didn’t know what it meant. She looked up at him, puzzled, when he set her on her feet. The upending made her dizzy and she clung to him again, just to keep from collapsing, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her up easily, without a second thought.
The sudden howl that filled the forest sent goose flesh up and down her arms and Sibyl turned her head slowly, eyes wide, following the big man’s gaze. The white wolf stood a stone’s throw away, staring at them through the trees. Her fur was matted with blood, like a red bib down her front, where Alistair had cut her. She was still just as beautiful—and just as dangerous—as the last time Sibyl had seen her.
“Wait!” Sibyl cried, but it was too late.
The man approached the animal without even a modicum of caution and Sibyl, still dizzy from her upside-down ride through the forest, hung onto a tree, cheek against the rough bark. Her captor didn’t appear at all afraid and neither did the wolf. Sibyl watched in disbelief as the wolf sank down until her belly rested in the dirt, head bowed as the man advanced.
“No!” Sibyl protested when the man unslung the bow and quiver. “Chan eil!”
He didn’t heed her, but he didn’t pull the bow as she thought he would. Instead, he set it aside as he knelt before the wounded wolf. She’d never seen a man so fearless. Even her father’s huntsman, who had taught her bird calls, who had shown her how to silently, patiently trap small game, had advocated caution with even the smallest of forest creatures. Animals were notoriously unpredictable.
“Laina,” he said again, reaching his hand out, and Sibyl cringed, expecting the wolf to bite him as she had Alistair.
But the wolf accepted the man’s attention, whining softly as he inspected her wound. It was almost as if the animal understood that he meant her no harm. Sibyl watched in disbelief as the man’s hand moved through the wolf’s fur, one hand scratching lightly behind her ear as he examined the wound with the other. Sibyl’s curiosity got the better of her and she approached cautiously, fascinated by the animal.
“She’s hurt,” Sibyl said softly, nearing the two of them. “Alistair, he… he cut her with his dirk, after I got her free.”
“She will’na die.” The man looked up to meet Sibyl’s eyes. She noticed, for the first time, that they weren’t just blue—they were the same, incredibly bright blue as the wolf’s. It was startling. “But she thanks ye fer yer kindness.”
“You do speak English.” She stared at him, incredulous, still not quite comprehending his words, even though they were in her native language. “Who are you?”
“Aye, though I haven’t spoken yer tongue in some time.” He gave a small nod, a brief smile flashing across his face. His voice was deep and rich, his brogue was thick. “I’m called Raife.”
“My name is Sibyl.” She looked from him to the wolf, who whined and panted, her side heaving with effort. The poor thing must be badly hurt, she thought.
Sibyl sank to the ground next to the man called Raife, reaching out tentatively to touch the wolf’s fur. The animal acknowledged her touch, glancing at Sibyl as she ran a hand over the wolf’s thick coat, but didn’t seem to mind. Sibyl glanced at the stranger, wondering if he was some sort of animal trainer. A man had come to her father’s castle once with a big bear who had sat at his feet. He had fed it scraps and led it around on a leash.
“She was caught and put into a cage,” Sibyl went on, amazed at how the wolf let them touch her, with not even a growl of warning. She must be tame, like the old man’s bear, she thought. “My… that man… he…”
“Aye, lass, I ken.” Raife wiped at the wolf’s blood with the end of his plaid. He had unwrapped the part that went over his shoulder to do so, and was now kneeling completely bare-chested on the ground. “I was sent for ’er.”
“Sent… for her…?” Sibyl repeated