Amanda Ashley - Midnight Pleasures

"She will be there," Dugald vowed, his voice hoarse. "On the morrow."

Darkfest nodded once, and then he was gone.

Channa Leigh sat at her mother's bedside all through the night, her thoughts in turmoil as she tried to control the fear that engulfed her. All her life, she had heard tales of the master of Darkfest Castle. He was feared by all, for his powers were great. Some said he was the spawn of the Dark One. Some said he was the Dark One.

Why did he want her?

What would he do to her, with her?

Would she be enslaved in his castle, forced to serve the Dark One?

Growing up, she had heard many tales of the wizard, each more frightening than the last. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. It was said he drank the blood of children, that he sacrificed virgins to his Master. Was she, then, to be the next sacrifice? Her mouth went dry at the thought. But no. He had promised to return her to her home the following winter. And yet of what value was the word of a man who served the Dark One?

Slipping from her chair, she knelt at her mother's bedside and prayed for the courage to fulfill her promise, for the strength to withstand whatever evil awaited her at the wizard's hands.

He did not sleep that night but spent the dark empty hours till dawn pacing from one end of his dreary castle to the other. Soon. Soon, she would be here. What madness had made him demand Channa Leigh in payment? What was he to do with a blind girl? How could he endure her nearness day after day? Hear her voice, see her face, and know she was there only because of a vow made in exchange for her mother's life?

A harsh laugh tinged with bitterness rose in his throat. In three hundred years he had never lain with a woman, nor felt a woman's hand upon his flesh. He could have demanded any woman in the village, but he had recoiled from the idea of bedding a woman who had no affection for him, nor did he wish to embrace a woman who did not want him in return. Better to remain alone than take a woman by force and see the revulsion in her eyes. No, he had never wanted a woman who had no true affection for him.

Until now. Until Channa Leigh. What foolishness, what arrogance, had made him think he could be near her day after day without touching her? He doubted even his monumental self-control, forged through centuries of self-denial, would be enough to protect her from his lust.

A knock at the door. Though faint, it echoed like thunder in his mind.

She was here.

Channa Leigh couldn't stop shaking. At home, at her mother's bedside, she would have said anything, promised anything, to see her mother well again. But now, standing here on Darkfest's doorstep, it was time to make good upon her promise.

"What is he like, Papa, this wizard?"

"I dinna know, Channa Leigh. No one really knows."

"What does he look like? Is his face cruel?"

Dugald frowned. "He is a tall man, with long black hair. His eyes are as changeable as the seasons. As for his face… 'tis a hard face, to be sure. I dinna know if you would call it cruel, but… 'tis hard. He is never seen without a cloak. A long black cloak that billows behind him like the hounds of hell."

"Papa, do you think—?" She bit off the words as the door opened with a faint creak.

The wizard stood in the doorway, towering over them.

He wore a loose-fitting white shirt, black breeches, and supple black leather boots. A long black cloak fell from his shoulders to ward off the chill of early morning. His eyes burned with an intensity that Dugald found unsettling. Fear for himself and his daughter turned his blood to ice.

Dugald took an involuntary step backward. "I have brought my daughter, as promised." He studied the wizard's face. Was it cruel? The eyes seemed dark and cold; the mouth was set in a firm line; the jaw was firm and square and well denned, the cheekbones high and proud, the nose straight and sharp as the blade of an ax. "We…" He swallowed hard, unsettled by the wizard's unwavering stare. "We will expect her back in one year."

"Aye, old man, that was the bargain."

"You do not ask about my woman."

One dark brow rose slightly. "She is well, is she not?"

"Aye," Dugald replied. Mara was well enough, though she had been inconsolable upon hearing that her dear Channa Leigh had to leave them for a time. You should have let me die , Mara had raged at him. Better that I should be dead than our daughter be at his mercy .

Channa Leigh drew in a sharp breath as a large unfamiliar hand closed over her arm.

"Come," said the wizard.

"Fare thee well, Channa Leigh," Dugald said. He handed the wizard the small cloth bag that held his daughter's few belongings. "I will come for you when the year is up."

"Fare thee well, Papa," she replied tremulously. "Will you not hug me good-bye?"

She felt the wizard's hand fall away from her arm as her father stepped forward to embrace her.

"Be a good lass," her father admonished softly, and she heard the unshed tears in his voice. "Remember yer prayers, at daybreak and eventide."

"I will, Papa."

He hugged her, hard and quick, and then he was gone, and she was alone with a stranger. Once again she felt the wizard's hand upon her arm as he guided her into the castle.

She had never heard anything so frightening, or so final, as the sound of the heavy door closing behind her.

He released her, and she stood there, lost and alone in the darkness. She knew he was still there. She could feel his presence looming over her. Hands clasped, she waited, wondering what was expected of her.

Darkfest dropped the girl's belongings on the floor beside the door. "Can ye cook?" he asked.

"Aye."

"That will be one of your chores on the morrow. Today, I will prepare our meals."

"Have you no servants?" she asked, thinking it strange that such a powerful wizard had no one to look after him.

"No."

A sliver of fear ran down her spine. She had not realized she would be alone in the keep with him. "I can prepare a meal," she said. "I enjoy cooking." It was something she did well, something that she had straggled hard to learn. Something that gave her a sense of accomplishment and self-worth.

"Come along then," he said. He walked slowly toward the kitchen, and she followed the sound of his footsteps, her feet learning the shape and feel of the cold stones.

In the kitchen, he took her hand, wondering if his touch would enable her to see, but she continued to stare ahead, looking at nothing. Odd that in his wolf form, his touch granted her sight. What was it, he mused, that made the difference?

Holding her by the hand, he guided her to the pantry and to the hearth, showed her where the cook pots were, the shelves that held the pewter plates and cups and bowls, the drawer that held the utensils and the linen. He guided her hand to the pump.

"Where do you keep the wood and the flint, my lord?" she asked.

He blinked at her. He was master of fire and flame; he had no need of flint.

"Ye will have no need of them," he replied. "The fire burns day and night."

She gazed in his direction, unseeing, unblinking.

"Is there anything ye need?" he asked.

She shook her head. She had been blessed with a quick mind, a good memory. It would take her but a little while to learn her way around the kitchen; until she did, she would rather stumble around on her own than ask for his help.

"Call me when the meal is ready."

"Aye, my lord."

With a grunt, he left the kitchen; then, on silent feet, he returned to stand in the doorway, watching her. She moved slowly about the kitchen, one hand out in front of her. He was tempted to go to her aid as she ran her hands over the pans, looking for a particular size, but he stayed where he was, curious to see if she would call for help.