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  Willelm stood silent for a moment before he responded, “I have met a few silly women in my time, but you are no such woman.”

  He held his hand out for the horse’s reins, which she placed in his grasp. They returned to the wagon in silence. Before she could climb up to her place in the cart, he offered his assistance as she took her first step.

  While she busied herself retrieving breakfast and drink for them both, he secured the horses to the wagon. When he had settled up front on the bench, she gave him some bread, salted meat and a leather bladder filled with ale. She was shocked when he thanked her.

  It did not take long before they were on the road again, bumping across the countryside. They were delayed by a fallen tree and had to find a path around. The folded blanket she sat upon did not prevent her backside from bruising.

  They passed cottages and farms along the way, but still, near nightfall, they found a secluded clearing. Instead of stopping near a meadow, they were protected by a forest of beech trees. A lovely canopy of leaves knitted together to create a tapestry of green and yellow above them. Tall, regal boughs from gray trunks reached high into the sky, screening the setting sun.

  Similar to the prior evening, they ate in near silence and Willelm repeated his instructions for her to remain in the wagon. He crept away in the growing dusk, disappearing amongst the trees. Rayne found herself as much comfort as she could at the back of the wagon, hoping her nighttime visitor would come that evening.

  Again she woke in the middle of the night. Her lids slid open to stare up at the linen canopy—a pattern of shadows cast from moonlight and leaves. She sat upright and waited to hear gentle rustling from the hound, but it did not come. Willelm was nowhere to be seen; the only living things nearby were the sleeping forms of the horses tied to a tree.

  It was then she heard it. Not the crackling of underbrush, but faint whimpered cries in the depths of the forest. She held her breath to confirm the sounds, and again, she heard them.

  Disregarding the request of her protector, she climbed from the back of the wagon. There was little moonlight cast from between the leaves and branches of the wood, but enough for her to find her way. She kept her blanket wrapped about her shoulders as she crept in the dark toward the quiet whimpers. The sounds grew louder the farther she went, spurning her to move more quickly.

  When she reached the top of a little rise, she found a narrow leaf-covered basin with a gaping pit at its center. From the cavity the soft moans repeated. She stepped carefully down the slope to the mouth of the hole. Leaves were cast over dried sticks covering its lip. She’d discovered a wolfpit, designed to trap and exterminate wolves by order of the king. Stones lined the abyss, leading down to spikes pointed up to the heavens. On them was the body of her hound.

  “Oh, no!” she cried, kneeling to the ground.

  Rayne looked at the animal. Sharpened bloodied points punctured through both the animal’s shoulder and its thigh. Its head lolled to the side so that it might look at her, and a high pitched whine escaped its muzzle.

  “Shh.” She tried to quiet it down. If it were truly an apparition, she thought it would have simply dispersed, escaping all injury. “I do not know how to help you.”

  Rayne dropped the blanket from her shoulders and leaned in to study the pit. A few of the rocks near the lip of the cavity stuck out farther and would make for good handholds. The outer edges of the well had no spikes. If she were careful, she might be able to climb down to take a better look.

  She brushed all of the sticks and leaves from the remainder of the opening before turning on her belly and easing her legs over the edge. Her hands clung to the rocks as her leather-clad toes reached for footing. Her feet scrambled until the tips of her shoes touched the bottom. Her skirt caught one of the wooden stakes. She couldn’t move until she pulled it free.

  The hound’s eyes gleamed in the dark. She felt them travel with her as she reached toward it. A soft whimper stirred from the animal’s maw. The long wiry fur covering its body slowly shrank away. Its frame grew and changed. Muscles enlarged and plumped until the fleshy form of a man lay upon the stakes in the canine’s place.

  Rayne’s breath hitched in her throat as she stared in disbelief. She may have imagined a man’s soul trapped in her hound’s body, but this was not what she’d envisioned. While she was frozen in shock, the man groaned in pain and turned his shadowed head to face her.

  Panting in agony, Willelm pleaded in a whisper, “Help me.”

  His words jarred Rayne from her trance. The stakes were varying heights: the one through his shoulder was the longest. Blood began to pool and trickle from his wounds. She attempted to avoid gazing at his nakedness, for it would be improper, even though she had occasionally seen her late husband exposed and was familiar with a man’s form. Moonlight touched the knight’s body, revealing his strong build. She may have been a determined sort of woman, but she was not that muscular and was unsure how to help him from the torturous pincushion. Then she had a thought.

  “First your leg—prepare yourself,” she said to him.

  His eyes narrowed. He took two deep breaths in preparation, then nodded. She reached for the leg that had been run through. Her fingers grasped around his knee, and she lifted straight up. A cry broke from his lips as his flesh was freed from the spike. No sooner had the spear been removed than a flow of blood began to trace from the wound.

  He tried to use his injured leg to lift himself onto his feet, dragging his shoulder up along its skewer, but he still needed to lift higher. The other stakes were in the way, and it was clear he was quickly losing his strength. Getting as close to him as she could, she laced her hands together and said, “Can you—do you think can use me to lift yourself?”

  “I”—he panted a few times—“shall try.”

  She leaned over to put out her hands, knitted by her fingers, and helped place one of his feet upon them. His weight pressed down, and she fought hard not to let him fall. Willelm’s uninjured arm clung to the rock-lined pit while he lifted himself the remaining distance off the spike. His body faltered, and she cried out, “Do try to climb free!”

  If he could not ascend from the pit himself, she did not know how she would get him out. It would already be a feat for her to climb out in her gown. Her words of encouragement coaxed him upward. His uninjured arm and leg flexed with effort as she lifted his foot until he was able to drag himself over the edge. She could hear his forced breaths from outside the hole and knew it was up to her to climb free.

  Rayne reached for the upper rocks built into the frame and searched for a foothold. With much struggle she slowly emerged from the pit, nearly falling back in before reaching the top. On her hands and knees on the forest floor, she gasped to catch her breath before going to his side.

  Willelm remained where he’d rolled over. His back was exposed, revealing more than just the puncture through his shoulder and thigh. Other points had scratched through, leaving a bloody constellation of spots on his flesh. Her discarded blanket was on the ground beside him, so she laid it out and tried to wake him.

  “Sir, can you rally?” She placed her hands upon his good shoulder, but there was no response. Fear crept into her heart. What if he was already dead?

  He gave no response, but she noticed the rise and fall from his breathing and was encouraged he might yet live. She wanted to return him to the wagon. There were provisions that might help him. Rayne knew what she had to do.

  She placed her hands on his shoulder and hip to roll him back onto the blanket. It took much effort, but he was rolled back into the center of the fabric. The sides were folded over him before she took up the corners and braced herself, pulling. He was all muscle and that of tall stature, but Rayne had the power of fear coursing through her. She dragged his cocooned body behind her, stopping every few steps to recover, gathering strength and courage.

  It was not far to the wagon, but it took every last bit of her energy to get him there. She immediately uncovered
his head, leaving his body wrapped for warmth, and was relieved to find he was still breathing. When she tried speaking to him, there was no response. Besides some basic skills, she did not know how to tend injuries such as his. Upon their arrival he began to shiver and quake.

  Rayne went to the wagon in search of flint and steel and found it amongst his things. In the moonlight she scoured the forest floor for dry kindling and branches and soon had a mound built up beside Willelm’s limp body. She brought a bloom of fire to life, blowing gently at its flame. She knew he wanted to avoid creating smoke so as not to alert robbers to their location, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

  Heat radiated from her small campfire, yet he still shivered and shook. She peeled away his wrappings to check on his shoulder and found it bleeding just as it had when he’d removed the stake. Rayne watched his life force ooze from his body, helpless to stop it. She made many attempts to get him to drink from his leather bladder, but was unsuccessful.

  Rayne propped herself up against the wheel of the wagon, watching him. She thought of his brown eyes staring out at her in the form of the hound. From the start she’d been struck by their intelligence and expressive quality. It was what had led her to imagine a man’s soul trapped in the beast’s body.

  It had been Willelm all the while, watching over her. The man whose gruffness aggravated her to no end. She had believed him indifferent and uncaring, yet she’d clearly been wrong. Thoughts formed, then broke free against her will. Her eyes blinked against the warmth from the fire as it lulled her into the fog of sleep.

  Chapter 5

  A branch snapped, sending her lids open. She’d slumped over onto the leaf-covered ground during the early hours of the morning. Light was just beginning to illuminate the sky through the forest canopy. The fire’s flames had gone out, but it still crackled and sputtered at the cold air.

  Rayne pushed herself upright, looking at the place she’d left Willelm. Only the bloodstained blanket remained on the ground. Her head whipped around as she searched for him. “Willelm?”

  She got up to walk around the wagon. The horses were still tied to their branch and everything was as it had been, except there was no sign of her escort. Her heart trembled as she feared the worst. Had animals dragged him away in the night to feed on his helpless body? Or upon his death, had he turned into dust?

  Tears spilled from her eyes as her shaky voice called out again, “Willelm?”

  “Hush, now,” a deep voice said nearby. “You will wake the whole forest.”

  She turned to find him dressed again in his blue surcoat and the prior day’s attire while he made his way through the woods. His eyes appeared deeper set, revealing his exhaustion, and his hair was uncombed, shaggy about his rugged face, yet he seemed well.

  When he stopped by the dying embers of the fire, she found her voice. “How can this be? Was it only a night terror?”

  Forgetting herself, she went to his side, pulling away the opening of his tunic and coat to check his wound. His flesh was free of injury. She could find no mark or scar. He turned his face, and she felt his eyes and even his breath on her. She let go of his clothing and stepped away, embarrassed.

  “It was no dream,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

  “But I do not understand.”

  He leaned down to pick up the bloodied blanket from the ground. “I only required the strength to become the hound once more. It is what put me right again.”

  “Is it a curse?” she asked, uncertain if it could be considered a blessing.

  “In a way, it is. Yet I am flesh and bone.”

  She could find no more words. She did not know what to think. This gentleman before her appeared and felt just as real as anything else in this world, but she’d witnessed him change shape. His secret had been revealed to her. Magic was something to be feared. Yet somehow, she did not fear Willelm or think him evil.

  “You saved me,” he said, looking up at her. “Gramercy.”

  A faint smile touched her lips as she answered, “You have done far more for me. Are you hungry? Or do you not require sustenance?”

  He squatted down to deposit dirt over the embers of the fire, and his cheeks lifted into a half grin, the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen on his face. “I require the same things as any other man. I am, indeed, hungry.”

  She remained still as she watched him go to the horses and fasten them to the wagon. He led her to the front and offered his hand so she might climb inside. The warmth of his fingers remained on her skin as she found provisions for a meal. Like every other time they’d shared refreshment, they ate in silence, but their eyes would meet and avert in embarrassment.

  “Your abbey is just thither.” He reached for the reins and gave them a snap. The horses began to move forward and out of their quiet glade. “You will have many stories to share with the nuns.”

  “I would never,” she answered without a thought.

  She stared at his back as he drove the horses onto the bumpy lane. He turned his head to answer, but fell silent. In days past she had not minded the quiet that fell between them, but it was unwelcome to her in that moment. Though she did not know how to mend it. She knew not what to say, so she too let all things go unspoken.

  The wagon found better travels once they emerged from the woods. Fields led them to their final destination. Her chest hurt when the stony tower could be seen from her seat within the wagon. A bell’s toll echoed, reaching her ears. It seemed to mark the beginning of her new life, the end of the old.

  The horse’s hooves clopped over the grass leading up to the abbey. It was a grand sight. Its architecture reflected the greatest of its time. Beautiful arches and stone buildings covered the greensward. They approached closer to the walls of the church and stopped before its arched doors.

  A nun dressed in a black habit and an undyed wimple came out to greet them. As soon as Rayne was out of the wagon, she recognized the woman. “Pray, I hope you are well, Aunt Matilda!”

  The woman offered her a hug and pulled away to look at her. “Rayne! I am happy to see you safely delivered. Were your travels unpleasant?”

  “If the robbers had their way, I would not be hither. But Sir Willhelm’s chivalry would not allow them to prevail.” Rayne introduced her escort to her aunt. She felt Matilda’s eyes trace between her face and the dark-haired man’s.

  “Gramercy, sir, for escorting my niece safely,” the nun said, bowing her head.

  With the pleasantries dispensed far more quickly than Rayne would have liked, two monks came out to assist Willhelm with removing her dowry and personal effects from the back of the wagon. She held onto her writing box, not wanting to be parted from it.

  Her aunt saw her clutch it tight and stepped closer to her. “Your dowry to the church is as it should be, but any other belongings you will not be allowed to keep.”

  Rayne swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and nodded. Matilda placed her hand on her niece’s shoulder, looking to Willhelm. “Best say farewell. I wish to present you to Abbess Ellenor.”

  She nodded again in silence and watched her aunt walk way. She stared at the painted box that held all of the tools she’d treasured through her life. It was her most valued possession and something she would have to let go of to start her new life with the church.

  “Keep yourself safe, lady. I know your penchant for excitement.” Willelm’s voice drew her from her thoughts.

  Rayne looked up into his face. Sunlight touched his brown eyes, revealing various russet shades. His countenance was solemn and drawn, reflecting her own sadness. She took a deep breath and held out the box to him. “Prithee, I cannot think of a better place for this than amongst your mother’s things upon her desk. Read the prose within it if you wish, for it is about none other than you.”

  He made no motion to retrieve it from her, so she pressed it against his chest and whispered, “Prithee.”

  Willelm lifted his hands to grasp it, brushing his skin against
hers. Their fingers overlapped. She held onto the moment like it was an eternity, then stepped away from him. “Gramercy for your safe escort. I am forever grateful.”

  Without another look, she turned to meet her aunt at the entrance of the abbey almost in a daze. She was led to meet the abbess and sat unhearing as things were dictated to her. Protocol and rules were rattled off, yet she heard none of it. She was led to a long room divided by many screens. Simple beds lay in between. Narrow windows allowed little daylight in.

  She was ushered to her own curtained cubicle, handed neatly folded fabric and instructed to change out of her gown. Alone at her bedside, she curled upon the mattress and began to weep. She could not understand her feelings, only that she could not stop them from spilling forth in the form of tears.

  The light from the window over her bed dissolved away, and soon darkness filled the chamber. She woke to the touch of a hand laid upon her shoulder. Her aunt’s voice came out soft and low. “I see you are in distress, my dear. Most ladies find joy when they pass through thither arches. I cannot hear your confession, but I come to thee as family. What troubles you?”

  “I do not know,” Rayne said through pursed lips.

  Silence greeted her in return. Then Matilda said even softer, “You do a great disservice lying to yourself.”

  Rayne lifted herself into a sitting position. “I thought the only choice for my happiness was to come away from father’s plans to a place I could become a scribe, but now—”

  Her aunt sat beside her on the bed. “Many come here fleeing their life, others because they have no other choice. This is a place to find joy, to dedicate oneself in entirety to prayer. You have not yet taken vows. Despite what you may think, you still have a choice. Whatever you decide, I pray it is based on your own truth and what brings you joy.”

  “I miss her,” Rayne wept. It had been fifteen long years since she’d had the company of her mother, Matilda’s sister. She had been absent during the planning of Rayne’s marriage to a wealthy Norman. She’d been absent all those long years while she was forced to listen to her father scold her weak female traits.