“Then we shall get on well together, the two of us.”
She heard his footsteps move toward the door.
“I shall see ye this evening. The larder is well stocked with meat. Prepare whatever ye wish for supper.”
“Aye, my lord.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the door close. She would cook for him, and sing for him, and at the end of a year, she would go home.
~ * ~
Darkfest cursed softly as he left the girl’s room. He should not have brought her here. What folly had possessed him to do so, to think he could look at her every day, and not want her, to think he could remember the touch of her hand upon his wolf self and not take her to his bed? Even now, he burned for her, for the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice rising in ecstasy, sobbing his name.
With a harsh laugh, he plunged down the stairs to the dungeon room where he practiced his sorcery. What did he know of women? Of ecstasy? No doubt she knew more of the carnal nature of what went on between a man and a woman than he did. His only experience in coupling had been with a she-wolf late one moonlit night. It had left him feeling satisfied and confused and frightened.
A wave of his hand, and a dozen candles sprang to life, illuminating the room where he kept the ingredients he used in his magic. Powdered horn of a unicorn. St. John’s Wort. Crushed rosemary and thyme, vervain and yarrow and lavender, garlic and sage and rue, mugwort and cinquefoil and hyssop. He kept a large supply of tree bark and leaves: birch for cleansing and to expel evil; hazel for wisdom and the divining of water; yew, the tree of death; rowan for life and healing; ash for power and absorbing illness; pine for rejuvenation; willow for enchantment; hawthorn for male potency; holly for beauty; the apple for fertility; mistletoe for love and peace. And the alder, said to be the tree of fire, the wood of witches and wizards. He carried a whistle made of alder in his pocket for use in summoning and controlling the four winds.
He needed but little help in conjuring or making spells. The power was within him, within his hands, within his heart and mind. His, for good or for evil.
But it was not power or magic that concerned him this night. It was a fair lass by name of Channa Leigh. What was he to do with her, now that she was here?
~ * ~
Dinner was a silent affair. He could think of nothing to say to her, the beautiful young woman who sat across from him, her head bowed, the shimmering curtain of her hair concealing her face from his prying eyes.
The meal she had prepared was fit for a liege lord: the roasted venison succulent and swimming in a rich sauce, the vegetables sweet, the bread still warm from the oven. And yet, he would have traded it all for a plate of cold ashes to see her smile.
When the meal was over, he thanked her, curtly, and left the room.
He took refuge in the high-ceilinged library that was his favorite room in the castle. It was a large chamber, with a cozy hearth and leaded windows. A bearskin rug was spread before the fireplace; curtains of so deep a blue as to be almost black hung at the windows. An enormous overstuffed chair, large enough to seat two comfortably, was angled toward the fire. A heavy oak table stood beside it. Two walls were lined with shelves that were crammed with ancient books and scrolls that held the wisdom of the known world. He had read them all many times over.
He whirled around, his gaze going to the door, which he had left open. He heard her footsteps in the corridor, hesitant, barely audible, and yet they echoed in his mind like thunder.
“My lord?” She stood in the doorway, her head cocked to one side. “Are ye here?”
“Aye, lass. What is it ye want?”
“Ye said ye wished me to sing for ye.”
He grunted softly. “Come in,” he invited, and then, remembering that she could not see, he went to her. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the room, bid her seat down in his chair.
“I would rather stand,” she said, “if ye dinna mind.”
“As ye wish.”
“What will ye have me sing, my lord?”
“Whatever pleases ye.”
She hesitated a moment, and then she began to sing the lullaby he had heard her sing on the night of First Harvest. Hands clasped to her breasts, head high, eyes closed, her voice filled the room, soft and sweet and filled with yearning, and he knew in that moment that she dreamed of marriage, that she hungered for a babe of her own.
My sweet bonnie lass
A boon from heaven above
I cradle ye to my heart
And pray ye know my love
