Jocelyn advanced toward him. “Where is he?”
Harold straightened at once. “His lordship? He’s in his tower.”
“Of course he is,” Jocelyn grumbled. Navigating around the tables, she hurried on.
“My lady!” Harold called after her.
Now on the opposite side of the hall, she turned back to him. “Carry on, Harold! I know I shall!” She spun on her heel and continued to the north tower.
She marched up the stairs. Near the top, her footsteps slowed as Wulfstan’s voice reached her.
“Thus the work is wrought,” he pronounced. “So shall it be!”
She paused but a moment. Then she pounded on the door.
****
Wulfstan started at the sound. He closed the book on the table and sped to the door.
“Who’s there?” he asked through the wood.
“Your worst nightmare,” Jocelyn answered.
His heart seemed to stop. “Go away.”
“No. Wulfstan, you open this door or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”
With a sigh, he opened the door. In a whirl of red hair and russet cloth, she pushed past him into the chamber. He shut the door and turned to face her.
Proud and still, she stood beside his work table. Her beauty arrested him. The color in her cheeks. The fire in her eyes. The way her chest rose and fell with each breath.
She pushed back her shoulders. “Much was left unsaid last night, and now you’re going to hear it. First, you must know that you’re more than a studhorse to me.”
“You are too kind.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
She held up her hands. “Just listen. You’ve changed my life. When I first came hither, you told me I had to deal with my Saxon heritage, and you were right. ’Twas a sore spot and not one I wanted to address. But I did it, and now I see a positive side of the Saxon world…of the world as a whole. You opened me up to magic and mystery and feelings I never dreamed were possible.”
He took a few steps toward her. “You mean physical sensations.”
“Emotions too. Big changes have swept through my life, and I’ve adapted the best I could. But you seek to ignore the change in your life.”
He crossed his arms. “To which change do you refer?”
She lifted her chin. “Marriage.”
He grimaced. “How could I possibly ignore that?”
“Good question, yet you do it every day.”
“I have a destiny to fulfill.”
“You also have a wife. And a sister who needs you.”
His arms dropped to his sides. “Freya is one of the reasons why I push myself so hard. I look at her, and all I can see is how I’ve failed her.”
“You should wipe your eyes and see a sister who adores you and wants to know you better.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “It pains me that my gifts cannot help her. The first time I touched you, I knew your secret. Years have passed since Freya lost her voice, but I still don’t know what stole it.”
Jocelyn frowned, and sadness shadowed her eyes. “I know how it feels to fail someone you love. I tried everything to help my sister, Constance, when she was hurt. All for naught.”
“Then you know why I cannot rest until I solve the riddle. Freya’s future and Nihtscua’s fate are interlinked. All of it rests on my shoulders.”
Jocelyn took a step toward him. “Nihtscua does need you, but not as a magician.”
“How then?”
“As a man. I need you too.”
He avoided her eyes. “Jocelyn…”
“What? We are joined in wedlock, and I deserve more.”
His gaze locked with hers. “Define more.”
“Well, let me see. I’d like more time with you. And intimacy. And I want…no, I demand the chance to experience motherhood.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out. “You deserve all of it.”
“Just not with you. Is that what you’re saying?”
He banged his fist on the table. “Do not put words in my mouth!”
“Then admit that you want those things too!”
His chest tightened. “I cannot be a parent.”
“Why ever not?”
“I shan’t discuss it with you.”
Her fist thumped on the table not a foot from his. “You must! Do children so distress you? Are they bothersome? Would they steal more of your precious time? Tell me why you—”
“Because I cannot risk becoming my father!”
Jocelyn fell silent and pulled her hand from the table. Her voice was soft when at last she spoke. “What?”
“You heard me. My father was a master of manipulation. Every day, he found a way to degrade me, but somehow, I survived intact. What if I end up hurting my own child the way my father hurt me? I couldn’t bear it.”
Jocelyn’s eyes were wide, soulful. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You are not your father.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I love you.”
For several seconds, he couldn’t speak. Then he forced sound from his throat. “No. You cannot.”
“Too late. I do.”
He shook his head. “I never sought love. Neither yours nor anyone’s.”
Her face turned red. “Of course not. You’d rather stay cooped up in this tower, climbing a mountain whose peak you might never reach. All for what?”
“Magic. ’Tis my calling. I’ve always known it.”
“I realize that. But it doesn’t have to consume your life. You spend your days and nights working, and all the while, outside this chamber, there’s food and drink, warmth, laughter, the beating heart of life. Can you feel it? Don’t you want to be happy?”
He didn’t know how to answer and so said nothing.
She gave him an incisive look. “There is such a thing as balance. A balance between the sacred and the sensible. What could be more sensible than to bed your wife and produce heirs? And what could be more natural than to love and be loved?”
He found his tongue. “’Tis not the life I envisioned for myself…or even believed was possible.”
Her eyes fairly pleaded with him. “Regardless, I offer it to you now.”
His heart was a knot in his chest. “I do care for you, but…”
“But. No good can follow that word.”
“I need to think on this.”
Her gaze dropped, and she lowered her head. “No. You needn’t. You either feel it or you don’t.” She pulled her wedding ring from her finger and handed it to him. “Take it. If it means so little to you, why should I wear it?”
The ring felt hot in his hand. “Jocelyn…” His throat constricted.
She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Don’t trouble yourself. Things are what they are.” She strode past him and opened the door.
He rushed up behind her and shut the door. Her hair smelled of lavender. She was but a breath away. “You must understand. I made a promise I cannot break. I’ve given my life to magic.”
She turned and looked up at him. Tears welled in her eyes. “If the passion between us wasn’t magic, then I don’t know what is.” She yanked open the door and hurried down the stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
Jocelyn blinked away tears as she descended the spiral staircase. She barely felt the steps beneath her feet. Wulfstan’s words stung her again and again.
I have a destiny to fulfill.
I cannot be a parent.
I never sought love. Neither yours nor anyone’s.
’Tis not the life I envisioned for myself.
I do care for you, but…
There was always a “but.” Always a reason to shove her aside as though she had no value, no place in his heart.
If he could just solve that wretched riddle, she thought. Then perhaps I’d have half a chance to win his love.
Suddenly, she remembered what Robert told
her. Meg dreamed that Wulfstan and I were one, that we were meant to be so. She also said I was crucial to solving the riddle.
But how? When?
Deep in her thoughts, Jocelyn reached the bottom of the stairs and ran smack into Grizzel.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said. “I didn’t see you there. Come, let’s step into the hall where ’tis lighter. Are you hurt?”
Grizzel shook her head as they entered the hall. “I am well. ’Tis I who should apologize. I shouldn’t have followed your ladyship, but I was worried.”
“About me?”
“Whom else? And I see I was right to worry.”
Jocelyn sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”
Grizzel gave her a dubious look. “Walk with me, my lady.”
They strolled in step through the hall. Jocelyn caught sight of Freya, warming herself in front of the Yule log ten yards away.
As if sensing Jocelyn’s gaze, Freya turned to her. She grinned at Jocelyn, but her smile disappeared as her focus shifted to Grizzel. Jocelyn paused and tried to read Freya’s expression.
Grizzel halted beside her. “After our conversation, I puzzled and puzzled about how I might help you…and your husband.”
Jocelyn turned to the wizened woman. “Oh. ’Twas kind of you.”
Grizzel made a dismissive gesture. “Not at all. But I think I’ve come up with a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” For the first time, she noticed the color of Grizzel’s eyes.
Her green eyes twinkled. “I know the secrets of Woden’s Stair. I’ll share them with your ladyship, so you can share them with Wulfstan.”
Jocelyn’s heart skipped a beat. “How came you by this knowledge?”
“I’ll show you once we’re there. Come. I’ve so much to tell and so little time.”
Jocelyn peeked at Freya. The girl scowled at Grizzel. Then her eyes doubled in size.
“We must hurry, my lady,” Grizzel said.
Jocelyn hesitated. “Do you also know about the Wolf Stone?”
“You mean the answer to the riddle?”
“Aye.”
Grizzel glanced in Freya’s direction, then turned back to Jocelyn. “Of course. Come with me, and you shall know all.”
Hope blossomed in Jocelyn’s heart. Meg had foretold she would help solve the riddle, and here was the way. Wulfstan would be so relieved! She would share in his happiness, and with any luck, they’d finally share a life.
Grizzel moved quickly for a woman of her age. Together, she and Jocelyn hastened from the keep and made their way through the ever-crowding bailey. Villagers massed in the courtyard while above, clouds gathered in the sky.
As Jocelyn passed through the gatehouse, she grinned at Offa. He grinned back at her, then cast a curious look at Grizzel. But there was no time for words, only action.
Beyond the drawbridge, the two women followed the road to the bottom of the hill and started up the slope toward the woods. Under the shadow of towering trees, they kept to the path.
The wind picked up, but Jocelyn was still comfortable without her mantle. Smiling, she inhaled the scent of pine needles. They were close now. Everything was going her way.
“Now,” Grizzel said in a loud voice.
Jocelyn turned to her. “What?” Pain struck the back of her head. Then all went black.
****
Wulfstan leaned over his work table. His palms pressed against the hard wood. His head hung low.
The wind whistled outside. Inside, the chamber was quiet as a tomb.
She loves me, he thought. All she wants is my love in return. Why is that so difficult to give?
A woman’s voice, melodic and low, answered his question. “Because you were made to feel you don’t deserve love.”
Every inch of his skin erupted in goosebumps. He knew that voice, and the energy that accompanied it. Slowly, he turned.
His mother stood before him. She looked as solid as the stone wall behind her, and just as he remembered, minus the visible traces of stress and woe which plagued her earthly existence. Peace reigned over her features. Her long, blonde hair flowed freely. Love shone in her blue eyes.
His throat ached with emotion, but he found his voice. “Is it really you?”
A single nod was her reply.
He sighed. “’Tis good to see you.”
“’Tis good to be seen.” She smiled.
“Just now, you heard my thoughts?”
“Aye. I also heard them last night, when you prayed for my help. You’ve carried a heavy burden, my son. Cenwulf’s cruelty changed you in ways I dared not acknowledge while I was alive. Fear plagued me, and it plagues you now, though you may not see it.”
Wulfstan frowned. “Fear? How so?”
“You’re afraid to love…afraid that if you do, something will destroy it, proving that you were never worthy of that love to begin with. But you are worthy, and you have so much to give to those who care for you.”
Tears pricked his eyes, but he willed them away. He swallowed hard. “When I lost you, I thought I’d never know love again. Then we lost Frederik, and I closed myself off from everyone. Even Freya.”
Sigrid’s face took on a faraway look, as though she listened to something beyond his hearing. “She needs you now.”
“Freya?”
“Go to her. Be her brother again. And fear not love, Wulfstan. Open your heart and be the man you were born to be.”
He stepped forward. “Mother…” She vanished. Grateful yet full of longing, he stared at the empty space where she’d stood.
Freya. She needed him. He grabbed his blue mantle from the cot and left the chamber. Pausing only to lock the door, he darted down the stairs and into the great hall. He scanned the room until his eyes struck gold.
His sister paced in front of the hearth. Even from a distance, he sensed her agitation.
He rushed to her side. “Freya, what is it?”
She gestured wildly with her hands. Her eyes pleaded with him.
His hand gripped her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Her hands flew to her ears, and she covered them. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as if to squelch an inner demon that fought her tooth and nail.
“Jocelyn!” she burst out. She dropped her hands, opened her eyes, and stared at him.
His heart leapt. “Freya, you spoke!”
Her eyes widened, and her lips curved into a smile. “I…did. I did!”
Brother and sister hugged each other tightly. Then Wulfstan pulled away to observe her face. “What were you trying to tell me about Jocelyn?”
“I think she’s in trouble,” Freya said.
“What do you mean?”
Freya took a deep breath. “I saw her with Gertrude.”
He frowned. “Gertrude! Emma’s half-sister?”
Freya nodded vigorously. “She looks different now. Old and withered. But ’tis her. I know it.”
His heart beat faster. The stranger who is not a stranger. The one I knew before.
“If what you say is true, then Jocelyn is in trouble,” he said. “When did you see them?”
“Not long ago.” She pointed. “They were right there.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Gertrude mentioned Woden’s Stair.”
His stomach dropped. “Oh no.” He threw on his cloak. “I have to go. Find Edith and stay with her.”
He dashed out of the hall and the keep and advanced toward the gatehouse.
“My lord!” a familiar voice called from behind.
Wulfstan turned. Harold rushed toward him.
“What has happened?” Harold asked.
“Lady Nihtscua is in danger. Come with me.”
Harold followed him without hesitation to the gatehouse. The gatekeeper stood up straight as they entered.
“Offa, did you see Lady Nihtscua leave?” Wulfstan questioned.
The gatekeeper nodded. “Not too long ago.”
“Was she with someone?”
“Aye. An old woman.” Offa scratched his head. “Sven followed them, but I don’t think they saw him.”
Wulfstan exchanged glances with Harold. “Sven?”
“As sure as I’m standing here,” Offa said. “He returned soon after. Headed toward the smithy.”
Wulfstan’s eyes narrowed. “Did the women return too?”
“No, my lord.”
Wulfstan turned to Harold. “Find Sven. Without his knowing, if possible. Keep your eye on him.”
“Right away, my lord,” Harold said. He hurried from the gatehouse.
Wulfstan regarded Offa. “Say naught of our conversation. Whatever happens, Sven is not to leave again.”
“Understood,” said Offa.
The sky darkened. The wind howled. Wulfstan raced to meet his fate.
Chapter Nineteen
Jocelyn came to. Her head and neck ached. She was gagged with a cloth that smelled and tasted like barley. In a daze, she tried to move, without success. Her legs were bound, and her hands were tied behind her back. She looked around.
The Wolf Stone. The height. She was sitting atop Woden’s Stair.
A dagger flashed six inches from her face. “Don’t move,” its bearer warned, “or I’ll slice your pretty neck.” ’Twas Grizzel.
Why should she wish to hurt me? Whom would it serve?
“Your husband should be along any minute now.” The malice in her voice was unmistakable.
Grizzel was wrong. He wasn’t coming. He was in his tower, where he belonged. Doing what mattered most to him.
And I’m alone with this lunatic. What possessed me to trust her?
Wulfstan rushed into the clearing and ran toward the stairs. Jocelyn’s heart leapt. He had come!
“Stay there!” Grizzel barked.
Jocelyn winced as the woman yanked on her braid and poised the dagger at her throat.
Wulfstan stopped in his tracks. “Let her go, Gertrude!”
Gertrude? The same one who poisoned Lady Ravenwood?
“Ah,” she said. “So you recognize me.”
“Freya did. Where have you been? How have you aged?”
“All in good time.”
He glowered at her. “Your time has run out.”
Laughter gurgled from Gertrude’s throat, and the dagger’s blade jiggled against Jocelyn’s neck. “Not possible. I’ve nothing but time, especially now that I know the secrets of this staircase and Woden’s Circle.”
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