His mother, Meg, and Emma were the only individuals with whom he’d spoken in depth on the subject. They understood much of his work and came as close to understanding him as anyone had. His wife shared their intelligence. That much was clear. But was she open to magic?
Real magic. The kind that favored his kith and kin.
He strode to the hearth and sat down. “Ask what you will.”
Jocelyn glanced at the fire, then focused on him. “Tell me about those wooden trinkets in your workroom. The ones with the runes on them. You said they were your mother’s?”
He nodded. “They were made from the tree that fell on the Wolf Stone the night of my birth.”
“What purpose do they serve?”
“I use them for divination.”
She raised her eyebrows. “They tell you the future?”
“They help me read the energy of what was, what is, and what could be.”
“What could be or will be?”
He stared into the restless fire. “The future is always shifting, depending on current action.”
“And your mother used them before you?”
He returned his attention to Jocelyn. “She did.”
“So your magical inclination comes from her?”
Again, he nodded. “She—and I—are descended from Thorgils.”
“The man who wrote the riddle. You said he founded Nihtscua.”
“He did.”
“Then Nihtscua was your mother’s birthright. But Edith said she came hither on the eve of her marriage.”
Wulfstan ran a finger over the scar above his left eye. “My father’s family had wrested Nihtscua from hers two generations before. My mother’s marriage was her family’s attempt to regain what they lost…what they knew was rightfully theirs.”
“I see.” Jocelyn bit her lower lip. ’Twas full, ripe, ready to be kissed.
He shifted in his chair. “Have you more questions?”
Her eyes sought the fire. Three seconds later, they sought him. “Actually, I have. Do you really practice alchemy?”
“Not in the way you think of it.”
“And how is that?”
“A quest for immortality. An ability to cure any disease. The transmutation of base metals into gold.”
She grinned. “You’re right. ’Tis exactly my idea of an alchemist.”
He held up his hands and shook his head. “I would never call myself one. I’m not concerned with base metals or noble ones. I want to transform myself.”
“In what way?”
“Through my studies, I gain insight…self-knowledge, but also knowledge of the world around me.”
“The physical world or the spiritual one?”
He smiled. Her question showed a quick mind, and a perceptive one. “Both, for the two are interwoven. Just as we and our surroundings are interwoven.”
Her brow furrowed. “Wait. Is that why your moods affect the weather?”
“My energy affects many things. Yours does too, though you may not know it. We are the world in miniature—containing all the same elements it contains—and the world is our extended body. There’s no real separation between us and what we see as ‘outside’ of us. I live this truth, so when I focus my will on a thing, I can change it or move it…sometimes.”
She laced her fingers together. “Do you focus your will on the weather?”
“No. That correspondence seems to happen on its own.”
“My first night here, did your focus open the doors to the keep?”
He regarded her in silence for a long moment. “You saw that, did you?”
She gave him a pointed look. “I have eyes, Wulfstan.”
He loved the sound of his name on her lips. “At the time, I thought you’d assume that servants had opened them, then scurried away.”
“That didn’t occur to me.”
“But magic did?”
She shrugged. “I had a feeling you were capable of anything.”
“And what do you think now?”
Her brown eyes smoldered. “I think I’d like to put your powers to the test.”
His peripheral vision failed. All he could see was her. “How would you do that?”
She stood, and he found himself standing too. The hearth’s heat embraced them.
Jocelyn whipped her long plait over her shoulder, untied it, and unraveled the braid. Loose and luxurious, her wavy hair covered her arm and torso like a mantle of fire.
“Move my hair,” she said. “As the wind would.”
“Jocelyn, I’ve never—”
“Say that again.”
“What?”
“My name. I love how you say it.”
She was a beacon of desire, but he would not be lured by her charms. “Jocelyn,” he said, steeling himself. “I’ve never used my powers on a woman.”
She lifted her chin. “Then ’tis high time you did.”
“Why?”
“Because your wife requires it.”
“There’s no reason—”
“But there is.” A grin tugged at the left side of her sensual mouth. “I’m curious.”
He frowned. “Stubborn, you mean.”
“That too, and I shan’t be denied.”
He shook his head. “No good can come of this.”
“No harm either. Humor me, husband.”
Humor you? That’s the least I’m tempted to do. “It mightn’t work.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You said the world is your extended body. Well, I’m part of that world, so it must work. Go on.”
He’d run out of excuses. “Very well.” He stared at the hair on her shoulder and sensed the energy pulsating in and around it. He spread his awareness to the energy between them. Expanding his own force field, he bridged the gap. He felt the oneness, focused his will…and pushed her hair so it tumbled down her back.
Jocelyn gaped at him. “It worked.”
“You said it must.”
“I know I did, but I’m not sure I truly believed it till now.”
He gave her a curt nod. “’Tis done, at any rate. Satisfied?”
Her brown eyes widened. “You jest. I’ve only begun.”
The fire was too hot. He strode to the middle of the chamber and turned to her.
“Why are you over there?” she demanded.
He glanced at the fireplace. “I was overly warm.”
She regarded him in silence for what seemed an eternity. Then, in a burst of movement, she removed her gown.
Chapter Twelve
Jocelyn tossed her overtunic on the chair and kicked off her shoes. As fast as she could manage, she doffed her inner tunic and hose. Only her chemise remained.
She pushed her shoulders back and looked Wulfstan in the eye. Let’s see you walk away now.
Speechless and sinfully handsome, he stared. His gaze roamed the length of her chemise to her bare feet, then back up to her face.
“I, too, was warm,” she explained.
He ran a hand through his golden hair. “You could’ve just left the fire…as I did.”
“What fun was there in that?”
“Fun. Is that what you want?”
Oh, I want a good deal more than that. “’Tis a start.” She glided toward him and halted an arm’s length away.
A muscle worked in his jaw. He stepped backward.
She took a step forward. “You’ve shown me one example of your power, but I wonder what would happen if you touched me.”
“I’ve touched you before.”
The memory of their kiss under the midnight moon sang inside her. “But not while focusing your magical will.” She raised her right hand to her left shoulder. “This shoulder is sore. Your touch might soothe it…if you willed it so.”
His eyes narrowed. Otherwise, he remained still as a statue.
She dropped her hand to her side and took another step toward him. “We’ve already established I’m an extension of you, so you’d only be touching yourself.”<
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“You’ve no idea—”
“Come now. What ill could possibly befall you?”
He heaved a loud sigh. Then he raised his hand and laid it on her left shoulder. Two seconds later, a tingling warmth tickled the flesh where his palm rested. Two seconds more and her entire shoulder vibrated with the force emanating from his hand.
The vibration increased. Wulfstan’s eyes bored into hers.
Those eyes, she thought. Ice blue. Compelling. Powerful beyond words.
He dropped his hand. “Better?”
“Much,” she croaked.
“I must go.” Abruptly, he turned and headed for the door.
“No!” She bolted in front of him and leaned back against the door with arms outstretched. Her thin chemise seemed little more than a breeze against her skin.
“Have you no shame?” he asked.
“None but what I’d feel if Sir Robert knew you rejected me.”
Wulfstan frowned. “I do not reject you.”
She snorted. “Oh, that’s rich.”
“Step away, Jocelyn.”
“Make me.” In order to move her, he’d have to touch her scantily clad body. Would he have a mind to leave then?
He stepped closer. “Sir Robert is already abed. He’ll never know—”
“You cannot be certain of that. Idle tongues and all. Just take Gossiping Gunhild…”
“Gossip—” he started, then broke into laughter.
Jocelyn smiled. She’d never seen him laugh and wondered if he’d laughed in front of anyone. ’Twas a victory of sorts. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked free from care.
“’Tis how Alice and I refer to her,” Jocelyn said. “Out of hearing, of course.”
Wulfstan regained his composure, but his eyes still sparkled. “’Tis an apt nickname and one I doubt she’d mind.”
Jocelyn stepped away from the door and grabbed his hand. “Please stay. You look tired and need to rest.” Relishing the feel of his strong, warm hand in hers, she led him back to the fire. He didn’t struggle against her.
“I am tired,” he admitted. “I’ve had little time for sleep.”
She almost felt sorry for him. Reluctantly, she released his hand. “Then you must make the time. Why don’t you disrobe here by the fire and go to bed?”
He looked at her sharply. “And you?”
She shrugged. “I’ve already disrobed.”
“Obviously. But if I’m in bed, where will you be?”
“Beside you.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact, it surprised her. “We could talk, if you like…until you fall asleep.”
He hesitated, then his shoulders slumped. “Very well. You get in bed, and I’ll join you shortly.”
As soon as her back was turned, she grinned. But her grin disappeared halfway to the bed.
Do I truly want this? Am I ready to accept a full-blooded Saxon into my bed?
Surely he wasn’t the brute his father and brother were said to be, nor the beast her mother encountered. By all appearances, Wulfstan was a man of honor. One who abhorred the violence he was forced to witness as a boy and as an adult.
She climbed into bed, claimed the far side of it, and stretched out beneath the linen sheet and fur coverlets. Then she turned on her side to observe her husband.
Her breath caught in her throat. Wulfstan had undressed with dispatch and now wore only his breeches, which covered him from hips to calves. The rest of his body was open to ogling, and ogle she did.
Framed by fire, he was beautiful. Golden hair. Broad shoulders. A smooth, almost hairless chest. And a narrow patch of blond hair below his belly button that disappeared into his breeches.
Aye, she thought. I do want this. I’m ready.
Her heart pounded as he approached the bed. Without pause, he climbed in beside her.
“Shall I close the curtains?” he asked.
She shook her head, and the soft pillow brushed the left side of her face. “No. I like the firelight.”
“As do I.” He lay on his side facing her. “So.”
She stared into his eyes. “So.”
“You wanted to talk?”
“I did, but now…”
“What?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing.”
His gaze moved from her mouth back to her eyes. “Are you certain?”
I’m certain of one thing, she thought. I want you to take me in your arms and kiss me the way you did at the Wolf Stone.
’Twas time to get creative. She would talk to him for a bit, then pretend to fall asleep. After that…
“You’re smiling,” he said. “Why?”
“No reason,” she said quickly. “Ask me a question. Anything you’d like to know.”
He thought for a moment. “Every ‘Jocelyn’ I’ve met or heard of was a man. Why were you named thus?”
Her smile disappeared. “My mother explained it to me the night she told me about…”
Wulfstan’s expression was soft, encouraging. “I know which night you mean. Go on.”
“She and my father—the father who raised me—wanted to imbue me with strength. A man’s strength, so what happened to my mother would never happen to me.”
Wulfstan nodded. “I see. Yet women have strength too. In some ways, they’re stronger than men.”
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “That’s quite an admission.”
He shrugged. “’Tis true. Why shouldn’t I admit it?”
“The more we talk, the more I like you.”
He grinned. “Likewise.”
He was too handsome for his own good. Especially when he smiled.
Steady, she thought. ’Twas time to implement her plan, step by step.
She made herself yawn. “Tell me more about you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to sleep?”
“I’m quite awake. Tell me about the mystical places you’re drawn to. I know how you feel about the Wolf Stone and Woden’s Stair. And you certainly seemed at home in Woden’s Circle. Are there other such places nearby?”
His face took on a faraway look. “There is one. Not near but not too far.”
“What is it called?”
“Woden’s Pond.”
Again, she yawned. “Where is it?”
“On another of Lord Ravenwood’s properties, Druid’s Head.”
“And where is that, in relation to Ravenwood and Nihtscua?”
“Essentially between them, but to the east. ’Tis surrounded on three sides by the North Woods and on the fourth, by the Long Wood.”
Jocelyn summoned another yawn and closed her eyes. “Woden’s Pond. Describe it to me.”
Wulfstan’s voice was rich and filled with wonder. “’Tis a pool unlike any other, with ties to the past, present, and future. Leading up to it is a broad passageway bordered by trees.”
Her eyes still shut, Jocelyn murmured, “What kind?”
“Oak, the tree of Thunor, the god of thunder and lightning. The branches on either side reach out to each other and…Jocelyn?”
She didn’t respond. Feigning sleep, she breathed deeply and evenly.
“Jocelyn,” he repeated.
With her eyes still closed, she snuggled up to him and placed her hand on his chest. The heat of his flesh and the smell of his skin filled her senses.
God knew what he was thinking, but suddenly, his arm curled around her. His hand felt warm and protective on her back.
So far so good, she thought. On to the next move.
Faking restlessness, she sighed and slid her hand down his abdomen to his breeches. He gasped. Beneath the linen, his manhood stirred.
This is what he would put into me, to give me children. It grew larger and straighter by the second. Wouldn’t it hurt to have something so big inside her?
He lifted her hand and put it on her thigh instead. She nestled closer to him and put her hand right back on his bulging member.
He whispered what had to be a Saxon curse. Then he seized her shoulder and
gently shook it. “Wake up.”
She let out a louder sigh and shifted her hand from the base of his manhood to the string of his breeches.
“Turnabout is fair play,” he muttered. “Let’s see if this wakes you.”
His hand skimmed her chemise, from her shoulder to her right breast. The sheer force of her will kept her from reacting. She remained still and kept her eyes shut.
Gently, his palm pressed against her. A tingling warmth spread through her breast, then focused on her nipple. The pap hardened. The vibration intensified until her nipple pointed so straight she thought ’twould pierce her chemise.
She cried out and opened her eyes. Quickly, Wulfstan removed his hand.
There was nothing for it. She had to play dumb. She yanked her hand from his breeches. Slowly, she met his gaze.
His eyes were like crystal fire. “Are you all right?”
Her breast still tingled. Her nipple was rock hard. “I think so.”
“You fell asleep.”
“And you woke me?”
He licked his lips. “Something like that.”
You sly sorcerer, she thought. “What now?”
“We go to sleep.”
“We what?”
His gaze held hers. “You know…sleep. When you shut your eyes and—”
“I know what sleep is. I just…”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
All at once, her lack of sleep the previous night caught up with her. Tonight you win, she thought. But the war has only begun.
With a sigh, she rolled onto her back. “Nothing. Before I fell asleep, you were telling me about Woden’s Pond. Won’t you describe it again?”
“Why? Does the subject so bore you that—”
“Not at all. But the place sounds lovely, and your voice is like silk.”
“You like my voice?”
Her eyes felt scratchy, so she closed them. “Aye. Perhaps ’twill lull me to sleep again.”
“Very well,” he said. “The path that leads to the pond is lined with oaks whose leaves rustle all around you. The trees on one side are a mirror image of those on the other side, down to the tiniest branch.”
“Extraordinary,” Jocelyn murmured, her speech slurred.
His words wove a tapestry of splendor in her mind and laid a coverlet of calm around her body. “Sunlight glistens on the water. The silence embraces you…”
She drifted to sleep and dreamed of a silver lake and tree branches that twisted and interlaced like Saxon artwork. Always in the distance, a golden-haired figure waited, enigmatic and unreachable.
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