MIDNIGHT PLEASURES Read online

  Swallowing hard, he looked back at the man standing tall and still, waiting for his decision. "Please, my lord, have mercy on us. My wife will nae forgive me if I trade our only child for her life."

  Darkfest shrugged. " 'Tis yer decision."

  "I have a fine ram, and a wee bit of gold."

  "I have no need of a ram," Darkfest replied brusquely. "And no need for gold."

  "Please," Dugald begged, wringing his callused hands. "Be merciful."

  Channa Leigh squared her shoulders. She knew what had to be done. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Papa, dinna fret. I'm not afraid. I will go with him and gladly, if it will help Mama."

  "Nay, child. Yer mother would not hear of it."

  "I have yer word, Channa Leigh?" Darkfest asked. "Ye will come with me, of yer own free will, and stay with me for one year?"

  "Aye."

  Dugald looked at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time. "Nay, Channa Leigh," he said sternly. "I forbid it."

  " 'Tis done, Papa."

  "Leave me," Darkfest said. "Both of ye."

  Channa Leigh shook her head. "Nay, I wish to stay."

  "Come, Daughter," her father said.

  He reached for her hand, but she shook him off. "Nay, I will not leave Mama."

  Dugald looked at the wizard. " 'Tis sorry I am," he said apologetically. "She can be most stubborn at times,."

  Darkfest nodded. "Let her stay."

  Dugald pressed a kiss to his wife's brow, glanced fleetingly at the wizard, who loomed like a tall dark cloud at the foot of the bed, then left the room, quietly closing the rough-hewn wooden door behind him.

  Darkfest moved to the side of the bed and took the woman's hand in his. Her skin was hot and dry, her breathing labored. Why did they always wait until the soul was on the brink of flight to call him? Were they so afraid of him, so afraid of his power, his wrath? Well, they were right to fear him.

  He closed his eyes and summoned his power, felt it crawl over his skin as it gathered and coalesced, felt it swell and grow until it thundered within him, until he was aware of nothing else, only the power thrumming through every fiber of his being.

  He placed both hands on the woman's head, and then, channeling his strength into his hands, he began to chant softly.

  "I am Darkfest, master of fire and flame. Spirit of evil, depart in my name."

  He felt the fever leave the woman, felt it burn through his hands, felt the weakness that had engulfed her as the sickness left her body and entered his, to be devoured by his strength.

  He took a deep breath, exhaling it in a long, slow sigh as he removed his hands from the woman. " 'Tis done."

  Channa Leigh stared at him through sightless eyes. "She's healed?" A wealth of hope lay in those two words.

  "Aye. She will sleep through the night and when she wakes on the morrow, she will be well."

  Tears sparkled in Channa Leigh's eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered tremulously.

  "I have done my part." He clenched his hands at his sides, wondering if she would keep her word. Wondering what he would do if she did not. Did she but realize the power she held over him, she could have easily refused without fear of retribution. But she did not know. "Will ye now do yours?" he asked, and waited, hardly daring to breathe, for her answer.

  "Aye, my lord," she said tremulously. "I will come to you whenever you say."

  "Tomorrow morn."

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, a shiver of unease shaking her slight shoulders. "As you will."

  "Exactly as I will," he said curtly, and left the room in search of her father.

  Dugald was standing near the hearth, head hanging, eyes closed. He looked up, a glimmer of hope in his deep-set eyes, as the wizard entered the room.

  " 'Tis done," Darkfest said.

  "You give me my wife, and take my daughter," Dugald said bitterly. He took a deep breath, and only his love for his offspring gave him courage to speak. "What will you do with her, with my Channa Leigh?"

  "Whatever pleases me, old man."

  Dugald's eyes widened in horror as he imagined his only child at the mercy of the wizard's every whim. "She is but a child, innocent in the ways of men."

  "She is no longer your concern."

  "You will not… harm her?"

  "I shall expect her on the morrow." Darkfest rose to his full height. "Do not think to betray our bargain, Dugald," he warned, his voice like frost on a winter's morn, "lest a worse fate befall your woman."

  "She will be there," Dugald vowed, his voice hoarse. "On the morrow."

  Darkfest nodded once, and then he was gone.

  Channa Leigh sat at her mother's bedside all through the night, her thoughts in turmoil as she tried to control the fear that engulfed her. All her life, she had heard tales of the master of Darkfest Castle. He was feared by all, for his powers were great. Some said he was the spawn of the Dark One. Some said he was the Dark One.

  Why did he want her?

  What would he do to her, with her?

  Would she be enslaved in his castle, forced to serve the Dark One?

  Growing up, she had heard many tales of the wizard, each more frightening than the last. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. It was said he drank the blood of children, that he sacrificed virgins to his Master. Was she, then, to be the next sacrifice? Her mouth went dry at the thought. But no. He had promised to return her to her home the following winter. And yet of what value was the word of a man who served the Dark One?

  Slipping from her chair, she knelt at her mother's bedside and prayed for the courage to fulfill her promise, for the strength to withstand whatever evil awaited her at the wizard's hands.

  He did not sleep that night but spent the dark empty hours till dawn pacing from one end of his dreary castle to the other. Soon. Soon, she would be here. What madness had made him demand Channa Leigh in payment? What was he to do with a blind girl? How could he endure her nearness day after day? Hear her voice, see her face, and know she was there only because of a vow made in exchange for her mother's life?

  A harsh laugh tinged with bitterness rose in his throat. In three hundred years he had never lain with a woman, nor felt a woman's hand upon his flesh. He could have demanded any woman in the village, but he had recoiled from the idea of bedding a woman who had no affection for him, nor did he wish to embrace a woman who did not want him in return. Better to remain alone than take a woman by force and see the revulsion in her eyes. No, he had never wanted a woman who had no true affection for him.

  Until now. Until Channa Leigh. What foolishness, what arrogance, had made him think he could be near her day after day without touching her? He doubted even his monumental self-control, forged through centuries of self-denial, would be enough to protect her from his lust.

  A knock at the door. Though faint, it echoed like thunder in his mind.

  She was here.

  CHAPTER 5

  Channa Leigh couldn't stop shaking. At home, at her mother's bedside, she would have said anything, promised anything, to see her mother well again. But now, standing here on Darkfest's doorstep, it was time to make good upon her promise.

  "What is he like, Papa, this wizard?"

  "I dinna know, Channa Leigh. No one really knows."

  "What does he look like? Is his face cruel?"

  Dugald frowned. "He is a tall man, with long black hair. His eyes are as changeable as the seasons. As for his face… 'tis a hard face, to be sure. I dinna know if you would call it cruel, but… 'tis hard. He is never seen without a cloak. A long black cloak that billows behind him like the hounds of hell."

  "Papa, do you think—?" She bit off the words as the door opened with a faint creak.

  The wizard stood in the doorway, towering over them.

  He wore a loose-fitting white shirt, black breeches, and supple black leather boots. A long black cloak fell from his shoulders to ward off the chill of early morning. His eyes burned with an intensity that
Dugald found unsettling. Fear for himself and his daughter turned his blood to ice.

  Dugald took an involuntary step backward. "I have brought my daughter, as promised." He studied the wizard's face. Was it cruel? The eyes seemed dark and cold; the mouth was set in a firm line; the jaw was firm and square and well denned, the cheekbones high and proud, the nose straight and sharp as the blade of an ax. "We…" He swallowed hard, unsettled by the wizard's unwavering stare. "We will expect her back in one year."

  "Aye, old man, that was the bargain."

  "You do not ask about my woman."

  One dark brow rose slightly. "She is well, is she not?"

  "Aye," Dugald replied. Mara was well enough, though she had been inconsolable upon hearing that her dear Channa Leigh had to leave them for a time. You should have let me die, Mara had raged at him. Better that I should be dead than our daughter be at his mercy.

  Channa Leigh drew in a sharp breath as a large unfamiliar hand closed over her arm.

  "Come," said the wizard.

  "Fare thee well, Channa Leigh," Dugald said. He handed the wizard the small cloth bag that held his daughter's few belongings. "I will come for you when the year is up."

  "Fare thee well, Papa," she replied tremulously. "Will you not hug me good-bye?"

  She felt the wizard's hand fall away from her arm as her father stepped forward to embrace her.

  "Be a good lass," her father admonished softly, and she heard the unshed tears in his voice. "Remember yer prayers, at daybreak and eventide."

  "I will, Papa."

  He hugged her, hard and quick, and then he was gone, and she was alone with a stranger. Once again she felt the wizard's hand upon her arm as he guided her into the castle.

  She had never heard anything so frightening, or so final, as the sound of the heavy door closing behind her.

  He released her, and she stood there, lost and alone in the darkness. She knew he was still there. She could feel his presence looming over her. Hands clasped, she waited, wondering what was expected of her.

  Darkfest dropped the girl's belongings on the floor beside the door. "Can ye cook?" he asked.

  "Aye."

  "That will be one of your chores on the morrow. Today, I will prepare our meals."

  "Have you no servants?" she asked, thinking it strange that such a powerful wizard had no one to look after him.

  "No."

  A sliver of fear ran down her spine. She had not realized she would be alone in the keep with him. "I can prepare a meal," she said. "I enjoy cooking." It was something she did well, something that she had straggled hard to learn. Something that gave her a sense of accomplishment and self-worth.

  "Come along then," he said. He walked slowly toward the kitchen, and she followed the sound of his footsteps, her feet learning the shape and feel of the cold stones.

  In the kitchen, he took her hand, wondering if his touch would enable her to see, but she continued to stare ahead, looking at nothing. Odd that in his wolf form, his touch granted her sight. What was it, he mused, that made the difference?

  Holding her by the hand, he guided her to the pantry and to the hearth, showed her where the cook pots were, the shelves that held the pewter plates and cups and bowls, the drawer that held the utensils and the linen. He guided her hand to the pump.

  "Where do you keep the wood and the flint, my lord?" she asked.

  He blinked at her. He was master of fire and flame; he had no need of flint.

  "Ye will have no need of them," he replied. "The fire burns day and night."

  She gazed in his direction, unseeing, unblinking.

  "Is there anything ye need?" he asked.

  She shook her head. She had been blessed with a quick mind, a good memory. It would take her but a little while to learn her way around the kitchen; until she did, she would rather stumble around on her own than ask for his help.

  "Call me when the meal is ready."

  "Aye, my lord."

  With a grunt, he left the kitchen; then, on silent feet, he returned to stand in the doorway, watching her. She moved slowly about the kitchen, one hand out in front of her. He was tempted to go to her aid as she ran her hands over the pans, looking for a particular size, but he stayed where he was, curious to see if she would call for help.

  She had the patience of a saint, he mused, as he watched her. By smell and by touch, she found the ingredients she desired. His amazement grew as he watched her prepare a pot of porridge, boil half a dozen eggs, and brew a pot of tea.

  He backed away from the door as she walked toward him.

  "My lord Darkfest," she called. " 'Tis ready."

  He waited a moment, then moved toward the kitchen, making certain she could hear his footsteps.

  He approached the table and sat down. He waited for her to join him, and when she did not, he cleared his throat and said, "Come, eat with me."

  "I'd rather not."

  "I would rather ye did."

  She hesitated a moment, then made her way to the table and sat down in the chair across from him. "Shall I serve you, my lord?"

  "I can do it," he said gruffly.

  He watched her while he ate, studying her face, the rich golden color of her hair, the delicate shape of her brows. She ate very little. Her hands trembled slightly. Did she fear him so much then? Ha! He knew the stories they told of him down in the village, that he drank blood and devoured children, that he sacrificed virgins to the Dark One. That he was the misbegotten son of the Dark One.

  He would have renounced it all as nonsense save for the fact that he did not know who his father was. Perhaps he was the son of the Dark One. Perhaps that was why he had lived so long, why he did not grow old; perhaps it explained his supernatural powers.

  Darkfest stood up when the meal was over. "Would ye like me to show ye the rest of the castle now?"

  She stood up. "Aye, I would."

  Taking her by the hand, he led her through each of the rooms on the castle's main floor.

  "This is the great hall." He led her around the room, describing the huge stone fireplace that took up the entire west wall, letting her touch the long trestle tables where no one had eaten as long as he could remember. He led her to the raised dais situated near the east wall. Two chairs were located on the dais; a thick carpet was spread before the heavy oak chairs. She ran her hands over the heavy draperies that covered the windows.

  There were tapestries on the walls, three of which were embroidered with scenes he was glad Channa Leigh could not see. They had troubled him all his life. The first depicted a large black wolf being pursued by hunters. A spear protruded from the wolf's back; blood stained his fur, trailed behind him in the snow.

  The second tapestry showed a tall man clad in a flowing black cloak. Behind him, the dark sky was growing light as the sun rose over a craggy cliff. Surrounding the man were a dozen hunters armed with spears. Apart from the hunters stood a priest, a large silver cross raised over his head. Teeth bared, the man in the cloak faced his pursuers. It was the eyes that troubled Darkfest. Red eyes alight with defiance. The wolf's eyes.

  The third tapestry portrayed either a victory or a defeat, depending on one's point of view. A black wolf lay dead in the snow, surrounded by the hunters and the priest. A hooded man stood at the wolf's side, an ax poised to sever the wolf's head from his body.

  Darkfest guided her into the library, felt his face grow hot as he realized she would have no need of this room.

  He took her to the solarium, watched her smile as she took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the scents of the hardy mountain flowers that bloomed and thrived even in the midst of winter.

  He bypassed his bedchamber and led her into the room that connected to his. It was a large square room. Once, it had belonged to his mother.

  Step by step, he guided Channa Leigh to the huge canopy bed, the table that held ewer and basin. There were two large chests in the room, one for her clothing, he explained, and one for extra bedding.
r />   A smaller room opened off this room. It had been his mother's sewing room.

  He escorted Channa Leigh down the narrow corridor to the garderobe, saw the color bloom in her cheeks as he told her what it was.

  When the tour was complete, he took her back to her own room. "I will get yer belongings," he said, and left her there.

  Channa Leigh made her way to the bed and sat down. 'Twas a huge place. She would not have been surprised to learn that the whole of her village could fit inside the main hall. She ran her hands over the mattress. The bed itself was bigger than her room at home.

  Home. A single tear slipped down her cheek. A year away from her mother and father, from Ronin, seemed a terribly long time, and yet it was a small price to pay for her mother's life.

  She shook off her melancholy and thought about the wizard instead. What did he want of her?

  Frightened and restless, she stood up and began to pace the room, her feet moving slowly over the floor as she memorized the dimensions of her chamber, her hands exploring every object within the room, running over the window ledge, touching the glass.

  She whirled around at the sound of the door opening.

  " 'Tis I," Darkfest said. "I have brought yer things."

  She heard his footsteps as he crossed the floor.

  "I have put yer bag on the foot of the bed."

  "Thank you, my lord." She clasped her hands to still their trembling, took a deep breath. "I would like to know, my lord, what it is you expect of me."

  "I should like ye to prepare my meals and wash my clothes, and clean the castle, as best ye can."

  "Aye, my lord. Is that all?"

  "It is."

  "I do not mean to be impudent, my lord, but surely you could have hired a girl from the village to serve you. One who could see."

  "Aye, Channa Leigh."

  "Then why…"

  "Why did I want ye?"

  She nodded, certain she had angered him.

  "I want ye to sing for me in the evening, Channa Leigh. For me, and for no one else. Is there anything else ye wish to know?"

  "Nay, my lord. I shall do whatever you wish."

  "Then we shall get on well together, the two of us."