MIDNIGHT PLEASURES Read online

  What man, indeed, he mused. Just lying beside her, watching her sleep, made him ache with a need he had never indulged.

  In her dream, the big wolf rolled onto his back.

  He sucked in a deep breath, felt his desire stir to vigorous life, as she began to scratch the dream wolf's stomach. In three hundred years, he had never known a woman, never felt such a sharp stab of desire…

  A low growl rumbled in his throat as he took his paw from her hand, severing the bond between them. The dream dissolved, like a shadow running from the sun.

  Witch woman, he thought. What are ye doing to me?

  With a start, he realized she was awake.

  "Oh!" Channa Leigh exclaimed. Her fear quickly turned to pleasure as she saw a ray of silvery moonlight filtering through her window, saw the huge wolf stretched out beside her. "What are you doing here?"

  He growled softly, then licked her hand.

  She shivered with delight at the touch of his tongue, warm and rough against her palm. Sitting up, she glanced around her room, one hand clutching the wolf's fur. There was her chair. Mama had made the cover in shades of blue, because blue had always been Channa Leigh's favorite color. The cross above her bed was delicately carved from dark wood. Black, she thought. The color was black, like the wolf. The quilt on her bed was dark blue; the curtains at the window were white with tiny red flowers. Colors. So many colors. She had learned them early and never forgotten them.

  She glanced out the window, her hand still stroking the wolf's coat. There was so much to see. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

  As if he understood, the big wolf leaped to the floor, stretched, then moved to her side of the bed, waiting patiently as she stood up and drew on her wrapper. Then, one hand fisted in the long fur at his neck, she tiptoed quietly out of the house lest she wake her parents, who would certainly object to her taking a walk in the moonlight with the wolf.

  The night was bright beneath a full lover's moon. Awed by the beauty of it, Channa Leigh walked through the village, stopping at each cottage, each shop. As a child she had been inside most of them, but the memory of how they looked had been lost.

  The big wolf paced slowly at her side, stopping when she stopped, sitting patiently while she stared in wonder at the small stained-glass window set high in the wall of the church. Lit by the lamp that burned from within, she recited the colors.

  "Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. So beautiful." She paused to study the summer roses that grew alongside the midwife's house, ran her fingertips over the petals. They were soft, so soft.

  " 'Tis just as I always dreamed it," she mused as they walked on, leaving the town behind, "and it's all so beautiful."

  She paused atop a grassy hill and sat down on a log, her hand stroking the wolf's fur. "Have you a name, I wonder?" She tilted her head to one side, and her braid fell over her shoulder. "What shall I call you, hmm?" She cradled his big head in her hands. "Magick," she decided. "I shall call you Magick, for truly, that is what you are."

  He growled softly and licked her hand.

  "Like it, do you?" she asked, and her voice was like music in his ears.

  He laid his head in her lap, inviting her touch.

  "Ah, Magick, isn't it a wonderful world? Look at the stars, shining so brightly. And our village, there, below. See now, there is the house of Lazlo, the baker. He has a son, you know." She sighed softly. "I've not seen his face since I was a small child, of course, but he has a lovely voice. And he has ever been kind to me."

  He licked her hand in an effort to draw her thoughts away from the son of Lazlo the baker. He knew the boy. Tall and lanky, with a shock of wheat-blond hair and guileless brown eyes. It startled him to realize he was jealous of her affection for that callow youth.

  "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 farther up the hill.

  "Are you 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 you ever seen anything so beautiful in all your 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 walk through 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 darkness, 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 you 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 it caged."

  "But, child, if we could capture the beast, and tame it, think what it would mean to you."

  "No, Mama… it wouldna be right. Besides, Ronin would probably kill it, don't you know, for the wolf has a fine pelt that would surely bring a good price…"

  "Flame, begone." He could look at her no longer, could not see the yearning in her face, 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 his 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 tranquillity.

  He would not.

  CHAPTER 3

  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… me 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 river, the leaves crunching cheerfully beneath her feet, but she couldn't help wishing it were 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 h
imself 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 was the color of sun-ripened com. 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 also 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 awhile.

  "Channa Leigh?"

  She turned toward the sound of his voice. "Yes, Ronin?"

  He cleared his throat. "In this past fortnight, I have come to care for you…" He cleared his throat again, glad that she could not see the blush staining his cheeks. "What I mean is, I think I love you, Channa Leigh. Will you marry me? I swear I'll make you a good husband. You'll want for nothing."

  A soft sigh escaped Channa Leigh's lips. She was not in love with Ronin. He was a kind man, a good man, and she knew he would care for her and provide for her. But she did not love him. She did not love anyone. She thought fleet-ingly of Merick, the baker's son, but he had never shown any interest in her, and she feared he never would.

  "Please, Channa Leigh," Ronin murmured.

  "Ronin…"

  He lifted her hand and she felt the brush of his lips on her fingertips. "Say yes, Channa Leigh."

  Why not say yes? It seemed no one else wanted her. She was far past the age when most girls were married. But would it be fair to marry Ronin when she did not love him?

  "Channa Leigh, what say you?"

  Honesty compelled her to say, "Ronin, you know I am fond of you, but I dinna love you."

  "But you may come to love me, in time."

  "Perhaps."

  "You'll marry me, then?"

  She sighed, a soft sigh tinged with resignation. "Aye, Ronin, I will marry you. In the spring." She lifted a hand to his face, let her fingertips trace his features. She had seen him only once since childhood, and that very briefly the night the wolf appeared in the village square. Ronin was a handsome young man, with light brown hair and brown eyes and, yes, a cleft in his chin, she recalled, running her finger over the gentle dip in his skin.

  "Channa Leigh." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Might I…" He swallowed hard. "Might I kiss you?"

  She nodded, her heart pounding with trepidation. She had seen two and twenty summers and never had she been kissed by a man.

  His lips were warm on hers, his touch as light as dandelion fluff. It was pleasant, she thought, quite pleasant.

  "Come," Ronin said, suddenly exuberant. "Let us go back and tell yer kinfolk."

  Dugald and Mara were pleased by the news of their daughter's betrothal. They had long hoped for just this match for their daughter, for Ronin was a kind man, one who would be patient with her affliction. As he was a strong hunter, she would never lack for meat at her table.

  "Aye, you'll make a beautiful bride," Mara remarked, beaming.

  Dugald brought out a flask and they toasted the young couple. Ronin stayed to take supper with them, and they made plans for the wedding. Mara would begin weaving the material for Channa Leigh's dress on the morrow; Ronin would begin looking for a suitable place to build their house; Dugald would gather the best of his flock for her dowry.

  Later that night, still caught up in the excitement of the evening's events and unable to sleep, Channa Leigh gazed sightlessly into the darkness and wondered where the wolf had gone and if he would ever come to her again.

  CHAPTER 4

  He heard of Channa Leigh's betrothal, as he heard of everything that happened in the village. He had shunned her presence and now she was betrothed to another. Stricken by the news, he shut himself away in his castle. He felt the changing seasons in the chill within the castle's cold stone walls, saw it in the changing color of his eyes as fall's brown turned to winter gray. He had ever hated winter. Below, the villagers gathered their children close. Huddled around their cozy hearth fires, fathers told and retold the ancient stories and legends of their people, while mothers sang songs and lullabies.

  Sometimes, when it seemed the long winter nights would never pass, when the loneliness grew more than he could bear, he took on the wolf form and ran with the pack that dwelled high in the mountains behind the castle. They accepted him as one of them, and he found solace in their company.

  Often, he felt compelled to go to Channa Leigh, but it was too painful to be close to her. Had he been less selfish, he would have sought her out so that she might again see the world through his eyes, but being near her only emphasized his loneliness, his separateness from those in the village.

  Now, he stood before the hearth, the light from the fire playing hide-and-seek with the shadows that lurked in the corners. He held his hands out to the flames, felt the warmth seep into him, but all the fire in the world could not ease his loneliness or chase the darkness from his heart and soul.

  He was like the shadows, he thought, torn between light and dark, between good and evil. There had been times, though rare, when he had refused to grant a boon to one of the villagers simply because it pleased him to refuse, because it gave him a perverse sense of power to know that he held the fate of the supplicant in his hands. There were times, when he stood within the cold stone walls of the dungeon where he practiced his magic, that he felt the darkness rise up within him. At those times, he felt the promise, the insidious lure, of the Dark Arts.

  Other times, when he had granted a boon to one who sought his help, he was filled with an inner light, with the satisfaction that came from helping one in need.

  But he had no thought for goodness or kindness this night. The Darkness rose up within him, thick and black and smothering. Turning away from the fire, he left the dungeon to stalk the dusky corridors of the castle, his long black cloak floating behind him like the smoky gray mists that sometimes covered the land near the sea.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the windows, a tall, dark silhouette moving swiftly, silently. A solitary creature who belonged to no one, belonged nowhere but here, in a castle that was as cold and empty as his heart.

  He paused in midstride, 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 midair.

  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 you might come and have a look at her."

  "Did ye?"

  "Please, my lord. I'll give you anything you ask."

  "Indeed? And what if the price is dear?"

  "Only name it, and if it's in my power to give, it will be yours."

  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 her 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 fty,

  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 you heal her?" Channa Leigh asked, tears evident in her voice. "Can you?"

  "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 you require?"

  Darkfest did not look at her, only spoke her name. "Your daughter, Channa Leigh."

  Dugald blinked at him. "What?"

  "I will require yer daughter."

  Dugald stared at him in blatant disbelief. "My daughter!" A look of horror washed over the man's face. "But… but… she is not chattel, to be bartered back and forth like a lamb."

  " 'Tis my price."

  "But she is betrothed to another."

  Almost, he relented. But then he recalled the loneliness of the keep, the warmth of Channa Leigh's smile. It strengthened his resolve. "I will have the girl for one year. When winter comes again, she may return home and take her vows."

  Dugald shook his head. Not even to save his wife could he allow his daughter to go off with the dark wizard of the mountain.

  "It canna be done," Dugald said. And then he glanced at his wife, lying so still and pale upon the bed they had shared for over thirty years. How could he abandon her now? Without the wizard's help, she would surely die.