He slid from his bed, naked, to stand before the hearth, all thought coming to a halt as the heavenly sound of Channa Leigh’s voice filled the air. She sang a cheerful morning song, praising the God of heaven for the beauty of the new day, for home and family and friends.
Darkfest stood there, mesmerized by the pure, sweet notes, by the knowledge that, for the first time in hundreds of years, he was not alone in the house. A year, he thought. She would be here for only one year. And already one day was gone.
He closed his eyes, letting the music caress him, feeling it move over him and through him. He was startled to find himself smiling.
When the song ended, he pulled on a pair of woolen trousers, a heavy shirt, thick stockings, his boots. And then, wonderingif she would tell him of her adventure with the wolf, he went downstairs.
~ * ~
Channa Leigh sensed his presence even before she heard his footsteps. Though she had never seen him, she knew he was a big man, tall and broad. His voice was rich and resonant; sometimes it seemed to reach deep down inside her. His nearness, the way she trembled whenever he was close by, frightened her.
She heard the scrape of wood as he pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. Surely he didn’t mean to eat in here, with her?
“My lord,” she stammered, “if ye will wait in the dining hall, I shall serve yer meal.”
He grunted softly. “Tis cold and drafty in that great dungeon of a room. I shall eat in here.”
“Yes, my lord. Very well, my lord.”
She filled a plate and placed it before him, along with a mug of black tea, then went to stand by the stove while he ate.
“Here now,” he said gruffly, “why are ye not eating?”
“I...I’ll eat later.”
“Cease this foolishness. Come, sit with me.”
“My lord?”
“I wish yer company.”
“But...”
“Do not argue with me, lass.”
Biting down on her lower lip, she filled a plate for herself, walked carefully to the table and sat down. She felt terribly self-conscious, sitting there, eating in front of him. It was one thing to eat with her parents. There were times, however few and far between, when she spilled a cup of milk, or dropped food on the floor. At home, such incidents were of little consequence, but here...
Trying to be extra careful only made her clumsy and uncertain. To her horror, she misjudged the placement of hercup and knocked it over. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she heard it hit the floor.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said hastily. “I am not usually so clumsy.”
She started to stand up when she felt his hand on her arm, staying her.
“‘Tis nothing to fret over, Channa Leigh, tis only a bit of a spill.” Rising, he took a clean mug from the shelf and poured her another cup of tea. Then, very gently, he placed the cup in her hand.
“Thank ye, my lord,” she said.
He shrugged; then, realizing she could not see him, he sat down, muttering, “Yer welcome”.
It was the longest meal of her life. Once, he complimented her on her cooking. She murmured her thanks, pleased and embarrassed by his praise. She would have to take his word for the quality of the meal; she might have been eating dirt for all the notice she took of the food, so disconcerted was she by his nearness.
“Did ye sleep well?” he asked.
Channa Leigh nodded. “Tis a very fine chamber, my lord. The painting on the ceiling is...” As soon as she realized what she’d said, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She was blind. How could she explain that she had seen the ceiling?
“Go on,” he said quietly. “Tell me about the ceiling.”
“I...”
