~ The Wizard's Wife ~

by

Becky Gauger

Marela bolted up the stairs. I’ve got to get out of here, I can’t stay here with that... with that... with him. She fled halfway through the main room before she realized she was barefoot and about to barge out into knee-deep snow. She wore only a light robe and there was no other shelter for leagues. There was nowhere to go. Besides, she stopped in her tracks, why am I running away? He owes me an explanation! I’m not the one who suddenly...

Her mind spluttered to a halt. What had he suddenly done? Become gorgeous? Yes! He had no right. It wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to spend the rest of her time locked in here with that, that man! That young man! No. She corrected herself. Not young. But certainly not the doddering old curmudgeon she had grown so fond of. She’d go crazy.

This couldn’t be right, she reasoned with herself, she’d been dreaming. That was it. She hadn’t been fully awake and she’d been seeing things. AErin was an old man. He wasn’t like the man she’d seen down in the pool, all sleek strength and disturbing virility. After all, she’d lived with AErin for nearly a month. He was an endearing, dedicated, slightly stooping, grizzled old man.

Just then the object of her furiously whirling thoughts strode into the room. Well, at least he had the decency to put some clothes on.

This AErin seemed as alien to her as the one downstairs. The way he stood, proud and straight, struck her forcefully. He was much taller than she’d realized. He was wearing a short silvery tunic, patterned green and brown, like the shadow of leaves on tree bark. Sleeveless, it displayed the long length of powerful arms. His forearms were thick and ropy with shifting muscle as he tied a rope belt around his waist. He was barefoot, not having stopped to don his moccasins before following her upstairs. And his legs were just as stout and solid as the rest of him.

“Marela...” He held out a hand to her. She backed away, tightening her arms warily across her chest as she stared at him. The whiteness of his skin contrasted starkly with the colorful earthtones of his tunic. He looked like no other man she’d ever seen. Only the long white hair was familiar.

“Marela, I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassured her in that deep velvety voice. A hot sliver of sensation trickled down her spine, leaving her feeling quivery and confused. Had he cast some spell over her? Was that why she’d never seen him like this before?

He slowly advanced around the fire, his hand outstretched.

Marela wanted to back away again. She wanted to run. But she stood still, mesmerized, unable to move.

“Come.” He took her hands and led her over to her cot. She followed meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Sit down.” He sat her on the edge of the cot and knelt in front of her. He squeezed her hands. “There’s nothing to be scared of, little one. Nothing’s changed.”

Shocked out of her reverie by the familiar endearment, she shook her head vehemently.

“You were old!” she accused again. “Until this morning you were an old man!” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Is this some kind of spell? Did you make yourself younger?”

AErin shook his head. His beard accidentally brushed the inside of her knee, sending giddy tingles washing through her. “I’ve always been just as you see me.”

“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened with denial. “No, I know you. I saw…”

“You saw what you expected to see.”

Marela digested that for a moment. “Then why were you old when I first arrived? I wasn’t expecting an old man to open the door. For all I knew it could have been a scullery maid or a knight. I certainly wasn’t expecting an elderly wizard,” she pointed out.

“But when I opened the door, you saw a sagging man with bloodshot eyes, a long white beard and a haggard face.” She nodded. “So naturally you assumed I was old. I’ll admit I wasn’t feeling any too spry that day.” He grimaced. “Marela, when I heard you pounding on my door I was fixing a pot of restorative stew.” He paused. “You know how I prefer raw vegetables. But I had just got over a miserable cold. I hadn’t slept in three days and my throat felt as raw as a freshly skinned rabbit. I would have been surprised if you hadn’t thought me old.”

“But why didn’t I ever notice the change after you started to feel better?”

AErin looked her in the eye. “Because by then I’d decided to stay old.”

“Why?” she wailed.

“You were comfortable thinking I was harmless.”

“And that was reason enough to continue this charade for a month?”

“Yes.”

“AErin. There has to be more than that. No one shuffles around their own home stooping over and breaking their voice just to make a guest feel comfortable.”

“You needed to feel safe. You’d been through a hard time.”

“So you did all this because you thought I was about to crack?” She was offended.

He nodded.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth!” she yelled, stung. “How do I know you didn’t just put some youth spell on yourself and now you’re trying to keep me from going off and telling everyone about it!”

“Marela.” He sighed. “Look at me.”

Marela blushed and turned her face away. He caught it and gently turned her back to face him. “Really look at me.” He leaned his hands on the cot on either side of her to give her an unobstructed view. “I’m the same man I always was. The only thing that’s changed is that I didn’t have a chance to enhance my wrinkles.”

She glared at him for that bit of information, but did as he asked.

His face was the same as she remembered, yet subtly altered. The wrinkles around his eyes were still there, but instead of the deep crags of old age they were simply the laugh lines of a man who smiled often. His eyes were clear and bright, no longer bloodshot or rheumy. And his irises as he watched her were as warm and brown as a stoat’s coat.

His eyelashes were thick and incongruously white against the darkness of his eyes. His eyebrows were as smooth as bleached ivory, the frown line between them gone. What she had assumed was a permanent feature she’d only actually seen while he’d been scowling at Alabaster’s escapades.

He was obviously no youth. The persistent lines on his brow indicated a life full of experience. Only the fingers of worry and sorrow, thoughtfulness and determination, could have carved those telltale lines in his otherwise smooth and intelligent brow. Without thinking she brushed her fingers over those revealing lines, as if trying to smooth them away. She didn’t see the flicker in AErin’s eyes at her touch.

Her gaze moved up to his hair, past the deep widows peak, following the lay of his white locks over his head and back down to his shoulders where it blended with the snowy whiteness of his beard. Even his hair looked different. It wasn’t grizzled and unkempt, but thick and healthy, waving slightly as it dried.

His beard was still ridiculously long, brushing the floor beside his knee. She ran one finger through it expecting it to be tangled and scratchy. But, to her surprise, it was comfortably warm and furry against her skin. She slowly combed her fingers the rest of the way through it, enjoying the feel.

AErin, watching her, his heart thumping in his chest, realized she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. She was unaware of the way she looked, cheeks flushed, eyes dreamy and absorbed, unconscious sensuality rolling off her like mist off the sea.

AErin grabbed hold of his emotions. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, a lot longer than he cared to remember. But this was Marela. Not so long ago he’d been thinking of her as his granddaughter. More than a few things had changed in the past couple of hours.

He tried to control his expression. He had no doubt he was looking at her like a wolf in heat. If she were to glance up and see him looking at her like that she’d run screaming out into the snow. That was precisely the sort of fears he’d been trying to spare her by appearing old and harmless. Apparently he wasn’t as harmless as he’d thought.

Slow, AErin cautioned himself. Slow and steady set the pace, slow and steady wins the race, he reminded himself of one of Grendel’s sayings. For once he agreed with his old Master.

Marela would need time to get used to this new version of him. Just as he would need time to come to grips with these new feelings.

Marela ran out of beard and slowly looked back up at him, only then remembering his presence. She looked him over one last time, from the top of his wavy white head to the pearly white knee he knelt on in front of her. For better or worse, this was AErin, she finally conceded.

Although this man bore more resemblance to a sleek, dominant white timber wolf than to the tolerant, paternal, old man she remembered.

“What now?” she asked.

AErin swallowed and hoped his voice would come out normal. Damn, even the helpless look in her eyes was getting to him. “Now, you go have your bath and I’ll fix us something to eat.”

Marela realized he was trying to put them back on a normal footing. “All right,” she nodded. When he showed no sign of moving she slipped out from in front of him, scooped up her pouch of cleansing herbs, and fled around the corner to the dungeon pool. AErin let out a breath of relief. There was no way he could have stood up in front of her with his body in this condition. With a groan he levered himself up off the floor and turned to go fix dinner. Hopefully, by the time she finished her bath, he would be able to face her.

Her bath. Soon she would be floating in the warm waters of the pool, her skin all shiny and slippery, rosy and hot from the water... AErin groaned and slammed the lid on those thoughts.

“Stew,” he reminded himself. “Stew, and bread and honey.” Wonderfully naughty visions of what he’d like to do with the honey floated in his mind’s eye. AErin groaned and dropped his chin to his chest.

It was going to be a long winter.