by Unknown
“Ye plannin’ to knife me in me sleep, lass?” Raife glanced from Sibyl to the knife, his gaze lingering curiously on her slim calves in their short stockings and garters before she flipped the torn, muddy fabric of her gown back over them.
“Of course not.” But her hand moved to touch the knife at her side, her eyes never leaving his.
“It must all seem very strange to ye,” he said softly, taking a step closer to crouch down to eye-level next to the bed.
“A bit.” She swallowed, her hand involuntarily clenching the knife, wondering if she could stab him before he changed into a wolf and snapped her neck in his big jaws. Not that the man had to change into any fantastical creature to kill her. He could easily snap her neck in his big hands, too.
“I will not hurt ye.” He held his hand out for the knife, his eyes soft, kind, as light as a blue summer sky. Sibyl hesitated, glancing down at the weapon in her hand, knowing it was useless against him if he was lying, but still unable to let it go.
“All right, lass, have it yer way. Keep the knife.” He sighed and stood, looking down at her in the firelight. “Are ye hungry? Stale bread and jerky isn’t much, even for a skinny lass like yerself.”
“I’m not skinny!” she protested, moving to stand too, knife in hand. She barely came to his shoulder and had to look way up to meet those startling blue eyes of his. How had he known what she’d eaten? She wondered, frowning up at the raised eyebrows on his smirking face.
“Ye can keep yer pack, too,” he told her. “The one under the bed.”
“How—?”
“Wulvers have a keen sense a smell.” He tapped his decidedly human nose, but Sibyl was remembering the wolf’s snout, the way he’d licked the tears from her face in the woods. Was it really possible, to transform from human and wolf and back again? She had seen it with her own eyes when the she-wolf changed and still, her mind didn’t want to accept.
“I had’ em set a table for ye in here,” he explained, nodding at the dishes. “Thought you might like some stew.”
“No, thank you.” Her stomach growled audibly and he arched his eyebrows again, a gesture that Sibyl found infuriating. Almost as infuriating as being called “skinny.” And “lass.”
“’Tis just rabbit.” He smiled like he could read her mind, going over to the fire and using a long, thick pole with a hooked end to lift a black iron pot. “We don’t eat humans, Sibyl.”
“Ever?” She licked her lips when he plucked the lid from the pot and the smell of stew wafted through the room. Her body clamored for real food, making her knees feel weak.
“Not for twenty years,” he assured her, picking up a ladle from the table and dishing out a bowl of the heavenly-scented stuff. “I’ve never tasted a human.”
“That’s comforting,” she said wryly, watching him dish up a second bowl before he put them both on the table and hung the pot back over the fire. She couldn’t help staring at the fireplace, wondering at its sheer size, the way it was literally carved right out of the mountain’s surface.
“Where does the smoke go?” she wondered aloud, edging closer to the fireplace, unable to help her curiosity.
“Ye are a keen one, aren’t ya?” He grinned, sitting at the table and leaning back to look at her, that amused smile still on his face. “Have you ever gone swimmin’ in a hot spring?”
“No.” She shook her head. She’d heard of them—warm pools that heated all by themselves. They had them in Bath. “But I’ve heard tell of them. I didn’t know there were any in Scotland?”
“Aye, just but a few, up’ere in the mountains,” he explained, sticking a spoon into his bowl of stew and stirring it around. The scent of rabbit meat and gravy and vegetables drew Sibyl even nearer. Raife nodded toward his steaming bowl. “They give off steam, ya ken? So we made our chimneys so the smoke, it looks just like steam rising up from the pools. No one’s the wiser.”
“Ingenious.” She slid into the seat across from him, glancing down at the bowl of stew he’d ladled for her. The dishes were made of metal, pewter perhaps, she thought. The spoons were wooden. She put her knife on the table.
“Rabbit?” she asked, putting her nose closer to the delicious smelling concoction.
“Aye, jus’rabbit.” He lifted the spoon to his lips. “Ye’ve tasted rabbit afore?”
“Of course,” she scoffed, putting a spoon into the bowl and stirring it around. It certainly smelled like rabbit. She took a taste and moaned softly, closing her eyes in bliss. Food! Her stomach clenched, asking for more.
“Go’head, lass,” he said, taking another spoonful himself. “It won’t bite ye.”
“What about you?”
“I won’t bite ye either.” He smiled softly, cocking his head at her in the soft, orange glow of the fire. “If we were going to kill ye, don’tcha think we would have done it already?”
“Mayhaps.” She continued to spoon stew in, warming her clamoring belly, hoping that logic was sound. In truth, this man had been far better to her in the space of just a day than her betrothed had been to her in the entire month she’d known him. Raife had saved her from Alistair’s wrath—and his pursuing men. This man had carried her to safety, had bandaged her wounds, had taken her in, knowing his brother, and likely his whole pack, would object. He had given her food and shelter and had asked for naught in return.
The only problem was, this man could change into an animal at any moment.
Of course, apparently, so could her betrothed. They were just different sorts of animals, she mused. And she was beginning to think that these creatures—wolves, wulvers, whatever they were called—might be preferable.
“Thank you for the food.” She glanced up at the man eating across from her. His chest was bare and strangely hairless in the firelight, his plaid secured around his waist with a thick leather belt. She would have expected far more fur on a man who was a wolf half of the time, but all his hair appeared to be on his dark head. “It is far better than jerky and dried fruit.”
“How much did ye have packed in that bag under ye skirts?” he asked, looking pointedly at her torn, tattered clothing. She’d been grateful for the fabric when she’d had to hide her satchel underneath.
“A few days, maybe a weeks’ worth,” she replied, scraping her bowl with her spoon, sad the stew had disappeared so quickly. “But I’m skinny, I don’t need much.”
“A’course.” He chuckled, taking her bowl back over to the fire and spooning more stew into it. “And where were you runnin’ off to?”
“Back…” She almost said ‘home,’ but she didn’t have one of those anymore. And she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the village where they’d left Rose. “Toward York.”
“York is home then?” He placed another full bowl of stew in front of her and she grabbed her spoon, digging in greedily.
“It was.” She nodded, talking through mouthfuls of stew. “My mother and uncle… he’s really my stepfather now, I suppose… they live in York.”
“And ye were promised to Alistair?” The man took his seat again, leaning back and crossing his arms as he studied her. “Laird of clan MacFalon?”
“Yes, but…” She swallowed a bite of stew, meeting those blue eyes across the table. He missed nothing, this man. “I didn’t want to marry him.”
“That explains why you put an arrow in’im?” Raife’s eyes pinned her to her seat.
“I suppose.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “But he deserved it.”
“Ye will nuh get an argument from me about that.” He shook his head, the dark look in his eyes clear enough. Her betrothed’s reputation preceded him. “I should’na brought you here, lass. My brother is naught right about much, but was right about that.”
“I can be on my way tonight,” she assured him, although she wasn’t as sure as she sounded. She didn’t like the idea of staying here in this wolf den—but the thought of being out there on her own in the forest at night, not knowing if Alistair’s men were stil
l searching for her, also made her hesitate. “Is it… night?”
“Ye will stay the night ’ere,” he told her firmly. “I will take ye back in the mornin’.”
“Take me back…?” She couldn’t go back, not to Alistair and Castle MacFalon, not ever.
“I will escort ye wherever ye like, Sybil.” He spoke her name softly. It was tender in his mouth, even sweet. She’d never had anyone say her name like that in all her years and didn’t understand her own reaction. It made her feel soft inside, as soft as his tartan plaid, as soft as the fur at the nape of the black wolf’s neck where she’d clung to him as they rode through woods. “All the way back to York, if that is yer wish, lass. Ye saved Laina’s life. It’s the least we can do for ye.”
Sybil hadn’t forgotten about the white she-wolf, about the way she had transformed before her very eyes. The image was burned into her memory. And while it was true that she’d saved the wolf from her cage, it had felt, to Sibyl, that she had been somehow saving herself.
“Is she… are they…?”
“They are well, she and the bairn.” He smiled, eyes softening at her concern. “I am sorry if our argument scared ye. Darrow was worried about his new bride. They should’na have left ’ere, with her so close to pup.”
“She was captured by the MacFalon huntsman.”
“Aye.” He agreed. “And she could’na change form, not in her state.”
“So you… how do you…do what you do?” Sibyl cocked her head, wondering at it. “Does everyone here change? Are you all… wulvers?”
She couldn’t believe her own questions, given how impossible, how incredible it all seemed. Thinking about it still made her a little woozy, but she couldn’t continue to deny what she’d seen with her very own eyes nor could she just continue to faint at the thought of something so unnatural. The facts were the facts. The she-wolf Laina had transformed, and so had this man.
“You’re a curious little thing.” He smiled. “We are what we are. And have always been.”
So he didn’t want to talk about it. She sat back, still feeling woozy, but for a whole different reason.
“I’m stuffed.” She gave a satisfied sigh.
“Would ye like a bath?” he asked. “Ye can soak in one of the hot springs. Kirstin will show you…”
“No.” She shook her head, eyes widening at the thought of being so vulnerable in such a strange place. She’d let her guard down enough to stuff herself full of food.
“We will not harm ye, lass,” he assured her for the umpteenth time. “I saved ye from being captured by the laird’s men, a’member? I promise no harm will come to ye here.”
“I don’t doubt you…” She met his eyes, knowing it was true. In spite of the strangeness of her predicament, in spite of the apparent reality of this new world, where men turned to wolves and back again, she believed him. “But your brother, Darrow? He sounded like he might have been considering having shasennach for dinner.”
Raife laughed at her use of the Gaelic word.
“He’s angry I brought ye here.” The man shrugged his big, heavily muscled shoulders. “But ye freed Laina. I could’na let you stay out there alone. Not with MacFalon’s men searching for ye.”
“I don’t know…” Sibyl glanced toward the doorway, considering her options. “Maybe I should just go now…”
If they were really going to let her go, she thought, she needed to do so as soon as possible, before they changed their minds. If Darrow was angry about her being there, he would only grow angrier over time.
“It’s dark and there’s no moon. You would’na get far.” Raife shook his head, eyes narrowing. “’Tis not safe out there.”
“I’m not sure it’s safe in here,” she murmured, remembering Darrow’s anger, the way he spat the word shasennach.
“Trust me, we can’na kill a human. It would bring King Henry and all of your kind down on our heads, because of the pact,” Raife informed her. “Not that your betrothed wasn’t already breaking it.”
“The pact?” She cocked her head, puzzled, as someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Raife called.
“Are ye finished then?” A pretty, young girl with long, curly, dark blonde hair peeked around the door, dimples showing as she smiled at Raife. She wore plaid too, as a skirt, belted at the waist, but underneath it was a long-sleeved, saffron tunic. Her legs were bare though, and so were her feet. It was still strange to Sybil that Scots women went around with their hair uncovered and so much of their skin bared.
“Thank ye, Kirstin.” He smiled at the girl, waving her into the room. “Will ye take Lady Sibyl to me private spring for a hot bath and get ’er something… else… to wear?”
“A’course!” Kirsten agreed, smiling at Sibyl, and she suddenly recognized her. This was the young woman who had tended the birth with the old midwife. “I’ll take these to the kitchen and bring something back for ye.”
“No, you don’t have to.” Sibyl shook her head, glancing down at her dress. It was torn and dirty, but it would be quite warm. She’d lost her hat—not that it had been much protection—and her wrap too, but this dress would serve her well out there in the woods, she thought. “I’ll be fine in this.”
“You can’na wear that.” Kirstin wrinkled her brown little nose. She was a brown girl, all over, her arms and legs, even the tops of her feet. She spent time in the sun, Sibyl thought, watching the girl clear their bowls and spoons, putting them onto a wooden tray she’d carried in with her. “I’ll get ye a proper plaid. And ye must have somethin to sleep in. I’ll be righ’back.”
Something to sleep in. That, of course, begged the question—where was she to sleep? Here, in this room? With… him? Sibyl glanced up, meeting his dancing blue eyes, and she could have sworn he was reading her very thoughts. She felt her cheeks redden, her body warming all the way to her toes. There was only one bed in this room, and it while it was plenty big enough for two, that was hardly the point.
“This room is yours, while you’re here.” Raife stood, nodding at the mattress Sibyl had woken up on. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“But… isn’t this your room?” She frowned, glancing around at the walls decorated with claymores and crossed swords. She had a feeling they weren’t all for show, like they appeared to be in Alistair’s castle. “I can’t take your room. Please, I don’t need—”
“I will’na hear of it.” Raife held up his hand, shaking his head and smiling as he looked down into her eyes. She felt like she could get lost in them, the way she did on warm, lazy days, watching clouds drift by. “Ye take yerself a bath, Lady Sibyl. Get a good night’s rest. We’ll talk more in the mornin’.”
He turned to go, but she couldn’t let him. Not without saying it. She reached out and touched his wrist, thick and heavily veined under her palm as she clasped it in her hand. Raife glanced down at where she touched him, then his gaze skipped to meet hers. Those eyes turned dark, from blue skies to the deepest part of the ocean.
“Thank you.” She swallowed, sliding her hand down into his, squeezing gently. His hand was so big, it swallowed hers. “I… don’t know how to thank you.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked down at their hands, locked together, then back into her eyes. She thought she just might lose herself in them, truly. Was she under some sort of spell? Bewitched? Is that how it worked? Her heart hammered. Her breath quickened. Her skin felt too tight, all over, as if she couldn’t quite contain herself.
“Ye were brave, lass.” His voice was low, eyes soft, as he lifted his other hand to touch her cheek. His fingers were rough, calloused, tracing the line of her jaw. “So very brave… yer father would’ve been proud.”
His words brought tears to her eyes. Her lower lip quivered and she swallowed, trying to hold them in, but they wouldn’t stay back. They spilled over, down her cheeks, and Raife moved to cup her face in his hands, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.
“G’nite.” He
took a step back, turning toward the door as Kirstin came in, carrying clothes.
“Good night,” Sibyl called. She saw him hesitate, give a brief nod, and then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
She stared after him, remembering what he’d said that had brought her to tears. She had been thinking about her father just before she had freed the she-wolf, saying that very same thing to herself. He would have been proud. And while she believed it was true, the thing she couldn’t quite understand was—how had Raife known that?
How had he known?
Chapter Five
Sibyl gave all her clothes to Kirstin and, after a long soak in the hot spring—where she nearly fell asleep and might have drowned if the Scotswoman hadn’t come in—she let the girl wash and dress her for bed like a child and tuck her in, too. Sibyl’s eyes closed all on their own. She couldn’t keep them open. The girl moved around the room, straightening and singing to herself, but Sibyl was only peripherally aware. The day had been long and she was exhausted. Before she fell asleep, she caught the scent of Raife on her pillow. It was the last thing she remembered, smiling to herself, until she woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a baby crying.
She woke with a start, the room cool—the fire had burned low—not knowing where she was. Then it came back to her in an instant. She remembered everything. Everything. And the chill wasn’t all that made her shudder. She was in a wolves’ den and, if any of them wanted to kill her, that door wouldn’t keep them out. Sibyl put her head back down on the pillow—it still smelled like Raife—and tried to sleep again.
But the baby continued to cry.
She tried to judge how close it was. Things seemed to echo down here. Sound was strange. But it sounded very close. Right next door mayhaps. Laina’s baby? Was it ill? The sound went on and on. The baby was frantic now.
Sibyl got up, glancing around for something to put on, but her dress was gone. She was wearing her underwear and a long shirt that came to mid-thigh. There was a plaid on the chair and a leather belt. Sibyl did her best, cinching the belt around her waist over her nightshirt, so the plaid hung just past her bare knees, and then pulled the extra plaid fabric over her shoulder, tucking it into her belt. She considered going out into the hallway barefoot—she couldn’t find her stockings or garters—but the mountain floor was cold, so she tied her soft soled shoes on before opening the big door to her room.