the past. Help me to right those wrongs. Help me to succeed. I miss you. I cherish your memory. Thank you for all you taught me.

  The cool night air washed over him like a blessing. He wasn’t alone. Not really. And there was always tomorrow. All would be well.

  His eyes shot open as three knocks sounded on the door. He crossed the chamber, opened the door, and found Harold standing at the threshold.

  The manservant held a tray laden with food. With quick steps, he entered the room. “Supper is over,” he said, placing the tray on the table. “But Lady Nihtscua bade me bring this to your lordship.”

  “What is it?”

  “Roasted salmon with wine sauce, almond-milk pudding, and elderberry wine. She said to eat up and then join her in the bedchamber.”

  “Did she now?”

  Harold almost smiled. “She was most insistent. If there’s nothing else…”

  Wulfstan shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. “Off with you.” The manservant headed for the door. “And Harold—”

  Harold paused and turned back to him. “My lord?”

  “Thank you.”

  A mixture of surprise and gratitude registered on Harold’s face. He nodded, then slipped out the door.

  The wine was delicious; the food, perfection. Now there was nothing to do but fulfill Jocelyn’s wish…however tricky it might be.

  Wulfstan’s heart beat faster as he climbed the spiral staircase to the bedchamber. He paused halfway up to calm himself, then continued on. He hesitated before the door.

  She’s just a friend. A kind, intelligent, gorgeous, sensual, irresistible, ripe-for-the-picking…friend.

  With a roll of his eyes, he opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Then he stopped and stared.

  Jocelyn sat bathing in the cloth-lined tub. Her hair was wet and slicked back. Her naked breasts were full, pink-tipped, and flushed from the hot water lapping against them. She seemed a natural, carnal extension of the fire that blazed behind her.

  Her breasts jiggled as she waved to him. “There you are! Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  Comfortable? There would be no comfort so long as his manhood strained against his braies as it did now.

  “I never expected…” His voice trailed off. Speech seemed too laborious an effort.

  Jocelyn smiled. “I’m sure you didn’t, but your bath so inspired me, I decided to take one of my own. Will you close the door? ’Tis a bit drafty.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He regained the ability to move and did as she asked.

  “Come hither. I won’t bite.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Unless you want me to.”

  He swallowed hard and advanced toward her. The scent of lavender grew stronger with each step. He stopped within inches of the tub and fought to keep his eyes on her face. One look down, and he’d see her naked frame in its entirety.
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  She gave him a doe-eyed look. “Would you like to help me bathe?”

  He sighed. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Ooh…are we playing? I like the sound of that.”

  “Then I’ll fetch the dice from the solar.”

  “That’s not the type of game that interests me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I know what interests you. Your game is transparent.”

  “So is this water. Would you care to take a gander?”

  He crossed his arms. “I’ve already explained my position.”

  Her brown eyes darkened, invited him in. “The only position on my mind is the one we were in last night, when I sat astride you.”

  His engorged member twitched. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Why ever not? Someone must. Are you a man or a monk?” He started to speak, but she cut in. “Don’t answer that. I believe you’re a bit of both. But the man in you is my husband, and I won’t let you forget him.”

  She stood abruptly, and water swashed around her. As if possessed of a separate will, his eyes lowered and took in the glory that was her wet body. Every curve. Every hollow. The fiery red triangle that shielded her sex. They called to him on a primal level he couldn’t ignore.

  But he had to try. “Woden’s blood!” He bent over and snatched a drying cloth from the floor. “Take this. Cover yourself.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Jocelyn. Please.”

  She made a face and pulled the cloth from his hand. He turned away as she stepped out of the tub.

  “Are we going to sleep then?” she asked.

  “Perhaps ’tis the safest course.”

  “I still need to comb my hair.”

  “And don a smock.” He moved to stand before the fireplace. “I’ll wait here.”

  “As you wish, my lord. You are planning to undress, aren’t you?”

  “Once you’re abed.”

  She hummed softly. “Then I still have something to look forward to.” There was mischief in her voice.

  His teeth clenched, he pulled a chair closer to the fire and sat down. The flames hissed and whispered. He wondered what Jocelyn would try next, and his imagination got the better of him.

  Several minutes passed. Then the squeak of the bed signaled him.

  “All done,” said Jocelyn. “Your turn.”