“As your assistant well knows,” she said with a wink. While Roderic could charm bees, his assistant seemed to enrage them.
Roderic squinted at the sky, and she followed his gaze. White clouds that resembled fat, wooly sheep dotted the field of blue.
“Our weather is much improved, now that Wulfstan is gone,” the beekeeper said.
She scanned the clouds, for what she didn’t know. Perhaps a clue to Wulfstan’s vision the day of the attack. What had he seen? What was he hiding?
“My lady,” said Roderic, “what troubles you?”
“Not a thing,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m perfectly well, but I must get back to work. Let me know when you need more lotion.”
She hurried back to her workshop. Tilda was waiting there with her little brother, Martin. Another redhead with big brown eyes, Martin had turned five the month before. He ran forward and hugged Emma’s legs.
“Oh, Martin!” Tilda scolded.
Emma laughed and bent down to him. “What a wonderful surprise! How’s your arm?”
“Good as new.” Martin held out the tiny limb as proof.
Emma examined it and smiled.
Tilda nodded. “That’s why we’re here, to thank you again for mending it,” she said. Then she gave her brother a sideways look. “Though there would’ve been no need if he hadn’t fancied himself a knight and leapt off that haystack.”
“I had to fight the Saracens,” Martin explained.
“They were pigs, as I remember it,” Tilda said.
“Not to me,” Martin protested.
Tilda sighed, then tweaked his cherubic cheeks. “Little devil,” she said.
Suddenly, William blocked the doorway and all sunlight beyond. “If you’re speaking of devils, why not let another one join you?” he said affably. “May I?”
His eyes glittered with charm and a hint of mischief. Clothed in black and unnervingly tall now that he was back on his feet, he might well have been Lucifer himself.
Emma straightened as he entered the workshop. “My medicine must be powerful indeed.”
“’Twas applied most skillfully,” he said, and his gaze shifted from Emma to her handmaiden. “Wasn’t it, Tilda?”
Tilda gulped. “If you say so, my lord.”
William regarded the boy at her hip. “And who is this?”
“Martin,” said Tilda.
“Her brother,” Emma added.
“Ah,” said William. “Martin, why have you come to Lady Ravenwood’s workshop?”
“To thank her for fixing my arm,” the boy said. “I broke it.”
“How?” William asked.
“I was fighting Saracens,” Martin said.
“Pigs,” Tilda amended.
With a chortle, William knelt before Martin. “I understand,” he said, as though they were two warriors sharing a confidence. “Saracens may be the enemy, but we must admit they’re clever and strong.”
“And brave?” said Martin.
William grinned. “Very, just like you.”
Martin’s freckled nose crinkled as he smiled. His eyes shone with adoration for the knight who’d bestowed the highest praise of his young life.
William stood and ruffled the boy’s fiery hair. “Fight the next battle for me, lad.”
“I will,” Martin promised.
Emma was speechless. William l’Orage was a proud man. A feared one. He’d suffered unnamable tortures, yet his heart was agile enough to treat a child with kindness.
Tilda’s eyes were wide and focused on William. “We’ll be going now.” She grabbed her brother’s hand.
Martin broke away and hugged Emma once more. Her heart swelled with affection, and she kissed his cheek.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
Tilda ushered Martin through the open door. Hand in hand, they skipped off into the herb garden.
“He’s a fine boy,” William said.
Emma turned to William and spied a look of longing on his face. It vanished quickly, but it had been there. She took a step closer to him.
“I know why Martin was here,” she said. “Why are you?”
He grinned at her. “I’ve come to offer a truce.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really,” she said, unable to mask the skepticism in her voice. “What are the terms?”
“We put aside our differences and learn about each other. After all, we’ll be together a long time.”
Only if I can keep you out of my bed, she thought, but she answered, “I accept.”
“Good,” he said. “We’ll start now, unless you have more pressing affairs.”
“I’d planned to check my inventory, but that can wait. What shall we do?”
“What would you suggest?”
She considered the options. “I’d love to go hunting.”
“So would I, but ’twould be ill-advised so soon after the attack. We should stay close to the keep.”
“How about Woden’s Circle?”
“’Tis still your favorite place?”
“One bad event cannot destroy a lifetime of memories.”
He regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. But I insist that some of my men accompany us.”
“Will we have any privacy?” she asked.
His black eyes seemed to glow. “How much do you require?”
“Enough to speak without being overheard.”
“That much? I’m pleased you want to be alone with me.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. “You mistake my meaning. Our conversation could easily become fodder for idle tongues, and I’d rather it didn’t.”
“You have a point. I’ll post my men close enough to guard us, but out of hearing range. Will that suit you?”
“Aye. One question, though. Will Geoffrey be in the party?”
“My squire? Probably. Why?”
“I promised him some monk’s-hood oil.”
“Monk’s-hood?”
“’Tis also known as wolfsbane. It makes a soothing rub for aching joints.”
“Does Geoffrey ache?”
“He has ever since Guy bested him at swordplay yesterday.”
“Ah. Those two are good friends and even better competitors. Since there’s no tonic for a bruised ego, you’d better bring the oil.”
She grabbed a small bottle from the shelf behind him. “Got it,” she said.
He smiled and offered her his good arm. “Then let’s go.”
****
High atop Thunder, William glanced at the approaching clouds on the horizon. The cool wind rippled through his hair like a benediction. He lowered his gaze to drink in the sight of Emma on her mount up ahead. Watching her ride the brown jennet to Woden’s Circle was worth the whole outing. Her grace and posture befitted a queen. If King Henry’s bards had tagged along, they would’ve gained ripe material for poetic verse from her easy movements in the saddle. Her veil billowed behind her, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her raven hair beneath.
Robert, Geoffrey, Guy, and five other battle-hardened men completed the party. When they reached the circle, William deployed the men for their watch, then followed Emma into the pagan site.
She leaned back against one side of the central stone piling. “I feel better already,” she said, smiling.
So did he. He breathed deeply of the scent of pine needles, then exhaled slowly. All at once, his wound began to tingle. He raised his opposite hand and touched the tight bandage beneath his tunic.
“’Tis working,” Emma said.
“What?” he asked.
“The magic of Woden’s Circle. Something about this place speeds the healing process. I’ve experienced it myself.”
“I don’t believe in magic.”
“Apparently, it believes in you.” She pointed to his arm.
He shook his head. “Ridiculous.”
“Say what you will, but magic exists. ’Tis a force as natural as the wind, and we are all a part of it. Som
e people just sense it more than others.”
“Are you telling me you’re one of those people?”
“I am. I wanted to tell you the other day, but the attack interfered.”
He regarded her in silence. “Go on,” he said at last.
She fiddled with her long, pink sleeves. Then she stilled. “From an early age, I had visions of the future. Sometimes they were clear and sometimes not, but always they warned me of danger.”
“Danger to you?”
“And to others.”
“I assume you had no warning of the arrow attack.”
“I wish I had. I don’t plan the visions. I just know when they’re about to happen. I get an irresistible urge to come hither, and the circle’s energy helps me focus. That’s why you found me here the day we met.”
“You sought a vision?”
“I did.”
“I see. The energy you mentioned, is that why you love it here?”
“’Tis one reason, but its haunting beauty draws me even more. Sometimes, when I’m standing alone in the mist, I almost believe my ancestors will step from behind the stones.”
“What would you say to them if they did?”
She smiled. “I’d welcome them and learn more about their beliefs and daily lives.”
“And their language?”
“Aye. That, too.”
“I begin to understand your attraction to this place.”
“Do languages interest you?”
“Like mother’s milk interests a newborn.”
Without warning, sorrow swept over her features.
“Does that bother you?” he asked.
“No,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I was thinking of my mother. I feel closer to her here.”
“’Tis said she died at your birth.”
Emma nodded. “Courtesy of the Ravenwood curse.”
William shifted from one foot to the other. Visions were unlikely, but curses were impossible. Yet she believed it all, and he would hear her out.
“Tell me about the curse,” he said. “Do you know how it began?”
“The first Lord Ravenwood lived here more than two centuries ago,” Emma said. “He followed the old religion, and ’tis said he worked magic as deftly as a tailor wields needle and thread. He loved his wife passionately, but she had a roving eye. She betrayed him with another man, and he flew into a rage. Then he learned she was pregnant. She swore the child was his, but his doubt drove him mad. He cursed our line, deeming that every Lady Ravenwood would die in childbirth, unless the child was conceived through true love.”
He scratched his head. “But why?” he asked. “It seems foolish to make love a condition when most marriages are arranged.”
“I know, but he wanted to protect future lords of Ravenwood, especially those who would love their wives as he loved his. If lust tempted the women and they conceived a child, they’d die.”
“What if love tempted them?”
“It never happened. And apparently, none of Ravenwood’s ladies loved their husbands, because every one of them died in childbirth.”
“Every one?”
“’Tis true. Daughters of Ravenwood live and perish under the curse. The only boon is that we’re born with magical talents. We’re gifted healers, and many have the Sight.”
“Have there been no sons born to Ravenwood?”
“A few, but when they married, the curse claimed their wives as well.”
William ran his hand over the cold, rough surface of the nearest stone. “So wedded bliss is as scarce at Ravenwood as everywhere else,” he said. “But a curse? That I cannot believe.”
“Do you think it natural for all of those women to die in childbirth?”
“It happens.”
“Not on that scale, in one place.”
“Coincidence.”
“No, William. ’Tis real.”
He warmed to the sound of his name on her tongue. “How can you be certain?”
She stared into the forest behind him. Then she pushed her shoulders back and regarded him once more. “I’ve had repeated visions of my mother warning me of danger.”
“How did she warn you?”
“She showed me an image of myself lying pale and still as death.”
A chill coursed the length of his spine, but he shook it off. “Perhaps your visions warned of the recent attack. If you’d been alone, you would’ve died.”
She tilted her head in the familiar movement which made her look like a raven pondering flight. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “I haven’t had the vision since the attack, so maybe you’re right.”
An unexpected need seized him. He had to give her hope.
“I know I’m right,” he said. “And I will always protect you.”
She favored him with a tentative, tender smile. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “Thank you for sharing your burden with me.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then folded her arms. “Enough about me,” she said. “Let’s talk about you.”
“There’s little to say.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I doubt that.”
He showed her a mock frown. “We’re married less than a week, and already you doubt my word.”
“Not your word. Your modesty.”
He shrugged. “I’m not modest, just reluctant to speak.”
“An odd trait for a man who loves languages.”
He took a step closer to her. “You are the most vexing woman.”
She grinned. “Stubborn too.”
He sighed. “You may ask questions. But for every one I answer, I shall ask one of you.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “First question: were you an unruly child?”
“Very. Were you?”
“No, but I still irritated my father. He avoided me whenever possible and actually preferred Gertrude’s company.”
“Gertrude?” he said, his eyes wide. “’Tis hard to imagine.”
Emma nodded. “Isn’t it, though?”
“Scary, in fact.”
She tilted her head. “I thought nothing scared you.”
“I’ll make an exception in Gertrude’s case.”
Emma laughed. “Right. Second question: how old were you when you became a knight?”
“Sixteen.” He advanced another step. “My turn. Was I the first man to kiss you?”
Her cheeks flooded with the rosy shade of her tunic. Backed against the tall stone, her violet eyes wide with surprise, she looked shockingly beautiful.
“What kind of question is that?” she asked.
“A simple one. I answered my question. Now you must.”
She pursed her lips, and they riveted him. “You were the first.”
Satisfaction, wanton and warm, flowed through him. “I’m glad of it.”
“What’s your favorite place?” she said quickly.
“Between a woman’s thighs. And yours?”
Sweat glistened on her forehead and above her upper lip. ’Twould taste salty, yet sweet.
“Besides Woden’s Circle?” she said.
“Aye.”
“I guess the Long Wood.”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Some woods are longer than others.”
Emotion flashed in her eyes. Then her expression turned droll. “Aye,” she said. “I’ve noticed that horses are particularly well endowed.”
He burst out laughing. “What a weapon your tongue would make.”
“On the battlefield?”
“Or in bed, if you so desired.”
She shook her head. “You think I’m vexing? The honor is yours, Lord Ravenwood.”
“So formal. What happened to ‘William?’”
“He traveled beyond the bounds of decency.”
“Can he be saved?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Mayhap, if he limits his travels and stays closer to home.”
“What if you could travel with him? Would that please you?”
“Aye, so long as the pace was sufficiently slow.”
He inched toward her. This was one double-edged meaning of which she was unaware, but he was not. “Quick or slow, my pace shall be as you command it.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” she said.
“You will. I promise.”
He leaned forward to kiss her, and a cold raindrop splashed onto his nose. Another grazed his cheek, but his intent was firm. At the last second, she turned her mouth away, and his lips brushed her cheek instead.
“Oh,” she said, raising her palm to the sky. She slid away from the stone and out of kissing range. “Rain. We should get back.”
He grumbled. Maybe there was truth to her claims about Woden’s Circle. She believed it enhanced her visions. Perhaps it protected her from the poisoned arrow. Did it shield her now from his kiss, through the guise of rain?
No, he thought. Impossible.
A sudden torrent of water besieged them.
“Blessed Virgin!” Emma cried. “You’d think the heavens opened up for the sole purpose of drenching us.”
“Mount your horse,” William said. “I’ll signal to my men.”
He turned his head to hide his smile. If magic did exist, it aided him too. There was only one thing to do with wet clothes: remove them.
Chapter Twelve
Emma shivered as she and William followed the cold, winding stairs to their bedchamber. Her clothes were soaked, and her husband’s straight, white teeth were more visible than ever before. He just kept smiling, and his apparent glee unnerved her. There had to be a reason for it. God only knew what!
As they entered the chamber, her gaze darted from the closed shutters to the cold, empty hearth. There’d been no need for a fire before the storm; now, it seemed a necessity. An oil lamp on the table was the only source of heat and light in the room.
She pivoted on her heel just as William slid the door’s thick bolt into place. He turned to her and flashed yet another smile. Then he advanced with a slow, casual stride.
An aura of strength and sensuality shadowed his every move and trailed in his wake. The closer he came, the drier her mouth seemed. He halted scarcely a foot away.
She licked her lips. “Shall I have a servant light the fire?”
He stared down at her with black, hungry eyes. “There’s no need. There are better ways to keep warm.”
“But our clothes.” She gestured to the garments which clung to her body. “They’re drenched.”
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