He paused in mid-stride, nostrils flaring. Someone was coming.
Descending the long, spiral staircase, he crossed the great hall and flung open the door.
Dugald of Brynn reeled back, his eyes growing wide. One hand, lifted to pull the bell, remained frozen in mid-air.
Darkfest glared at the man. “What brings ye here at this hour, Dugald?”
“Tis my wife,” the man said. Lowering his arm, he took a deep breath, shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers to still their trembling. “She’s sick with a fever. Three days now.”
Darkfest grunted softly. “So, what is that to me?”
“Our healer has been unable to help. I thought...” Dugald took a deep breath. “I thought perhaps ye might come and have a look at her.”
“Did ye?”
“Please, my lord. I’ll give ye anything ye ask.”
“Indeed? And what if the price is dear?”
“Only name it, and if it’s in my power to give, it will be yers.”
Channa Leigh’s image rose in his mind. At last, a way to claim that which he desired. He shook off an unwelcome sense of guilt. Surely, he deserved a special gift for the healing Dugald required.
“In time,” Darkfest replied softly. “In time.”
~ * ~
He caught Channa Leigh’s scent even before he entered the cottage, felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire radiating from the hearth in the corner and everything to do with her presence. She was sitting at her mother’s bedside, singing softly.
“For the land that’s most fair, tis where I shall fly,
For my true love lies there, in a glen wild and high,
And if I but wait, and yield not to despair,
I know, by and by, my love will find me
Waiting there
Waiting there...”
The pure, clear notes trailed off as they entered the room.
She turned toward the door, head cocked to one side. “Papa?”
“Yes, child.”
Darkfest stood silent behind Dugald. Channa Leigh had not asked if he had come in answer to her father’s summons, but there was no need. She sensed his presence in the room. He knew it without doubt.
Channa Leigh clutched her mother’s hand. “Her fever is worse.”
Dugald laid a callused hand on his wife’s brow. Her breathing was labored, shallow. Dark circles of pain shadowed her eyes.
“Can ye heal her?” Channa Leigh asked, tears evident in her voice. “Can ye?”
“If I cannot,” Darkfest replied arrogantly, “then no one can.”“
Dugald cleared his throat, afraid to ask the question that must be asked. “And what payment will ye require?”
