Wolf's Embrace

by Gail Link

  "Hold yer damned tongue, stupid bitch!"

  Emond was rewarded with a back-handed slap from Sir John that knocked his head against the wall, stunning him momentarily.

  "Does she speak the truth?" He snorted in disgust. Sir John needed no more words from the man. "You are the stupid one, thinking you could betray your lord and get away with it. This woman's words only serve to incriminate you further. Your own words the night you described the abduction condemned you, you fool." Sir John turned from the man and said gently to the woman, "Tell my man to see you safely to your home. You shall be amply rewarded for your courage."

  Her head rose. "I need no payment. If I was to take coin for speaking against him, then I would be the same as him. No, I did not do what I did for money. 'Tis for the kindness and care shown by my lady that I spoke." She added sadly, "And by doin' this, mayhap I free my children of a traitor's influence." She spat in the prisoner's face. "Pig! Now I shall be forced to flee this place where I was born so that my children are not tainted with your disloyalty."

  Sir John questioned her. "Where will you journey?"

  "I have family, a sister, in Cork. She will take me in."

  "You will not reconsider the money?"

  She smiled, a proud shake to her head. "No, thank you." She turned to leave without a glance at her husband.

  "Don't leave me," Emond wailed.

  "Silence," Sir John said. "Now will you tell the truth?"

  "She's a lying bitch. Do not believe her."

  "I do. Talk."

  "I told ye," he simpered, afraid that he was going to suffer for what he had done. "The Wolf made me."

  "So, that is the story as you continue to tell ?"

  "'Tis the truth."

  "Truth is something of which you have no knowledge. And you shall pay dearly for that."

  "No, ye must believe me."

  Sir John's laughter filled the tiny room, bouncing off the walls with a macbre ring. "Must I? Had you been a brave man, you would have been spared." He worked the blade of his very sharp dagger so that it cut through the cheap garments, slicing through the fabric, exposing the prisoner.

  The man's eyes widened in horrified shock as he saw the dispassionate look on Sir John's face, felt the cold steel against his flesh. The smell of human waste tinged the air; the loud screams Emond made echoed in the room.

  Sir John took the proferred material with which to wipe away the traces of blood from his dagger before replacing it in its sheath.

  "What shall we do with him?" the guard asked.

  Sir John glanced at the man hanging from the wall chains. "Remove that offending piece of offal from my sight. He is to be hung. Leave the body for the crows, as a reminder of what fate befalls traitors." He heard the screeching of the rats. "Wait till morning to hang him. Give me your sword." The guard did as he was told and Sir John stuck the tip into the flame of the torch. He turned back to the hapless man. The odor of burning flesh was pungent.

  Sir John returned the blade to the flame and wiped off the steel before returning it to the guard. "I don't want him dead ere the rest of the sentence can be carried out."

  "It shall be as you command, Sir John."

  "Good." He closed the door and left the cell in darkness once again. "I'm famished. Let us get some supper."

  Chapter 23

  Rolf held the bracelet in his hand, feeling the weight of it, examining the quality of the workmanship until he was satisfied that it was exactly what he wanted.

  "When snapped on the wearer's wrist, it locks into place, my lord, and unless you have the key, it cannot be removed without doing damage to the workmanship," the smith said proudly. He knew his lord was an exacting man. He felt justifiably satisfied of this special golden bracelet, made smaller than the ones he'd crafted years ago for his lord's birthday, a gift from his parents.

  'You have pleased me greatly, for it is what I want, and I think that it will please the person who gets it." Rolf took from the inner pocket of his cloak a sum of coins wrapped in a piece of linen. He tossed them to the smith with a dazzling smile.

  The man took the payment and counted it out. He was overjoyed at the extra sum that Rolf had included with the original agreed-upon price.

  "'Tis for a job well done and at such short notice. Good workmanship deserves a just payment." Rolf held the object of jewelry up to the light. "Perfect," he said in his deep voice.

  The goldsmith gave a slight bow. "As always, 'tis a pleasure to serve a man as perceptive as you, my lord." He looked around his small shop. "Is there anything else that takes your interest?"

  Rolf looked at a handsome pair of candlesticks. He picked one up, examining the figures carved into the gold.

  "Are they to your liking, my lord?"

  "Aye. Could you add initials to these without spoiling the rest of the design?"

  The smith pointed to a spot in the work and Rolf nodded. "I foresee no problem, my Lord Killroone. Give me the initials you desire carved and it shall be done. Must this also be a work that is needed soon?"

  "No," Rolf said thoughtfully. "These are a gift that will keep." He pulled on his thick leather gloves, returned the bracelet to the velvet bag, and pulled taut the gold threads.

  At that instant, the assistant to the goldsmith, an apprentice, came from the back of the shop to show the master what he was doing with a particular piece. Rolf noted the craftsmanship that the lad was producing. The necklace the youth held in his hands gave him another idea.

  "My brother, the Lord Branduff's birthday, is within two months. I would have a special gift made for him to commemorate the occasion."

  The apprentice and the master listened carefully as Rolf explained the design that he wanted, the blending of the symbols. Satisfied that his wishes would be carried out, he left the establishment.

  "The Earl of Killroone's patronage is important to you, isn't it, Master Abraham?"

  The old man nodded his head. "The patronage and the protection mean more than my livelihood, lad," he said, ruffling the hair of the youth. "They mean my freedom and my very life. Here I am allowed to be a man of business, of property, without fear." The smith escorted the boy back into the workroom bulging with the tools of his trade, from precious and semi-precious stones, to gold and silver. Here Abraham had no fear that any night he would be awakened by a mob banging on his door, nor did he wonder when someone would try and rob him of what valuables he kept for his work.

  "Killroone made me and mine a pledge of safe harbor, in exchange for leaving what we used to call a life in France."

  "How did you meet him?" the boy asked in French.

  "I rendered a service to him while he was visiting friends in Paris. He returned the favor when a disgruntled man who did not have the money to pay his bill decided that I had cheated him. He threatened me, and Lord Killroone intervened when he stopped by to pick up a gift for his parents."

  "That was brave of him."

  "Oui, Benjamin, that it was." Master Abraham pulled out a piece of parchment and began to sketch the design that Rolf requested. His old fingers completed the sharp scratchings quickly. He stopped, looked, and added another flourish.

  "He bade me come to Ireland and teach my craft, promising that I could worship on his lands as I please. So I sold my business and moved my family to Killroone's estate."

  Abraham smiled as he thanked God for this wise choice on his part. Now he was favored with trade for many quarters, thanks to the earl's influence. He had several talented apprentices, both Irish and French, who came to learn the ancient ways of crafting jewelry from raw materials into works of art.

  Already he had begun work on the jeweled cask he would present to the earl on the day of his wedding. And from the gossip heard in the village, that day would be sooner than expected. He watched as Benjamin went to work on his own effort. Abraham removed the work of gold studded with gems from a locked cabinet. Mayhap he had better finish this piece. He set to work.

  «»«»«»«»«»�
�»«»«»«»«»«»«»

  Rolf looked across the chess board at his partner. Sybelle played well, perhaps a trifle recklessly at times, but there was a boldness to her moves. There was about her tonight a glow, an inner radiance that he couldn't fathom. She was the embodiment of legends, the essence of supreme feminine charm.

  Sybelle too was reflective. She knew that, if the plan succeeded, this was her last night in Rolf's castle. She wondered why she felt a sudden trace of sadness creep into her heart. Shouldn't she be trying to stave off a smug smile? But this was difficult to do when one couldn't summon such a thing. Her eyes kept straying to the man who had so commanded her destiny these past months. Would he miss her company? Or would he be merely angry that she had somehow thwarted his scheme of revenge? And why had he not told her the contents of his cousin's, her new lady mother's, letter? Did he think that she wouldn't find out?

  Was it only the presence of the woman whose body he craved that he would miss? What of Sybelle? Would he be thankful that the choice of going against her powerful father was taken from his hands?

  And what of the babe?

  Underneath the table set up for this quiet game of chess, Sybelle's fingers strayed to the belly that gave sanctuary to the seed rooted inside. Etain had said that Rolf would be overjoyed. Would he? She had no idea if he had already fathered any children. Had he? What of them? Would he think it the ultimate justice to impregnate and abandon the English earl's daughter? Or would he have forced her to bear his child and then sent it, and her, away? Would those green eyes light up at the prospect of fathering her babe? Or would they turn cold and aloof? Or worse yetwould they gleam darkly in triumph and indifference?

  She moved her chess piece, seeing the look of surprise in those ensnaring eyes. She'd taken him off guard. He flashed a smile so disarming that her heart quickened. She was raging a battle inside herself. To have found in her captor the man she believed it possible to live with in marriage struck her as the height of ironic folly. He was unlike the men she had known before, content with their place, who did not journey beyond their boundaries. They challenged not, and were not challenged themselves. They read little and questioned little. Rolf did both, and he enjoyed the exercise. Several times he had joined her while she and Tadgh discussed Irish customs. Their conversations were lively and quick-witted, with both enjoying the thrust of the barbed comment.

  Therein was the danger that tugged at her heart and spirit. She found in Rolf the man she could both love and respect, who provoked her, and made her feel so very alive and aware of herself as a woman. Tomorrow she would quit this place, leave behind the spellbinding virile force that was Rolf O'Dalaigh. But could she put this sojourn, truthfully, behind her? She carried his babe, her babe, below her heart. This child was the result of the blending of them both into another being. She was awed by that notion.

  Sybelle supposed that she should be feeling shame. Surprisingly, there was none. Even the idea that she would now be considered damned amongst her own kind couldn't destroy the secret happiness she felt at knowing that she was with child.

  Tonight was all that was left. A calmness, a tranquility overcame her pensive mood, granting her a strange kind of peace.

  Rolf watched the slim fingers moving her piece on the board. Tonight he would present her with the bracelet. He would come to her room later that evening when all were asleep. His mouth curved into a secretive smile. He could well imagine her wearing nothing but the bracelet and her skin. His blood flowed hot at that thought.

  "Rolf, may I take you away from your game for a few minutes to go over some of these papers with you?" Bran interrupted.

  ''With your permission, Sybelle?" Rolf asked, a raised black brow adding a touch of the rogue to his handsome face.

  "As you wish, my lord," Sybelle responded, pushing back her chair, catching the movement at the door of the solar. Etain entered, spoke a few words to the brothers and proceeded to Sybelle's side.

  "I thought it best to pay a visit this night so that I could arrange for a long sleep for my lord."

  Sybelle touched her hand in concern. "'Twill not harm him in any way?"

  Etain smiled at the grave concern in Sybelle's voice. "Nay. He will sleep deeply and awake after the ship has sailed. A sleeping draught of this sort I've used several times before. 'Tis harmless, only allowing rest."

  "How will he take it?"

  "Branduff has ordered a special bottle of wine from Rolf's cellars. 'Tis a French favorite of my lord's. I will slip some of the potion into it."

  "Are you sure that you are still willing?" Sybelle asked, pretending interest in the needlework Etain was using as a cover for this meeting. The piece was richly detailed and aglow with fine colors.

  "You know the answer to that, Lady Sybelle." Etain's eyes were touched with moisture. "Your unhappiness wounds me. And mayhap he does not know it yet, but it wounds my lord also. My heart tells me that you and he are part of one soul, that the ancient ones meant for you and he to be together. The babe is proof of that. Your union is blessed. I do this for him, also."

  Etain turned her face towards Rolf, silently bidding adieu to any further passion between them. Her wise mother was so very correct. The Wolf had met his mateonly he had not formally recognized the inescapable fact. Etain knew Rolf must be unshackled, along with Sybelle, from the bonds of revenge. No good could come of no choice. Each must be free. It was, ironically, freedom for her too.

  "Tomorrow I will ride in early and we will exchange clothes. Be sure you keep the cloak tight about your face lest someone discover the fact that we've switched identities for the day."

  "Words cannot express my gratitude. If ever you need my help, seek out the Earl of Derran. Send word to me through my father."

  "I shall remember that." She paused. "What will you do? Will you return to your estates in Ireland?"

  Sybelle smiled sadly. "I think not. Too much has happened for me to want to return there now." She closed her eyes, her lashes fanning her skin. "God, how I do miss my home. At night I dream I am there, walking in my mother's garden. But for now 'tis better if I remain in England for a time. My father has secure keeps there."

  "Mayhap 'tis best."

  "I think so," Sybelle replied, glancing at the two brothers, deep in conversation. On the morrow the closeness between them would be torn asunder. She could halt what would happen if she chose. She had only to tell Bran and Etain that it was over. A sweeping tristesse fingered along her nerves. There was no turning back now. Their actions were set into motion. She must finish as she meant to, ignoring the consequences.

  A knock sounded on the door, and the servant girl, Maire, entered carrying a tray containing several glasses and a bottle of wine. She spoke in Gaelic to Bran and Wolf. Bran responded by engaging in a touch of flirtation with her, bringing a swift blush to her cheeks, before she responded with a remark that drew a stain of red across the taut flesh of his cheekbones.

  Rolf laughed, as did Etain.

  Sybelle felt an outsider at the closeness exhibited in the room, even though Etain explained the remark after she ceased laughing. It brought to mind how dearly she missed her own family. Soon, she told herself, she would be able to embrace her sisters and her father, not to mention a new mother her own age. This would all be a distant memory. It must be, for her to retain any hope of happiness in her future. This was soon to be her past, and it must remain forever so.

  Rolf opened the bottle. Skillfully, Etain dropped the contents of the ring she wore into Rolf's glass as she secured a glass of wine for herself and one for Sybelle.

  All drank heartily of the brew. Sybelle and Etain politely refused another glass, both bidding their goodnights.

  "We leave the game unfinished?" Rolf asked.

  "It will keep," Sybelle replied.

  Rolf nodded and returned to his words with Bran, pouring another glass of wine.

  The game is already over, my lord, Sybelle mused, only you do not know it. Check and mate to me, she t
hought, sweeping from the room and giving him a last look, recording all the details of his face in her memory.

  «»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

  Rolf yawned as he tried to divest himself of his garments. He couldn't imagine why he was so tired. His eyelids felt weighted down. He blinked twice, grabbing for the thickly carved bedpost.

  Mayhap he had better forget undressing before he went to Sybelle. Time enough for that when he was done doing what he wanted to do.

  Rolf hefted the weight of the velvet bag in his hands. He picked up the elaborate branch of candles from his bedside and proceeded down the hall and up the stairs to her room.

  All was in shadow as he moved silently. He found that he had to stop occasionally as the weariness he experienced threatened to overcome him. He forced himself on, pushing aside the fatigue.

  «»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

  Sybelle dipped the quill in the inkpot and wrote the word across the middle of the parchment sheet. She didn't offer her name or his. When he read it she hoped that he would understand.

  Lugh's bark forced her to halt. She shoved the note under the pillow of her bed.

  The door opened and she gasped. There stood Rolf. Etain had assured her the sleeping draught would take effect quickly. Obviously Rolf's will was stronger then Etain anticipated.

  Sweet Jesu, Rolf thought, but she was a vision, a creation to be savored. He walked in, placing the candles beside the bed. He couldn't resist the temptation to sample her inviting lips. He bent his head, touching the fullness slightly, in a caress tender and sweet, as if she were a precious and fragile object.

  She saw the flickering of his eyelashes, the inner control that made him straighten in spite of what she assumed was his overwhelming need to sleep.

  "What brings you here, now, my lord? I am quite tired and would seek my bed, alone." She said that in a way she hoped sounded harsher than she meant. She went to walk away, to put some distance between them, for the warmth of his flesh was so close to hers. The sight of his long-lashed green eyes was enough to make her resolve weaken. How easy it would be to tumble to the comforting sheets in his arms and take sweet, seductive memories away with her.