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The little girl glanced up at Rowan before replying. “It’s a wolf pelt,” she finally said, and Blanchette thought she heard irony in her light voice.
Rowan gripped the child’s shoulder. It was an awkward and strained movement, and that mere touch seemed to dwarf her. He turned back to the black-bearded knight. The man had kind eyes creased by smile lines and years under a beating sun. “Sir Jeremy, would you be so kind as to bring Mary’s things into the castle?” After Sir Jeremy left, he said to Blanchette, “I’d like you to meet someone very special. This is my daughter, Mary Dietrich.”
Blanchette’s gaze shot up to Rowan’s. She saw the beginnings of a story there. What was it? How could he have had a daughter all this time?
Who is this man, really?
Blanchette glanced at the little girl, who barely came to his waist. She’d removed her wimple, freeing a mane of blond curls that reminded Blanchette of her own. Without thinking, Blanchette smoothed down her own hair and gave the girl a smile that felt strained. The beat of her heart came a little faster, and when she knelt and enveloped the girl in her arms, she hoped Mary couldn’t feel her shaking.
After a moment, Blanchette pulled out of the hug. She set a hand on each of Mary’s delicate shoulders. “I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Blanchette Winslowe. You are most welcome here, Mary. And who is this?” she asked, running her fingers through the doll’s streaming black hair.
“Her name is Lady Penelope.”
The girl was all shy smiles and pink cheeks, no older than seven years. But there was also a sadness in those blue eyes… one that Blanchette knew well. Eyes that are so much like my own. “I’d love to show you and Lady Penelope to your room. Would you like to come with me, Mary?” She nodded shyly, her golden curls bouncing about her shoulders. Then she took her hand, and they left together, leaving the Black Wolf speechless behind them.
* * *
Later that night, after Mary had settled into Willem’s old chambers, Rowan Dietrich, the fabled Black Wolf of Norland, lounged before the hearth and read to his daughter. A wooden table sat beside him, overflowing with nuts, berries, crystal wineglasses, and a bronze decanter.
She really was the sweetest-looking child Blanchette had ever seen. She was a vision in a vibrant brocade dress and a matching wimple. Wavy blond hair framed her slim shoulders. She looked impossibly small and bright beside Rowan—a sunbeam among shadows.
Rowan read to her softly, his voice barely audible over the popping hearth. Blanchette watched as Smoke’s paws twitched while he slept. He laid his massive head on top of him, and his black fur camouflaged in the shadows.
Blanchette stepped to the side to better conceal herself in shadow, but her hip bumped against one of the long wooden benches that lined the walls. Smoke awoke, ever on guard, and lifted his head at the sound. Her breath caught as Rowan jerked his face toward her. He stood, and the room instantly vibrated with his presence. The fire silhouetted his tall, muscled body and legs that seemed to go on forever. Rowan had dressed in a simple tunic, the ties loose at the neck. Smooth, tanned skin peeked out there. Blanchette curled her fingers against the urge to caress that skin.
“Blanchette,” he said, “come forward.”
Blanchette felt her legs moving, yet it seemed like she was wading through a dream. The shadows were deep and dark as she wandered to the hearth. Only two braziers were lit. Their flames licked at the stone walls and murmured a cozy hum.
Rowan’s eyes were riveted on her.
Has he ever looked at me that way before?
Rowan cleared his throat. Suddenly, he looked very uncomfortable. “Mary, the hour is late, and you’ve traveled far. Sir Jeremy will show you to your chambers.”
Mary glanced up at Blanchette again, wary, the faintest smile playing on her lips. “Can… can Smoke come with me?”
“Aye… that shall be fine,” Rowan tentatively said, giving his daughter an awkward pat on her shoulder.
Then she was off with the knight and the black wolf, her shimmering blond hair swallowed up by the shadows.
Several moments of silence passed. Finally, Rowan stepped near Blanchette, and she felt a rush of body heat envelop her. He looked at her in a way he never had before. It caused her breath to catch, sweat to form on her palms, and her heart to thunder. Blanchette eyed that patch of exposed skin at his neck and tightened her fingers against the temptation building inside her.
“I should have told you about Mary sooner.”
“I understand,” Blanchette finished because she did understand. “Really, I do. You were keeping her safe.”
Rowan sighed, his beautiful eyes staring into the hearth. Then he sat in one of the wingback chairs and gestured to the adjacent one. Blanchette felt a little lightheaded from the turn of events. Gratefully, she took a seat. She would have fallen had she remained standing.
“I was keeping her safe, aye. But… well, it was more than that.”
Strange, Blanchette thought. And a bit eerie. Watching Mary move through the darkness was like watching herself move through the castle as a child. She shivered from the queer thought. It was as if a ghost was in their midst, a ghost from her own past… a ghost of her former self.
But no, her mind objected while she gazed at Rowan’s troubled features. This was Rowan’s ghost—a phantom from his past who’d finally come home.
Rowan poured two glasses of wine from the bronze decanter, and Blanchette felt the warmth of his fingers as he handed her the glass. She inhaled the fragrant bouquet of the wine. The aroma of the fine red tantalized her senses. The sweet and inviting liquid filled her body with its fuzzy warmth. Beads of wine gathered on her bottom lip. She licked them away while Rowan’s intense gaze never wavered from her.
His eyes were riveted on her again, and she saw blatant desire flashing in their depths. She took another sip and felt that lightheaded sensation grow.
