Soul of the Wolf

by Judith Sterling

  Wulfstan’s eyes widened. Then he frowned. “Woden’s Circle? What has Ravenwood to do with this?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I see your game, Gertrude. You’re bluffing.”

  “Ha!” She pulled on Jocelyn’s braid. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “Prove it. Tell me something I don’t already know.” The wind whipped his hair from his face and brought his blue cloak to life.

  Behind him, a raven glided into the clearing and landed on the Wolf Stone. The day grew ever darker.

  Gertrude’s tone was smug. “Woden’s Circle is a doorway to the future. Woden’s Stair is one to the past.”

  “Do you mean you’ve journeyed through time?”

  “How else could I have aged thus?”

  “But when? How?”

  Gertrude’s breath was hot against Jocelyn’s ear. “One wrong move, and I’ll stab you in the back,” she whispered. She released Jocelyn’s braid and pulled the dagger away as she straightened. “After I poisoned Emma, I rode to Nihtscua and waited here in this vile place for Aldred. But one of Lord Ravenwood’s men followed me. I ran up the stairs to escape him and ended up traveling back in time, to a year well before your father was born. By the way, you failed miserably in your attempt to kill him. He journeyed through time too.”

  Wulfstan’s jaw dropped. “Is he still alive?”

  “No. He died by another’s hand long ago. And I traveled forward in time to the here and now, where I’ve watched and waited for a way to make you suffer.”

  Wulfstan stood tall and proud. “Revenge is never the answer.”

  “Oh really? Then why did you let that Norman swine kill your brother?”

  “That wasn’t revenge. ’Twas the only way to restore order and protect those I care for.”

  Gertrude snorted. “You claim to have a heart? I’ll believe it when I see it. And I’ll see it now.”

  Again, she jerked Jocelyn’s braid and threatened her with the dagger. Jocelyn squealed in protest.

  “Do you care for this one?” Gertrude taunted. “This Norman baggage you’re saddled with?”

  He clenched his fists. “If you harm her, I’ll—”

  “What? What will you do? Save your breath, Wulfstan. I have the upper hand now. But I’m willing to tell you all I know about the circle, these stairs, and how to solve the Wolf Stone’s riddle.”

  “You know the answer to the riddle?”

  The raven on the stone cocked its head. Then it flew off into the Long Wood.

  Gertrude’s voice was smooth, seductive. “I know more than you could possibly imagine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why would you help me? What do you want in exchange?”

  “Sanctuary.”

  “From whom?”

  “Lord Ravenwood, for a start. Here’s what I propose. I slit the lady’s throat, and you—”

  “What!”

  Gertrude heaved a sigh of vexation. “Hear me out. Nihtscua should be pure Saxon, and it should’ve been my home…with Aldred. Let me live here under your protection. No one from Ravenwood need know I’m here, and I’ll help you solve the riddle. All I ask is that you let me kill this Norman whore.”

  A muscle worked in Wulfstan’s jaw. “She is no whore.”

  “So you do care. Phew! I was afraid this wouldn’t hurt.” She pressed the dagger against Jocelyn’s neck.

  Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut. The flat of the blade felt cold on her flesh. God, help me! She opened her eyes, seeking a final glimpse of the man she loved.

  Wulfstan glared at the dagger and thrust his arm out in front of him. “Stop!”

  A wolf howled deep in the forest. The dagger’s blade grew hot.

  Gertrude released Jocelyn’s hair and removed the dagger from her throat. “What’s happening? It burns!” She dropped the weapon, then bent to retrieve it.

  Wulfstan waved his hand. The dagger shot out of Gertrude’s reach and clattered down the stone steps, all the way to the bottom.

  Jocelyn struggled against her bonds. The rope dug into her ankles and wrists. In desperation, she pitched toward Gertrude, hoping to knock her off balance.

  “Meddlesome wench,” Gertrude muttered, moving backward, beyond Jocelyn’s reach. “Where is your mettle, Wulfstan? You never wanted a bride, and here is your chance to be rid of her!”

  “You shall not hurt my wife.” His voice was strong, calm.

  Gertrude grunted. “Fine. Let’s alter the deal. I’ll push her over the time threshold. She’ll get lost in the past, and you’ll be free. Free to gain the knowledge you crave, to bring peace and joy to Nihtscua.”

  The truth hit Jocelyn hard. This is what Meg meant. I am crucial to solving the riddle. He’s going to send me spiraling through time to God knows where so he can keep his promise to his mother. She shuddered.

  Suddenly, a cloak of calm settled over her. Serenity. Acceptance. So be it. If this is what he needs and ’twill bring happiness to him and Freya, and all who suffered under their kin’s rule, I am willing. Perhaps ’twas always meant to be thus.

  A pang of regret struck her. To find love…where she least expected it…only to lose it. Tears filled her eyes as she waited for the inevitable.

  ****

  The wolf howled again, closer this time. It called to Wulfstan’s soul, which in turn called to Jocelyn. He looked up at her, and their gazes entwined. Her brown eyes glistened.

  “There could be no joy without Lady Nihtscua,” he said at last.

  Jocelyn blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks. His heart swelled, but necessity wrenched his focus to Gertrude.

  The hag’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You’re quite sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Gertrude scowled, and her voice turned venomous. “You fool! No Norman shall be mistress of Nihtscua. Not while I live.” Her gnarled hands clawed at Jocelyn and dragged her farther onto the landing.

  His heart was in his throat. He darted forward.

  A large, gray wolf shot past him and bounded up the stairs. Gertrude recoiled. Her eyes were wide, wild. Snarling, the wolf pounced, propelling her toward the point of no return. Gertrude shrieked. Massive teeth tore into her throat. Blood sprayed. There was a loud crunch.

  Locked in their terrible embrace, woman and wolf lurched backward and vanished. Then all was still.

  Wulfstan scampered up the steps, taking two at a time. Quickly, he removed Jocelyn’s gag. “I almost lost you,” he said, his hands on her cheeks. “Are you hurt?”

  With a sigh of relief, Jocelyn shook her head. “I’m well enough. God be praised the wolf came when it did. If not for the raven—”

  “There was a raven?”

  “Aye. I believe it fetched the wolf.”

  He worked on the rope at her ankles. “I’m not surprised. Wolves and ravens have a unique relationship. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

  “Thank you for coming to find me.”

  “Why were you even with Gertrude?”

  Jocelyn wiggled her freed feet. “I wanted to help you solve the riddle. She made promises.”

  “Empty ones, I’m sure.”

  “Yet she knew how to travel through time.”

  He untied her hands. “That may be the one bit of truth in her tale.”

  “I trow there was another.” She rubbed her wrists as she stood. “You didn’t kill your father.”

  “Perhaps not.” Wulfstan gathered the two lengths of rope and the gag and hurled them toward the center of the landing. They disappeared midair.

  He took her hand. ’Twas soft and warm. “Come.”

  Hand in hand, they descended the stairs. Once their feet touched ground, she turned to him and grabbed his other hand.

  “How did you know where to find me?” she asked.

  “Freya told me.”

  “She told you? How?”

  He grinned and squeezed her hands. “She spoke.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “She did?”

&n
bsp; He nodded and gazed into her lovely, brown eyes. “To save you.”

  Jocelyn smiled, then sobered. “You saved me too. Even though Gertrude offered you everything you want.”

  “Not everything.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “I once told you that I sought transformation, the alchemy of the soul. But there’s something of the alchemist in you, as well.”

  “Me?”

  “You transformed Nihtscua. And you have transformed my heart.”

  With an expectant air, she stared at him. Her heart was in her eyes.

  “I love you, Jocelyn.”

  She threw her arms around him and sealed his avowal with a kiss. Swept into a whorl of desire, emotion, and the wind that swirled around them, he returned her kiss. His hands found her breasts, her hips, her bottom. Her moan was sweeter than any melody. Her hands clutched his buttocks.

  He held her tight. He tasted her tears. For the first time in his life, he felt the freedom of surrender.

  “I want to lose myself in you,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to bury myself in your sweetness.”

  “Then do it.”

  He pulled back to see her face. “Here?”

  “Over there,” she said with a sidewise glance. “On the mound.”

  He was hard and ready. “You’ll be at a strange angle. Neither lying nor standing.”

  “I don’t care.” She kissed his cheek and bit his earlobe.

  So be it! He grabbed her hand, and they closed the short distance to the mound. He pulled off his mantle and laid it on the ground, a mere foot from the Wolf Stone. “My lady,” he said, gesturing toward the cloth.

  Grinning, she leaned back against it and reached out to him. “My dear, magical lord.”

  He was in her arms. Tasting her mouth, her neck. Sliding his hand up her soft inner thigh to the silken folds he craved. She was wet, eager.

  “Do it, Wulfstan. Take me now!”

  He plunged his swollen member into her. She gasped.

  He paused. “Are you—”

  “Don’t fret about me. Take your pleasure.” She closed her eyes.

  She was heaven made flesh, so hot and tight around him. His heart hammered in his chest.

  “True pleasure is shared,” he said. “And I’ll share it with you.”

  He shut his eyes and focused all of his will and energy into his throbbing manhood. A humming sound filled his ears as the vibration took hold.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jocelyn’s eyes shot open. “Oh!”

  Wulfstan’s length quivered deep inside her. She gazed up at him. His eyes were closed; his brow, creased from intense concentration.

  Slowly, steadily, the vibration increased. Pleasure coiled within her. Her core trembled. The ground at her back thrummed with energy.

  Wulfstan’s hips came to life. He thrust into her, again and again. Faster. Fiercer.

  She clawed at his back and pushed her pelvis upward. “Aye! Please!”

  The wild sensation peaked. Her shout of satisfaction merged with the howling wind.

  An image flashed in her mind. The Wolf Stone mound, covered not with grass but with stone. The next instant, the picture was gone.

  Wulfstan plunged into her, once…twice more. He cried out, and his body shuddered.

  After a long moment, he opened his eyes and gave her a sated, appreciative smile. “Now we are one, body and soul.”

  Basking in his closeness, in his earnest tone and expression, she grinned. “’Twas worth the wait, if I may say so.”

  “You may say anything you wish.” He kissed her again, and his lips lingered on hers. “My lady. My love.”

  Gently, he pulled out of her. Then he stood, helped her up, and retrieved his mantle from the mound. The wind—still strong, yet warmer—wove in and out, around and between the two of them and the Wolf Stone, as though to unite all three.

  Readjusting her clothes, Jocelyn stared at the grassy knoll. “This might sound strange, but I think I had a vision.”

  He froze beside her. “When?”

  “While we were making love.”

  “What did you see?”

  “This mound,” she said, gesturing toward it. “’Twas different, though.”

  “Was it covered in stone?”

  Abruptly, she turned to him. “How did you know?”

  “I had the same vision. Right before I…”

  “Cried out?”

  “Aye.” Stroking his chin, he regarded the hillock. “It cannot be coincidence.”

  Inspiration seized her. “How did the riddle begin? ‘As above, so below’?”

  He nodded. “’Tis a basic tenet of magic.”

  “Or a clue. Perhaps a call to action.”

  His hand dropped. “Go on.”

  “The runes are above the mound. Could the answer to their riddle lie below it?”

  His blue eyes aglow, Wulfstan turned to her. “An underground chamber.”

  “One of stone, just like the one we saw.” She walked three paces to the knoll’s southern face. “You should dig here, directly opposite Woden’s Stair. As above, so below. The stairs lead to the sky, and I’ll warrant there are steps leading underground.”

  Wulfstan beamed at her. “Did I mention that I love you?”

  Her heart was full. “You did, and I love you.”

  He started toward her but hesitated. Turning, he strode to the stairs and dropped his mantle onto them. He bent over and snatched Gertrude’s dagger from the ground. Straightening again, he studied the weapon.

  “Sven’s mark,” he said, running a finger over it. “And a serpent, my brother’s sign. He made this dagger for Aldred, presumably before his death.”

  “I saw Sven give something to Gertrude yesterday, but I couldn’t tell what. That must’ve been it.”

  “No doubt he deemed it a fitting weapon for Gertrude to use against me….and against you. If I’d lost you…”

  She hurried forward and laid a hand on his arm. “You didn’t.”

  “But I could have.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t think on it. All is well.”

  He frowned, and a muscle worked in his jaw. “It shall be, once I deal with Sven.”

  “’Tis done, my lord,” a male voice intoned at the edge of the clearing. Harold stepped from the woodland path and approached them with a shovel in either hand. “I killed him.”

  Edith and Freya appeared on the path behind him. When Freya caught sight of Jocelyn, she raced forward and captured her in a hug.

  “You’re safe,” she said, pressing her cheek against Jocelyn’s chest.

  Jocelyn’s heart twisted. She hugged Freya tightly, then pulled back to look at her. “And you’re talking!”

  Freya’s smile was breathtaking. “I am. It feels so good to do it.”

  Jocelyn glanced at Edith. Tears of joy streamed down the older woman’s face.

  Wulfstan regarded Harold. “You say you killed Sven?”

  Harold placed the shovels on the ground. “In self-defense. He was looking for your lordship and found me instead. He said Gertrude was waiting here to make a deal with you. I said you’d already gone and had ordered me to watch him. He came at me then, and we fought. And now he’s dead.”

  Edith sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Good riddance. I never liked that man.” Her gaze darted about the clearing. “But where is Gertrude?”

  “Also dead,” Wulfstan said.

  Edith frowned. “I don’t see a body.”

  “And you never will,” Jocelyn said. “’Tis somewhere in the past.”

  Harold and Edith spoke as one. “The past?”

  Wulfstan cocked his head toward Woden’s Stair. “That landing up there is a gateway to the past. A wolf attacked Gertrude and pushed her into it. But she traveled through it once before, to a much earlier time.”

  Freya spoke up. “So that’s why she was old. I barely recognized her.” She looked up at Wulfstan. “But I’ll never forget how she helped A
ldred kill our brother.”

  There was a collective gasp among the adults.

  “Frederik,” Wulfstan said in a pained voice. “What did they do to him?”

  The color drained from Freya’s face. “Gertrude had come to visit. Frederik and I were playing with Nursie…alone in one of the basement storerooms. Aldred and Gertrude butted in. They were whispering to each other, and then Aldred grabbed Nursie. He pushed her against the wall and raised her skirt and started to…”

  Wulfstan set the dagger on the stairs, went to Freya, and caressed her cheek. “I can guess what he did to your nurse,” he said gently. “Pray, what happened next?”

  Freya hugged her torso. “Nursie was screaming, so Frederik ran up and kicked Aldred’s legs. Aldred was so mad. He told Gertrude to open one of the big storage chests. Then he picked up Frederik and threw him in. He shut the lid and pushed Nursie onto it. He got on top of her and started moving again. Frederik was yelling and pounding on the inside of the chest, and I ran to help him. But Gertrude held me back and wouldn’t let me go. She kept laughing, and Frederik kept shouting…until he didn’t shout anymore.”

  Freya buried her face in her hands, and Wulfstan embraced her. He held her close and murmured, “’Tis over now. We have each other. No one shall hurt you ever again.”

  “Certainly not Gertrude,” Edith said, “or Grizzel as she was calling herself. Sven made his sister in the village take her in.”

  Wulfstan kissed the top of Freya’s head, then turned to Edith. “Who told you that?”

  “Who else? Gunhild.”

  Harold grunted. “She always has something to tell. Only this time, ’twas helpful.”

  Jocelyn eyed the shovels at his feet. “Harold,” she said, pointing, “why did you bring those hither?”

  “Freya said her brother would need them,” Harold replied.

  Wulfstan exchanged glances with Jocelyn and Freya. Then he grabbed the shovels and handed one to Harold. “I do,” he said. “Or rather, we need them, to dig into the mound.”

  Harold’s eyes bulged. “But you’ve always said this place is sacred.”

  “’Tis indeed sacred, but it also holds a secret.” Wulfstan turned to Freya. “How did you know we’d need shovels?”