“Papa says there is a pool up here. Shall we find it?”
She stood up, and he stood beside her. He knew where the pool was. When she had a firm hold on his fur, he led her further up the hill.
“Are ye sure tis this way?” Channa Leigh asked. She spoke to him as if was the most natural thing in the world, as if she expected a reply.
A low rumble in his throat was her answer.
And then, as they topped the rise, she saw the pool, shining like a crystal placed in a bed of green velvet. The surface of the pool shone like a mirror, reflecting the light of the moon and stars.
“Oh, Magick,” she murmured, “have ye ever seen anything so beautiful in all yer life?”
And the big wolf, looking at the wonder in her face, the radiance in her eyes, knew he had not.
~ * ~
He stood before the hearth, gazing into the flames. The fire was his to command. It had no power over him; he could walkthrough it unharmed, call it forth from darkness. He could command the wind, call lightning from the sky.
His powers were many and awesome to behold, yet in Channa Leigh’s presence, he had felt weak, defenseless, as vulnerable as a suckling babe. They had walked until dawn came to steal the night, and then he had taken her back home and seen her safely tucked into bed.
Channa Leigh. Leaving her had made him ache deep inside, as if some vital part of his being had been cut away and left behind.
He raised his hands and a small ball of fire leaped from the center of the hearth into his cupped palms.
“I am Darkfest,” he said, his voice echoing like thunder off the stone walls that surrounded him. “Master of fire and flame. Show me the woman, Channa Leigh, by name.”
The fire danced in his hands, became a shimmering sheet of flame, and there, like starlight reflected on the face of a still pool, he saw Channa Leigh’s image.
She sat at a rough-hewn table in her small kitchen, singing as she peeled potatoes and dropped them into a pot of water. He watched and listened, mesmerized by the sound of her voice, the quiet beauty of her face, the soft womanly curves evident beneath her coarse clothing. He had a sudden urge to see her clad in silks and satins, with gems the color of her eyes at her throat, and ropes of diamonds woven into the golden strands of her hair.
“Mama,” she said, “do ye think the wolf will ever come back?”
“I dinna know, child,” her mother replied. “Perhaps we could send Ronin to hunt for it.”
Hope brightened Channa Leigh’s face; then, with a sigh, she shook her head. “No. The beast would surely die in captivity. Sure and it would be cruel to keep him caged.”
“But, child, if we could capture the beast, and tame it, think what it would mean to ye.”
“No, mama...it wouldna be right. Besides, Ronin would probably kill it, don’t ye know, for the wolf has a fine pelt that would surely bring a good price.”
“Flame, be gone.” He could look at her no longer, could not see the yearning in her eyes, hear the resignation in her voice. Nor did he understand such sweetness, such tenderness that would make a blind girl choose to remain blind rather than keep a wild beast against its will.
Using all his considerable self-control, he banished her from his mind, determined to think of her no more.
For three hundred years he had lived alone, complacent in his solitude, content with his magic. He would not let one evening in a woman’s presence shatter his hard-won tranquility.
He would not.
Chapter Three
Channa Leigh walked at Ronin’s side, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She had been surprised the first time he had come to call, but she had soon come to look forward to his company. Now, he described what he saw as they walked...the colors of the leaves changing on the trees, a red fox scurrying for its hole, the fluffy white clouds drifting across the sky. It was pleasant, walking along the riverbank, the leaves crunching cheerfully beneath her feet, but she couldn’t help wishing it was the wolf at her side, allowing her to see the world for herself.
Ronin patted Channa Leigh’s hand. Her skin was smooth, soft. A fortnight had passed since he had first found the courage to call on her. In truth, he had not given her much thought at all until Merick, the baker’s son, chanced to remark that she was passing fair. Ronin had noticed her comeliness for himself on the night of First Harvest. The beauty of her voice was something all those in the village took for granted, but that night he had seen her as a woman. For the first time, he had noticed the way the firelight played over her face. Her skin was smooth and clear, her body nicely rounded, her hair the color of sun-ripened corn. And so he had taken his courage in hand and asked her father if he might take her walking. Since that time, they had spent every evening together. It pleased him, not only because he had truly come to care for the fragile creature at his side, but because he had bested his childhood rival, Merick, yet again.
They had been walking for quite some time when they came to a fallen log and he suggested they sit a while.
“Channa Leigh?”
She turned toward the sound of his voice. “Yes, Ronin?”
