Midnight Pleasures

For all those who patiently

—And not so patiently—

Urged me to finish this tale,

I hope you're as happy with

The results as I am.

And especially for

Ethan and Monique—

I couldn't have done it

Without you.

PROLOGUE

They were afraid of him, but then, as far back as he could remember, people had been afraid of him. Even his mother had looked upon him with a certain measure of fear. He had learned to walk when he was but six months old, could converse with his elders by the time he was two, could turn water into ale at three.

As a child, he had not understood the amazement of his elders. He had thought all males were as gifted as he. He had been well and truly surprised to discover that those he came in contact with could not read his mind as he read theirs. His playmates, though few, stood in awe of his ability to create fire and summon thunder at his will.

He had cherished his unique powers, not knowing that, as time passed, those who knew him would come to fear him, while others who were hungry for power would go to any and all lengths to learn the secret of his awesome powers, his eternal youth. Feared and held in suspicion by those who knew him, pursued by those who would steal his power, his very life, he had taken refuge inside his father's keep.

Now, three hundred years later, all those he had known in his youth were gone, and he alone remained, shut up in a prison of his own making at the top of a high mountain.

CHAPTER 1

A distant land before recorded time

It was midnight on the Eve of First Harvest and he stood alone on a rocky pinnacle of his high mountain, watching the villagers far below as they danced around a fire blazing in the middle of the square.

No mere mortal could have discerned aught but the flames, but the wizard of Darkfest Keep could clearly see the face and form of each man, woman, and child, hear their songs of joy, their shouts of carefree laughter. He saw Adair, the cooper, flirting with a woman who was not his wife, saw young Muggins slip quietly into the shadows with the blacksmith's daughter. Old Henrew was telling ribald stories to a handful of young men, while Alys the midwife sat apart from the others telling a young maid's fortune.

Such foolishness, the wizard mused, singing and dancing during the dark of the moon. He could have told them that all the singing in the world would not protect their crops from weevils or drought, or ensure a bountiful harvest. Dancing barefoot in the dirt would not make their women fertile, but who was he to vanquish their hopes and dreams, foolish though they might be?

And when the crops failed and the clouds withheld their moisture, the villagers would take their courage in hand and climb the narrow rocky mountain path to his door. Cowering with fear, careful not to meet his gaze, they would plead for his help. They would bring him golden ears of corn and flasks of spiced wine, a lamb without blemish, the meager contents of the town's treasury. They would grant him homage and beg for his mercy. And if it suited his mood, he would accept their offerings and grant their boon, and they would hurry away, never meeting his eyes, careful to keep him from seeing that they made the sign against evil behind his back.

Their fear amused him. He possessed many strange and wondrous powers, but, awesome as his talents might be, even he could not perform all the mystical feats of which they believed him capable.

The sound of lute and tambourine floated toward him, borne on the wings of a gentle east wind. And then he heard a voice, her voice, as light as morning dew, as clear as crystal ice. A lovely voice that threaded through the darkness and twined around his soul like a fine silken web.

Channa Leigh's voice.

It tugged at him, pulling him nearer the edge of the precipice on which he stood, tantalizing him, calling to something deep within his soul as it did each time he heard it. He saw her clearly, sitting on the edge of the well in the center of the village square. Her father, Dugald of Brynn, stood near her side, proud and protective, but Darkfest had eyes only for the fair Channa Leigh. She wore a white apron over a simple blue dress. Her hair, as bright as the sun on a summer day, fell in rippling waves down her back and over her shoulders, glistening in the firelight like a river of molten gold.

This night, her voice beckoned him as never before. Unable to resist, eager to more closely behold the face of the one blessed with the voice of an angel, he gathered his power close around him. He felt it coalesce and he drew it close, feeling it surround him, and then he stepped out into the darkness of space, his body falling like a leaf from a tree, changing from wizard to wolf as he drifted downward to land, as light as dandelion down, on the ground.

"Sing another, Channa Leigh."

"Aye, lass, give us another!"

Channa Leigh smiled as the crowd gathered around her urged her to sing another song. Singing was her one true love, her sole reason for living. Locked in a world of darkness, she had only her music to light her days.

Hands clasped to her breast, she began to sing again, an ancient lullaby she had often heard her mother sing. A hush fell over the crowd, and even the rowdy young men near the tavern fell silent, until the only sound to be heard was her voice, the notes strong and true, blending with the whisper of the night wind and the faint crackle of the flames. The lullaby gave way to a ballad of love lost and found, the words sung with such feeling that many a woman wept silent tears, and many a man, too.

There was a moment of awed quiet as the last note fell away, and then Channa Leigh heard someone gasp, heard someone else softly exclaim, "Look at that!"

She felt the undercurrent of fear that ran through the crowd, heard their shuffling feet as they backed away from her.

"Hold still, lass," her father called softly.

Accustomed to obeying her father's every word, Channa Leigh did as she was told. And then, like a ray of brilliant sunshine penetrating a dark cloud, she felt a presence beside her.

"Dinna move, Daughter." Her father's voice trembled now. "Dinna move."

She felt a pressure against her leg, the brush of thick, soft fur against her hand. "What is it?" she whispered.

" 'Tis a mountain wolf, the biggest I've ever seen."

She should have been afraid. Mountain wolves were huge beasts, some near as large as a draft pony. They were predators without equal.

She should have been afraid, yet she felt no fear at all as the big wolf circled her, his body pressing against her legs. She felt a stirring in the air, a whisper, like the mournful sighing of the wind before dawn. A tingling on her skin, like the touch of the sun after a cold winter. Before she had time to wonder what it meant, the chains of darkness fell away from her eyes. Too stunned to speak, she stared at the creature as he rubbed his huge head against her hand, blatantly begging for her touch. What magic was this? she wondered in awe. What witchery had fallen on her to restore her sight? Hesitantly, she scratched his ears, then ran her fingertips over his head and neck. She was rewarded with a low growl that rumbled like soft thunder. Startled, she drew her hand away, and darkness descended on her once more.

The wolf whined low in his throat, his muzzle pressing against her arm. She blinked and blinked again, and as she sat there, her hand resting lightly upon the wolf's head, she realized that she was seeing the world through the wolf's eyes. Her own eyes widened with surprise as she noticed the wolf's eyes were blue. Who had ever heard of such a thing as a blue-eyed wolf?

"Be still, lass," Dugald warned softly. "Ronin has gone for his bow."

"Nay!" Channa Leigh cried. "Nay, Papa, you must not kill it!"

"Are you daft, girl? 'Tis a wild beastie, not a pet."

Slowly, her hand resting firmly on the wolf's head, she stood and turned toward the sound of her father's voice. "Papa? Papa, I can see you."

Dugald stared at his daughter in astonishment. "Channa Leigh, what are you saying?"

"I can see you."

"Channa Leigh?" A woman stepped out of the crowd, her pale blue eyes shining with tears.

"Mama? Oh, Mama, I can see."

Mara stared at her daughter. "But… but… how is that possible?"

"I dinna know." Slowly, Channa Leigh glanced around, and she could see them all, the people she had lived with all her life, some whom she had never seen. " 'Tis a miracle."

A miracle that ended when Ronin ran forward, his longbow clutched in his hand. Ronin, who was the best hunter in the village, who provided the village folk with meat summer and winter, who found game when no one else could.

She shouted, "Nay, you must not!" as he put arrow to string and sighted down the shaft.

With a graceful leap and a roar that seemed to shake the very pillars of the earth, the big black wolf disappeared into the night, leaving her in darkness once more.

He stood once again on the pinnacle of the mountain, shaken to the very foundation of his soul. Her spirit, as pure and clean as the light of dawn, had brushed his, and as their souls collided, the fetters of blindness had melted away and she had seen the world through his eyes. He had felt her joy as she looked upon the faces of her father and mother for the first time since an illness in childhood had stolen her sight. In those few moments, he had felt all of her pain, her sense of being shut off from the rest of the world, her yearning for a home and a family of her own.

How was this possible? In three hundred years, he had performed countless miracles, healed the sick, coaxed rain from the heavens, but never had he plumbed the depths of another soul, nor had another see the world through his eyes.

He gazed down at the villagers. They stood subdued after the incident with the wolf. Had he willed it, he could have heard their voices, read their thoughts, but he closed his mind against them, his whole being focused on the young woman who gazed sightlessly into the distance, her heart silently beseeching the great black wolf to return to her side.

CHAPTER 2

He paced through the empty rooms of the great stone castle all that night, his mind in turmoil.

He knew so much, and yet he knew so little.

He had performed wondrous feats of magic, yet could not explain why a blind peasant girl had been able to see when she touched him.

He paused in front of the looking glass that adorned one wall of his chamber, stared at the reflection before him as though it could give him the answers he sought, but he saw only what he had always seen: a tall man, broad of chest and long of limb. His hair fell past his shoulders, long and straight and black save for a narrow streak of gray at his left temple. His eyes changed color with the seasons—cold gray in winter, pale green in spring, deep brown in the fall. This night, they were the warm blue of a summer sky.

She had touched him and seen the world through his eyes. How was that possible? Were he to touch her while in his human form, would the same miracle occur?

He walked slowly through the great stone castle that was his domain. He had lived here alone all his adult life, watching the world change, watching the people in the village below as they went through the endless cycle of life and death.

He had watched Channa Leigh grow from being a plump, pink-cheeked babe, to a long-legged girl, to a beautiful young woman. It seemed he had always watched Channa Leigh, that he had ever been drawn to the beautiful green-eyed girl who now stared at the world through sightless eyes.

He paused in the great hall to stare up at the painting of his parents. His mother was as fair as his father was dark. She had been a pale, slender creature with light brown hair and eyes as blue as a deep mountain lake. His father had been darkness itself—dark of skin and hair and eyes. Dark of soul, some had said. The people of the village had called him the Dragon Lord of Darkfest Keep.

Darkfest left the castle and wandered through the quiet night, bedeviled by questions for which he had no answers, knowing only that should he surrender to the darkness that dwelled deep within him, he would be forever lost, forever damned.

In the days that followed, he tried to put Channa Leigh out of his mind, but it was impossible. Like the ache from an old wound, she came back again and again to torment him. He felt anew the touch of her small, gentle hand on his head, relived her wonder as she saw the world through his eyes. And because he had ever been selfish when it came to satisfying his own wants, a fortnight later he again changed into the guise of a mountain wolf and made his way down the mountainside to the village.

He knew which house was hers, knew in what room she slept. But even had he not known, her warm, familiar scent would have beckoned him as surely as candlelight drew the tiny white moths.

He hesitated a moment, weighing the risk of being discovered against the prize, and then dismissed the danger. He was Darkfest, more than a match for a few lowly peasants.

Her window was open and he leaped effortlessly over the low sill, then padded soundlessly toward her narrow bed. She slept on her side, facing the window, one hand tucked, childlike, beneath her cheek. Her eyes were closed, but he knew them well, wide and innocent beneath delicately shaped brows, as green as the leaves of the pine trees that grew close together along the river. Her rich golden hair fell in a long braid over her shoulder. He lifted the heavy braid with his paw, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Her scent filled his nostrils, warmed every nerve.

Would she wake if he dared to lie beside her? It was a temptation he could not resist. Lightly he jumped onto her bed and stretched out beside her, his back to her front. A low growl of satisfaction rambled in his throat as she snuggled against him.

A sigh, soft as a summer breeze, whispered past her lips, ruffling his fur.

Of what do ye dream, my Channa Leigh? he wondered, and closing his eyes, he covered her hand with his paw and let his mind meld with hers…

At first there was only darkness, and then, gradually, the world brightened and he saw her walking along the river-bank, one hand resting on the head of a huge wolf. And she saw the world through his eyes. He experienced her wonder as she watched a gray squirrel run up a tree. She stopped to touch the soft pink petals of a brier rose, stooped to run her hands over the green velvet grass. Now and then she paused and gazed up at the sky, and then she moved on, her head turning slowly from side to side, examining everything she passed—flowers, leaves, rocks, a fat brown caterpillar.

He felt her fingers in his hair as her hand stroked the dream wolf's head. He had thought to change into his true form but decided against it now, afraid she might sense the change and awaken.

In her dream, she sat down in the shade of a flowering oak, and the big wolf stretched out beside her, his head in her lap.

As she stroked the dream wolf, he felt his own body tingle, his skin ripple with pleasure, as though she were caressing him and not the wolf in her dream.

"Isn't the world a wondrous place, my dark one?" she said. "I had forgotten how beautiful it all was." She ran one hand over the grass. "This is green. 'Tis a glorious color.

And the earth. 'Tis brown, like Papa's cow. Oh, and look at the sky. "Its a wondrous shade of blue. As blue as your eyes."

Time passed. An hour, a day… in a dream, time had no meaning, not that it mattered. He had all the time in the world. Man or beast, in this world or in the world of Channa Leigh's dreams, he was content to rest there, by her side, to feel her fingers stroke his fur, to breathe in her scent, to imagine himself as a man at her side, his head cradled in her lap, his lips tasting hers…

As if she knew his thoughts, the dreaming Channa Leigh pressed her fingertips to her lips. "Tell me, dark one, do you think I shall ever find a man to love?" She laughed softly, sadly. "I think Ronin has feelings for me, though he has never spoken them aloud." She breathed a heavy sigh. "But even should he care, what man would want one such as I? "

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 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 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.

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.

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."

She heard his footsteps move toward the door.

"I shall see ye this evening. The larder is well stocked with meat. Prepare whatever ye wish for supper."

"Aye, my lord."

She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the door close. She would cook for him and sing for him, and at the end of a year she would go home.

Darkfest cursed softly as he left the girl's room. He should not have brought her here. What folly had possessed him to do so, to think he could look at her every day and not want her, to think he could remember the touch of her hand upon his wolf self and not take her to his bed? Even now, he burned for her, for the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice rising in ecstasy, sobbing his name.

With a harsh laugh, he plunged down the stairs to the dungeon room where he practiced his sorcery. What did he know of women? Of ecstasy? No doubt she knew more of the carnal nature of what went on between a man and a woman than he did. His only experience in coupling had been in his wolf form with a she-wolf late one moonlit night. It had left him feeling satisfied and confused and frightened.

A wave of his hand, and a dozen candles sprang to life, illuminating the room where he kept the ingredients he used in his magic. Powdered horn of a unicorn. Saint-John's-wort. Crushed rosemary and thyme, vervain and yarrow and lavender, garlic and sage and rue, mugwort and cinquefoil and hyssop. He kept a large supply of tree bark and leaves: birch for cleansing and to expel evil; hazel for wisdom and the divining of water; yew, the tree of death; rowan for life and healing; ash for power and absorbing illness; pine for rejuvenation; willow for enchantment; hawthorn for male potency; holly for beauty; the apple for fertility; mistletoe for love and peace. And the alder, said to be the tree of fire, the wood of witches and wizards. He carried a whistle made of alder in his pocket for use in summoning and controlling the four winds.

He needed but little help in conjuring or making spells. The power was within him, within his hands, within his heart and mind. His, for good or for evil.

But it was not power or magic that concerned him this night. It was a fair lass by name of Channa Leigh. What was he to do with her, now that she was here?

Dinner was a silent affair. He could think of nothing to say to her, the beautiful young woman who sat across from him, her head bowed, the shimmering curtain of her hair concealing her face from his prying eyes.

The meal she had prepared was fit for a liege lord: the roasted venison succulent and swimming in a rich sauce, the vegetables sweet, the bread still warm from the oven. And yet he would have traded it all for a plate of cold ashes to see her smile.

When the meal was over, he thanked her, curtly, and left the room.

He took refuge in the high-ceilinged library that was his favorite room in the castle. It was a large chamber, with a cozy hearth and leaded windows. A bearskin rug was spread before the fireplace; curtains of so deep a blue as to be almost black hung at the windows. An enormous overstuffed chair, large enough to seat two comfortably, was angled toward the fire. A heavy oak table stood beside it. Two walls were lined with shelves that were crammed with ancient books and scrolls that held the wisdom of the known world. He had read them all many times over.

He whirled around, his gaze going to the door, which he had left open. He heard her footsteps in the corridor, hesitant, barely audible, and yet they echoed in his mind like thunder.

"My lord?" She stood in the doorway, her head cocked to one side. "Are you here?"

"Aye, lass. What is it ye want?"

"You said you wished me to sing for you."

He grunted softly. "Come in," he invited, and then, remembering that she could not see, he went to her. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the room, bid her sit down in his chair.

"I would rather stand," she said, "if you dinna mind."

"As ye wish."

"What will you have me sing, my lord?"

"Whatever pleases ye."

She hesitated a moment, and then she began to sing the lullaby he had heard her sing on the night of First Harvest. Hands clasped to her breasts, head high, eyes closed, her voice filled the room, soft and sweet and filled with yearning, and he knew in that moment that she dreamed of marriage, that she hungered for a babe of her own.

"My sweet bonnie lass,

A boon from heaven above,

I cradle you to my heart

And pray you know my love.

"Sweet bonnie lass,

My sweet bonnie lass,

Heaven sent you to me.

Heaven sent you to me.

"My sweet bonnie lass

So young and fair of face,

May you ever walk in sunshine

And be blessed with God's good grace."

She sang to him for an hour, and he felt her words twine around his heart, as delicate as a silken web, as binding as silver chains.

How beautiful she was, this woman known as Channa Leigh. There was magic in her voice, a mystical power equal to his own as she sang of a maiden's dreams and a mother's love and a warrior's heart.

"Enough," he said, his voice hoarse, his mind reeling from the images her songs had planted within his mind.

"As you wish, my lord," she said, and with a curtsey she left the room, leaving him awash in darkness though the room glowed with the warm rosy light of the fire.

And he knew, as he listened to her footsteps fade away, that he was totally, irrevocably, lost.

CHAPTER 6

In her room, as she undressed for bed, she resolved to be brave and strong. A year was not so very long, after all, and when it was over, she would go home and marry Ronin.

She found her bag at the foot of the bed and dug through its meager contents for her nightgown. Slipping it over her head, she crawled under the covers. The mattress was soft, the sheets wondrously clean. And warm. They were not made of the coarse cotton she was used to, but some soft material that seemed to enfold her. Her pillow, too, was softer than what she was used to. Filled with down, she thought.

Lying on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, she stared sightlessly into the darkness, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

"Mama's life is worth it," she whispered. But it didn't stop the tears.

Darkfest stood before the hearth in the great hall, listening to the sound of her tears. She was lonely and homesick and afraid. Why had he brought her here?

Why, indeed?

Without conscious thought, her image danced across his mind—her body supple, her hair like sunlight, her skin the color of the wild peaches that grew to the north. Oh, yes, he knew why he had brought her here, knew it with every breath, knew it in the deepest region of his heart and soul.

But he could not admit it. Neither could he stay away from her side.

He changed to wolf form as he made his way down the corridor. A thought opened the door and he padded into her room. For a time, he stood beside the bed, watching her, and then he licked her arm.

She woke with a start, her sightless eyes wide, her mouth open in a silent cry.

A low rumble rose from his throat as he leaned forward and licked her arm again.

"Magick? Is that you?"

He growled softly in reply.

"But… how did you get in here?"

With eager hands she reached for him, her fingers gently grasping his fur. And he felt the darkness leave her eyes, saw her smile as the shadowy room became visible. She gasped as the candle at her bedside sprang to life.

"Oh, my," she murmured, glancing around. " 'Tis even bigger than I thought."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, one hand still clinging to his fur. "Look how high the ceilings are. Oh! Magick, look."

He heard the wonder in her voice as she stared at the painting on the ceiling. It had been done hundreds of years ago. He had stopped seeing it long ago; now, as he looked at it through her eyes, it was like seeing it for the first time. Fluffy white clouds were scattered against a pale blue sky. Turtledoves nested within the branches of a tree. A fawn slept in a thicket. A handful of sheep grazed in green pastures. It was a lovely mural, meant to lull one into peaceful slumber.

She ruffled his fur, and then she frowned. Leaning forward, she cradled his head in her hands. "Your eyes," she murmured. "They were blue before, and now they are gray. How is that possible?"

The wolf's tail thumped on the floor.

" 'Tis very strange," she said, and then laughed softly. "But no more strange than the way my sight returns when you are here."

Slipping out of bed, she crossed the room, opened the door, and peered up and down the corridor. "Where do you suppose he is?" she asked. "Do you think he's asleep?"

The wolf gave a low bark.

"Come," she said, and with a firm grip on his fur she left her chamber. The wolf padded quietly beside her.

She paused when she reached the bedchamber where Darkfest slept. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for a moment, then looked down at the wolf. "I dinna hear anything." She giggled behind her hand. "I thought he would snore loudly, like Papa."

The wolf looked up at her, tail wagging.

They explored the main floor of the castle. She thought it odd that candles burned in every room even after the lord of the castle had retired for the night. He must be rich indeed, she thought, to incur such waste.

She ran her hands over the rich green velvet that covered the thronelike chairs in the great hall. An enormous carpet, woven in muted shades of green and blue, was spread before the chairs; another was spread before the hearth. She ran her fingertips over the exquisite tapestries that covered the cold stone walls, paused in front of a painting that hung from a gold cord. "They are a handsome couple, are they not?" she mused, and smiled when the wolf thumped his tail on the floor.

She touched everything she saw. Several long tables and benches lined two walls. All were covered with a fine layer of dust. She trailed her finger over one of the tables, leaving a clean streak behind.

" 'Tis a great deal of work to be done," she remarked.

She paused at the great stone hearth and stared up at the sword that hung above the mantel. It was a large, heavy weapon. The hilt was set with sapphires and emeralds that winked a bright blue and green in the candlelight.

"Is that his sword, do you think?" she mused. "Looks very sharp."

Leaving the hall, they went into the solarium. There were a myriad of flowers and other plants growing there and she touched them all, stopping to smell the flowers, marveling at the silky feel of one of the blossoms, amazed that there were flowers at all when winter winds blew.

"Do you think he knows the names of all these flowers?" she wondered aloud. She stooped to smell a delicate bloom.

The next room was filled with books, more books than she had ever dreamed existed in all the world. Shelves of books, of scrolls covered with strange lines and symbols. Surely it would take several lifetimes to read so many books.

She picked one up and turned the pages. The words meant nothing, but there were pictures on some of the pages—pictures of animals and plants and people. A storybook, perhaps.

They left the library and went into the kitchen and she studied the pots and pans, the knives, the placement of the dishes and cups in the cupboard, so she could better remember them tomorrow. She lifted the lid on the bread box, cut a thick slice from a loaf of crusty brown bread, and covered it with butter and honey.

"Hmm," she said. She looked down at the wolf as she licked a drop of honey from her lips. "Would you care for a taste?"

The wolf wagged his tail, so she broke off a corner of the bread and offered it to him. He took it gently from her hand, then licked the crumbs from her fingertips. The rough velvet of his tongue sent a shiver down her spine.

It was near dawn by the time she returned to her own chamber. Yawning, she climbed up on the big bed, then patted the mattress beside her.

With a low woof, the wolf leaped up beside her. "Oh, Magick, I wish you could stay with me always," she said wistfully. She slid under the covers, and the wolf stretched out beside her. "Are you really here?" she asked, her voice low and dreamy and sleep-edged. "Or am I just dreaming?"

Perhaps I am the one dreaming, the wolf thought as her breasts pressed against his back. Her arms wrapped around him and she rested her chin on the top of his head. If so, I hope I never awake.

He lay there, her warm body pressed against his own, feeling her fingers stroke his head. Eyes closed with pleasure, he remained at her side until sleep claimed her. And then, unable to resist, he took on his own shape, his body humming with desire as he felt her soft curves pressed against his back.

He stayed there, unmoving, until the torment grew unbearable. And then, muttering an oath, he left her bed without a backward glance.

He woke to the tantalizing aroma of sausage and fresh-baked biscuits. A word brought the fireplace to life, the flames quickly chasing the chill from the air.

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, wondering if 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 you will wait in the dining hall, I shall serve your 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 her cup 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 had 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 you, 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…"

"Yes?"

Her fingers worried a fold in her skirt. What should she say? If she told him about the wolf, would he believe her? She could scarcely believe it herself.

"I know about the wolf," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"Do you? But how?"

"I am Darkfest," he said, a touch of arrogance in his tone. "I know all."

" 'Tis most amazing, my lord," Channa Leigh said, her excitement momentarily chasing away her awe at being in his presence. "When I touch him, I can see. Oh, my lord, 'tis a miracle."

"Aye," he agreed. "A miracle." And knew in that moment that he would not rest until he had found a way to cure Channa Leigh's blindness.

Later, alone in his workshop, he pored through his books, looking for a spell that would restore Channa Leigh's sight. Her lack of vision was not a sickness that he could absorb into himself or heal with a bit of magic, but the result of an accident sustained in childhood.

He spent hours searching through every book, every manuscript, every scroll, and then, at last, he found it:

From dark to light,

The trail is trod,

With faith, hope, and courage

And a dark dragon's blood.

He stood up, stretching. A dark dragon's blood. There were no dragons in the mountains of Krendall and few in the lands beyond. Their numbers grew less with each passing century, for they were solitary beasts who had been hunted to near extinction. But he knew of one. Far to the north, in an enchanted valley, lived an ancient dragon known as Blackencrill. He was rumored to be a fearsome beast, friend to none and enemy to all. A powerful beast, it was said he was subject to no magic but his own. All who dared enter his valley did so at their own peril.

Going to the room's single window, Darkfest stared at the gardens beyond. Tonight, at dinner, he would tell Channa Leigh of his discovery. The decision, of course, must be hers.

"Magic? You think you can restore my sight through magic?" Hope exploded through Channa Leigh's heart. To see again. It was a dream come true, an answered prayer. "How soon can we leave?"

He glanced out the window. There were only a few weeks of winter left. "Soon. There are preparations I must make."

"Thank you, my lord."

She held out her hand. It took him a moment to realize she wanted to touch him. He drew a deep breath, then took her hand in his. Opposites, he thought. Large and small. Dark and light. Her skin was warm, her palms lightly callused from years of hard work.

His gaze moved over her face.

She was so lovely, so innocent. It grieved him to think of her locked in darkness, unable to see the people she loved, the beauty of a summer's day, the glory of autumn's changing leaves, the flowers that bloomed in rainbow colors on the hillsides in the spring, winter's first snowfall.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he changed into the wolf and laid his head in her lap.

"Magick!" she exclaimed softly. "You're here." She cocked her head to one side. "Lord Darkfest? My lord, are you here?" She stroked the wolf's head, her brow furrowed. "Where do you suppose he's gone?"

Rising, one hand firmly grasping the wolf's ruff, she left the kitchen and walked through the castle, looking for Darkfest, but he was nowhere to be found. Strange, she thought, how quickly he had disappeared. But perhaps not. He was a wizard, after all. Those in the village said he could appear and disappear at will, that he could fly or dissolve into mist. 'Twas foolishness, of course. No man could do those things. And, wizard or not, he was still a man.

"I wish I could find him," she said. "I should very much like to see if he is as fearsome to look upon as everyone says. Ah, well," she sighed, "another time, perhaps."

Turning back toward the kitchen, she filled a pan with water, put it on the stove to heat. The wolf stood beside her as she washed and dried the dishes. She found, to her delight, that as long as he was touching her or she was touching him, she was able to see.

Washing the dishes, usually a chore, was now a delight. With the wolf standing close to her side, she lifted her hand and watched the water drip from her fingers. She studied the soapsuds, noticed the way the lamplight made the bubbles sparkle and shimmer with all the colors of the rainbow. She picked up a goblet made of red glass and held it in front of her eyes, laughing as the world turned a rosy red.

How much easier to wash and dry the dishes when she could see what she was doing! She rearranged the shelves, putting the items used most frequently within easy reach.

She set the table for the morning meal; then, one hand tangled in the wolf's fur, she left the kitchen and went into the great hall.

There was a large curved settee before the huge stone fireplace. Channa Leigh stared at it, wondering where it had come from. It hadn't been there before.

Crossing the room, she sat down, her fingers caressing the velvet cloth. A furry robe was folded over the back of the settee, and she drew it over her, then settled back, her gaze drawn to the flames dancing in the hearth, one hand lightly stroking the wolf.

"I love this room," she remarked. " 'Tis so big. So majestic. I've never seen anything like it." She looked at the wolf, lying on the sofa beside her, and grinned. "But then, I've never seen much of anything."

The wolf seemed to be smiling at her, she thought, but of course, it was just her imagination.

Warmed by the fire, she closed her eyes, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping her lips as the wolf licked her hand.

A moment later, she was asleep.

CHAPTER 7

"Not here?" Ronin frowned. "Where has she gone?"

Dugald and Mara exchanged worried looks.

"She's not ill?"

"Nay, nay," Dugald said quickly. "She's not ill."

"Then where is she? I promised to take her walking this forenoon."

"You might as well tell him the way of it," Mara said, her tone laced with anger. "Sure and he'll find out sooner or later."

"Tell me what?" Ronin asked sharply. He looked from Dugald to Mara, his concern growing. "Has aught befallen her?"

Mara blew out a sigh of exasperation. "I was ill, as you know," she said, her words falling hard and quick. "Dugald summoned the wizard to heal me."

Ronin nodded. It was obvious that Mara was now enjoying good health. "What has this to do with my Channa Leigh?"

"The wizard demanded her company for one year in exchange for my healing."

Ronin's eyes grew wide. "She's there, with him?' he exclaimed. "In the castle? Alone?"

Dugald nodded.

"You let her go?" Ronin asked in disbelief. "Did you not think to consider my feelings?"

"Of course I did," Dugald replied. " 'Twas Channa Leigh's decision to go."

Ronin blinked, and blinked again. "I dinna believe you."

" 'Tis true nonetheless. I forbade it, but she vowed she would go. The wizard would accept nothing else."

"But… what will he do to her?"

Mara shook her head. Tears glistened in her eyes. "Sure and it would have been better that I died than she go with the lord of Darkfest Castle."

"Nay," Dugald said, quickly crossing himself. "Dinna speak of death."

"I canna help it," Mara said, and as if a dam had burst deep inside her, tears flooded her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She looked at the two men, no longer trying to hide her sorrow or her fear for her daughter's life.

"I'm sure she's well," Dugald said, discomfited, as always, by his wife's tears.

Ronin nodded. "Of course she is," he said hastily.

"But the stories…" Mara sobbed, unable to go on.

"Well, 'tis sure I am that they're naught but tales told to frighten children," Dugald said.

Ronin nodded again. "Aye, my mother told them to me oft enough when I was a lad."

Mara collapsed into a chair, her face buried in her apron.

Dugald looked at Ronin and shrugged.

"What do you really think he'll do to her?" Ronin asked, keeping his voice low so Mara could not hear.

"I dinna know. There have always been tales told of the lord of Darkfest Castle, but I've never known anyone who has actually come to harm at his hands."

With that dubious bit of comfort Ronin took his leave, determined to find out for himself how Channa Leigh fared at the hands of the wizard. She had been promised to him, and that made her his, as his horse and his crossbow were his. And he kept what was his.

It was a long walk up the mountainside. Time and again, Ronin ran his hand over the hilt of his sword. No man he had ever met could best him with bow or blade. No man would take Channa Leigh. She had sworn to be his wife, and a betrothal was as binding as a marriage; he would not share her with another, not even with the wizard of Dark-fest Keep.

The castle rose like a sleeping beast at the top of the mountain. Hewn of gray stone, it was a forbidding place, surrounded by tall trees.

Ronin paused when he reached the door, some of his courage deserting him as he gazed at the life-size wolf's head carved into the dark wood. It was remarkably lifelike, so much so that he wouldn't have been surprised if the creature had growled at him.

Chiding himself for his foolishness, he rang the bellpull, heard the sound echo and re-echo through the interior of the castle.

Moments passed. Impatient, he rang the bell again.

And then the door opened, and he found himself looking up into the face of the lord of Darkfest Castle.

"What do ye want?" the wizard demanded, his voice brusque.

"I've come for Channa Leigh."

"Indeed? Who are ye?" Darkfest asked, though he knew full well who the boy was.

"I'm Ronin the hunter," he replied, his voice overloud. "Channa Leigh is my betrothed."

"Come back in a year."

"Nay. I will take her away with me now." Ronin met the older man's gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the wizard's size and reputation.

"She is to be mine for this year," Darkfest said, his voice implacable. "I willna release her one day sooner." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Be gone now, lest I turn ye into a newt."

A shiver of unease slithered down Ronin's spine, but he had come too far to turn tail and run. He was a hunter, a warrior, with a warrior's pride. Better to die with honor than be branded a coward.

Darkfest smiled faintly as he read the younger man's thoughts. Foolish youth, he thought, ready to die rather than surrender. Almost, he felt sorry for the boy. He could extinguish his life with the wave of his hand. It was a tempting thought, more so when he imagined the boy wed to Channa Leigh, taking her to his bed, planting his seed within her.

A wave of jealousy swept over him. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he had lifted his hand, ready to strike the boy down, when he heard Channa Leigh's footfalls on the floor.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm.

"Channa Leigh!" Ronin called. "Are you all right?"

She moved unerringly toward the open door, causing Darkfest to marvel at her ability to get around the castle unaided. She had a remarkable memory, he thought, that she should so quickly have memorized the design of the place.

"Ronin," she said, her voice warm with welcome. "What brings you here?"

"I've come to fetch you home."

"Home?" she asked, alarmed. "Why? Is something wrong?" Her hand went to her throat. "Mama's not sick again?"

"Nay," Ronin said quickly. "All is well. 'Tis only that I've come to claim what is mine."

"I dinna understand."

"You dinna belong here," Ronin said, his courage asserting itself once more.

"Oh, but I do," she said softly. "For one year, I belong to Lord Darkfest."

"Nay! I'll not have you staying here, alone with him."

"I gave him my word, Ronin," she said. "Would you have me break it?"

"Ye have yer answer," Darkfest said, his voice like the rumble of a coming storm. "Go home."

"Fare thee well, Ronin," Channa Leigh said.

He stared at her a moment, wanting to argue, wanting to rush in and take her away by force, but he knew about honor and, in the end, he turned and started back down the path that led to the village.

Darkfest closed the door, then turned and faced Channa Leigh. "So," he said, "is that the boy yer going to wed?"

"He's no a boy," Channa Leigh said defensively. "He's a man full-grown, and a brave hunter."

Darkfest scowled, annoyed by the note of admiration in Channa Leigh's voice, jealous at the way she jumped to the boy's defense.

" 'Tis a beautiful day," he growled. "Would ye care to go outside?"

"Oh, yes."

"Come, then." He took her hand, noting the way she flinched at his touch. Did she flinch when that boy touched her, or did she fall into his arms, eager and ready for his caresses?

Jealousy was an emotion he had not known before; the depth of it surprised him as much as the source. To think that he, the lord of Darkfest Keep, was jealous of a callow youth. It was unthinkable, and yet it was true.

He guided her through the castle toward the door that led into the rear yard. Tall trees cut in fanciful shapes grew along the high stone wall. Plants and flowers bloomed here in rich abundance, nourished by the strength of his power. He had fresh fruit and vegetables the year round. He raised no animals, ate little meat save that which the villagers brought him.

Peacocks strutted in the sunlight; turtledoves nested in the tops of the trees.

Holding Channa Leigh's hand, he walked her through the yard, describing the trees, the plants, the flowers, the birds. She listened intently and he saw the yearning in her face, the desire to see it for herself.

"I have business to attend to," he said, his voice curt. "Will ye be all right out here alone for a time?"

"Yes."

He led her to a low bench beneath a flowering tree. "Sit here," he said, "until I return."

With a nod, she sat down, her skirts spread around her.

Darkfest moved away a few steps, his shape changing, his muscles rippling, and then, in the guise of the wolf, he returned to her side.

"Magick!" Channa Leigh exclaimed as he pressed himself against her leg. "What are you doing here?" Smiling happily, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I am so glad to see you."

Rising, one hand grasping his fur, she stood up, her head turning from side to side as she tried to see everything at once.

"Oh, look!" she said, pointing at a peacock with feathers spread wide. "Isn't it beautiful? Oh, and look at that, and that."

The garden was like a fairyland, filled with plants in myriad shades of green and flowers in all the colors of the rainbow—bright reds and blues, violet and lavender, yellow and orange and pink. She walked through the flowers, pausing to touch this one, to smell that one, to stare in wonder at a tall plant with brilliant white flowers and sharp black thorns.

When she reached out to touch it, the wolf growled and pushed himself between her and the plant.

"Stop that," she said, and reached for the flower again, giving a little shriek when the wolf rose up on his hind legs and caught her hand in his mouth.

Channa Leigh frowned at Magick. "Why can I not touch it?"

Releasing her hand, the wolf shook his head.

"Is it poison?"

The wolf barked once, sharply.

"Very well." She turned away from the white flower, the forbidden plant quickly forgotten. There were birds everywhere, their feathers as colorful as the flowers.

" 'Tis amazing, that he has flowers in wintertime," she mused aloud.

Lost in the wonder and beauty of the yard, she walked on until she came to a very large, very deep pond surrounded by green grass and lacy ferns. Colorful fish swam in the clear water. A bridge made of white stone spanned the pool.

Stretching out on her stomach, one arm draped over the wolf's back, she gazed into the water, content to watch the fish and the frogs and the dragonflies.

"I should probably go back to the bench," she remarked after a while, "before he comes back and finds me gone, but 'tis so pretty here." She looked at the wolf and smiled. "Do you not think so?"

He barked softly, then licked her cheek.

"I wish I knew where you come from," she said, giggling as his warm pink tongue caressed her face. "And why I can see when we touch. 'Tis the strangest thing." She gazed deep into the wolf's eyes. "Sometimes I think you can understand everything I say." She frowned. "Sometimes I think you can read my mind. Can you? It wouldna surprise me if you could. In fact, I dinna think anything will ever surprise me again."

His eyes were dark gray, familiar somehow. She knew it was only her foolish imagination, but sometimes he seemed almost human. She ran her hands over the wolf's coat, loving the rich texture of his fur.

With a low whine of pleasure, Magick stretched out beside her, basking in her touch, until the pleasure became pain and the pain became desire. Growling softly, he stood up and moved away from her before she could see his beastly desire. A few minutes alone, he thought, that was what he needed, time to vanquish his desire, time to regain his self-control.

"Magick! Magick, come back!"

She scrambled to her hands and knees, reaching blindly for the wolf, shrieking as she tumbled headfirst into the pond.

Her skirts, sodden and heavy, quickly dragged her down to the bottom. Her mouth filled with water. Panic surged through her as, arms nailing, she tried to rise to the surface. Something slimy brushed her face and a silent scream rose in her throat.

And then she felt a pair of strong hands close around her waist. Moments later, she was lying on the ground and someone was thumping her on the back. Her stomach heaved as she coughed up a mouthful of water, then lay there, cold and wet and panting for air.

Muttering an oath, Darkfest gathered Channa Leigh into his arms and carried her back to the castle. In her room, he waved the hearth to life; then, ignoring her shocked protests, he stripped off her clothing, and after swaddling her in a heavy woolen blanket, he pulled a chair in front of the fire and sat down, cradling her on his lap.

"Put me down," Channa Leigh said, her teeth chattering more from fear than the cold.

"Nay." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

She remained stiff in his arms, shivering from his nearness. She felt small and helpless in his embrace. It was frightening, to be held by this stranger, to know she was alone in his house, totally at his mercy. He had told her he wanted her there to sing for him, but what if it was a lie? She knew little of men, but she knew there were some who were cruel, who took women by force. Was that why Darkfest had brought her here? Should he decide to ravish her, what defense would she have?

"Ye have nothing to fear from me, Channa Leigh," he said, and his voice was low, almost like a growl. "I mean ye no harm."

His voice moved over her, easing her tension, making her feel safe and drowsy. Her head felt suddenly heavy and she rested it on his shoulder. His hand stroked her back, gentling her. His hair brushed her cheek; it was thick and silky, like the wolf's fur. A distant part of her mind noticed that she fit in his lap quite nicely, that his hands, though twice the size of hers, were gentle.

For a moment, just before sleep claimed her, she thought he licked her cheek.

CHAPTER 8

"We leave in the morning."

"Do you mean it?" She turned toward the sound of his voice. She had been counting the days, almost the hours, waiting for this moment.

"Aye. 'Twill be a dangerous journey. And long."

"Yes, my lord."

"Ye are not afraid?"

"Oh, aye, a little. But sure and I would do anything to have my sight back."

"I will do my best to protect ye," he said. "We leave at first light."

She nodded, her smile brighter than the sun at midday.

He left the room, pausing just outside the door to watch her.

Thinking herself alone, she clasped her hands to her breasts and lifted her face upward in an attitude of prayer.

He did not have to divine her thoughts to know what it was she prayed for.

They left early the following morning.

Excitement rippled through Channa Leigh as Darkfest lifted her onto the back of a horse. Leaning forward, she patted the animal on the neck, loving the silky feel of the horse's coat.

"Have ye ridden before?" Darkfest asked, adjusting her stirrups.

"Never anything so large."

"Well, dinna worry. Clover is a fine beastie, well trained. She will carry ye safely."

He gazed up at Channa Leigh. She was prettier than a fresh spring morn. Sitting there, with her skirts spread over the mare's rump, a midnight-blue fur-lined cloak around her shoulders, she looked like a fairy queen going calling.

Gathering up the reins to his own great stallion, he swung into the saddle and settled his own cloak about his shoulders. He clucked to the stallion, and the horse moved forward with a shake of his great shaggy head. The mare moved up beside the stallion. A pretty little gray pack mule followed the horses, the bell around her neck tinkling softly.

The path that led down from the castle was a long and winding one, the narrow road lined by windblown trees and squat shrubs.

He watched Channa Leigh carefully. She held the reins lightly in one hand, the other hand resting on the pommel. She seemed at ease in the saddle, her body swaying with the movement of the mare. The early-morning sun danced in Channa Leigh's hair, making it glisten like spun gold. His gaze moved over her face and form, delighting in the line of her profile, the sweet curve of her breast.

He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as his body responded to his lustful thoughts. With an oath he looked away. This journey was a mistake, he mused ruefully. In the castle, he could leave her alone when he needed to escape from the havoc she played on his senses. There was nothing within its walls that could do her harm. But out here… there were wild animals that could tear her to shreds, deep ravines she could stumble into, rivers that could sweep her away. He would have to keep her in his sight every moment.

He headed east when they reached the bottom of the trail.

The land stretched ahead of them, gently rolling hills and shallow valleys all covered in a sea of deep green grass. Tall trees garbed in the bright emerald green of early spring grew in scattered clusters. Large birds soared across the sky. He saw a small herd of deer grazing in the shade of a stand of timber. A speck of blue far off in the distance promised a water hole.

For a time, he lost himself in the rocking chair movement of his horse. He seldom found time to ride, seldom left his mountaintop. He had forgotten how beautiful the countryside was, the sense of freedom horseback riding afforded. He looked back from time to time to check on Channa Leigh. She rode with her face lifted to the sun, drinking in its warmth, her head turning at the sound of a flock of black-headed geese winging their way south.

He and Channa Leigh rode all that day, stopping now and then to rest the horses or to get something to eat or drink.

Channa Leigh rode without complaint, her eagerness at being outside evident in her expression. Though she could not see, she used her other senses to the fullest, running her hands over the thick velvety grass when they stopped near a river, listening to the birds as they chirped in the treetops, picking a handful of sweet-smelling flowers.

At dusk, he reined his horse to a halt. Dismounting, he lifted Channa Leigh from the back of the mare.

"Wait here," he said, and when he was certain she would obey, he unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. Next, he spread a blanket on the ground and bid Channa Leigh sit down.

When she was comfortable, he drew a circle on a small, barren patch of ground. A few words, and a fire sprang to life, crackling cheerfully in the gathering dusk.

He pulled the ingredients for dinner from his saddlebags, filled a pot with water to warm for tea. And all the while, he watched her, becoming more and more enchanted with her nearness, more and more drawn to her beauty of face and form and spirit.

She sighed, a soft sound, yet he heard it clearly.

"What is it, lass?" he asked.

"I was just wondering…"

"Wondering?"

"About Magick."

"What kind of magic?"

She laughed softly. "Not sorcery. Magick, the wolf."

He grunted softly. "What were you wondering?"

"If he would come to me if I called."

"What need have you of the wolf?"

"I…" She chewed on her lower lip a moment. "I was wondering… that is, I should very much like to see your face."

His eyes widened in surprise. Of all the things she might have said, that was the furthest from his mind. He wondered if he should tell her that he was the wolf. He knew she was a little afraid of the master of Darkfest Castle. Would she be less afraid of him if she knew he was the wolf? Or more?

The wolf. What was there about his being the wolf that restored her sight? In wolf form, his own form, or any other, he was still Darkfest. He frowned. Was it the fur?

A bit of magic made quick work of cleaning up after dinner. He fixed a bed for Channa Leigh and one for himself, assured her that the fire would burn all through the night, keeping wild animals at bay.

He sat by the fire long after she was asleep, his gaze returning time and again to her face. A sigh escaped her lips, and then she smiled. It took all his self-control to keep from stealing into her dreams to see what it was that made her smile.

It was nearing midday when he realized they were being followed. Reining his horse to a halt, he turned in the saddle. Summoning his wizard's vision, he scanned their back trail, his gaze narrowing when he saw Ronin the hunter in the distance.

Darkfest cursed under his breath.

"What is it?" Channa Leigh asked. "Is something amiss?"

"Your betrothed is following us."

"Ronin? But how… ?"

Darkfest shook his head; then, realizing she could not see, he said, "I dinna know, the fool."

"You will not harm him?" she asked, her voice tinged with alarm.

"Nay, I will not harm him," he muttered, "but I may change him into a toadstool."

"What?"

"I said I will not harm him." At least not permanently.

Darkfest watched the boy ride toward them, then rein his horse to an abrupt halt when he saw Darkfest waiting for him. The boy looked around, as though seeking a place of concealment, even though he had no hope of hiding now that he had been seen. He might be a mighty hunter, Darkfest mused, but he was not a warrior.

"Ride on," Darkfest commanded. "There is no place for ye to hide."

Squaring his shoulders, Ronin urged his horse onward.

"Why are ye following us?" Darkfest demanded.

"Why are you taking Channa Leigh away?"

" 'Tis my own business and none of yours. Be gone with ye before I turn ye into a croaking toad."

The boy's eyes widened, and then he sat up tall and straight in the saddle. "I fear you not, wizard."

"Do ye not?"

The boy shook his head bravely.

Darkfest lifted his right hand. Felt the air crackle around him as he summoned his power, shaping it in his mind.

"I am Darkfest, master of fire and flame; change this mortal to a creature new; frog be now his name."

Amid a shower of green and silver sparks, the boy was transformed into a large green bullfrog. Sitting on the horse, the frog stared at Darkfest through bulging eyes, the croak that erupted from his throat filled with panic.

"Are ye still unafraid, hunter?"

Though the hunter now wore the guise of a frog, his awareness was that of the boy. The frog croaked again and again, louder each time.

With a wave of his hand, Darkfest returned the boy to his own shape.

Ronin stared at him, unable to disguise the fear in his eyes.

"Go home, hunter," Darkfest said, "lest a worst fate befall ye."

Ronin glanced at Channa Leigh. "May the gods protect you, girl, for you'll see me no more."

"Ronin!" She called his name but heard only the sound of his horse's hooves galloping away. "What did you do to Ronin? I heard the croaking of a frog. You didn't turn him…"

He turned in the saddle to face her. "I did, but only for a moment. He doubted my power. He doubts no more."

"And wishes to wed me no more."

"Does that sadden ye?"

She searched her heart, then shook her head. "Still, it was cruel to treat him thus."

"Would ye rather I had left him that way? I canna have him following us, and I willna be responsible for his safety. And there's an end to it."

And so saying, he urged his horse forward.

The mare trotted obediently behind.

CHAPTER 9

Because it grieved him to think of her being in darkness, because he longed to feel her touch upon him once more, he gathered his power around him and transformed into the wolf that night.

"Magick!" Her voice was filled with joy when he laid his head in her lap. "What are you doing here? How did you know where I was?"

He growled low in his throat as he felt his energy flow out of him. Out of him and into her as her hands fisted in the fur at his neck.

"Sure and you are a magic wolf!" she exclaimed softly. "For your eyes have changed color again!" They were green now, as green as new grass. She ran her hands over his head and neck as she glanced at her surroundings. They were in a small dell surrounded by lacy ferns and night-blooming flowers that filled the air with a sweet perfume. Overhead, a million stars twinkled on a bed of indigo velvet. A small fire burned nearby, fingers of orange and crimson dancing brightly in the darkness.

"But where is he?" she wondered aloud. "The wizard? Do you know where he goes? I think he worked mischief upon Ronin this very day." She smiled wistfully. " 'Twas brave of Ronin to come after me."

The wolf growled low in his throat.

She looked down at the wolf. "You disagree?"

The wolf barked once.

"Well, 'tis no matter now. My lord Darkfest frightened Ronin away. I doubt he shall ever find the courage to face my lord Darkfest again. Nor can I blame him. The wizard is a powerful man, and though I fear him greatly, I shall never forget how he saved my mother's life."

The wolf licked her hand, his tail thumping against the ground.

"Dare we go for a walk?" she asked.

The wolf stood, his tail wagging. Thrusting her hand into the thick ruff at his neck, she walked away from the fire and into the darkness. The grass beneath her feet was a thick deep green.

"I wonder where he is," she mused again. "Do you know him? I should very much like to know what he looks like. I can tell he is a tall man, for when he speaks to me, his voice is above my head. His voice is rich and deep, but not unkind, though I sense a great sadness there. Perhaps because he lives alone?" She walked a few moments in silence. "I wonder why he lives alone. He seems of an age to have a wife."

She gasped with pleasure when she came to a small moonlit pool. Kneeling, she put her hand in the water. "A hot spring," she said. "It feels heavenly." She glanced around. "Do I dare… ? Will you guard me if I slip into the water?"

The wolf barked, his eyes bright as she removed her shoes and stockings, unbraided her hair, undressed quickly, and slid into the warm water.

"Magick? Are you there?"

The wolf moved to the edge of the water, stretched out on his belly, and pushed his head against her shoulder. Her fingers immediately delved into his fur. She sighed with pleasure as she relaxed in the effervescent water. Leaning her head back, she gazed up at the stars.

"Aren't they beautiful? They shine so. Do you see?"

The wolf whined softly.

"I was to wed Ronin next year," she said with a sigh. "And though I did not love him, he was my only hope for marriage. Ah, well, perhaps someday another will want me. I hope so, for I should dearly love to have a child of my own." Tears thickened her voice. "Will you come to me, then, Magick? Will you be my eyes so I can see my child's face?"

The wolf licked her cheek.

"I shall take that for a yes."

She lingered there a moment more, until the wolf took her hand in his mouth and gave a gentle tug.

"Right you are," she said. "Sure and we'd best go back."

The wolf watched her as she rose from the pool, the water dripping down her skin like dewdrops. The moonlight danced in her hair, making silver highlights in the thick golden mass that fell past her hips. Her body was slender and perfect, her buttocks gently rounded, her legs long and coltish, her breasts small, the tips a dusky rose.

She stood there a moment, letting the warm breeze dry her skin, and then quickly pulled on her dress. Sitting down, she put on her stockings and her shoes, then stood once more.

"Magick?"

The wolf moved up beside her and she took hold of his fur. Moments later, they returned to the site of their camp.

Sitting down on her bedroll, Channa Leigh removed her shoes, then slid under the covers.

"Come," she said to the wolf, patting the ground beside her.

The wolf stretched out beside her. With a sigh, Channa Leigh draped her arm over his neck. Stroking his soft fur, she stared up at the stars. How beautiful they were, sparkling like dewdrops against the dark sky. A butter-yellow sickle moon hung low in the heavens. Smiling faintly, she began to count the stars.

A short time later, her soft, even breathing told the wolf she was asleep.

Easing out from under her arm, Darkfest took on his own shape. "Sweet dreams to ye, my sweet Channa Leigh." he whispered. Seeking out his lonely bed, he stared up at the dark sky, but it was Channa Leigh's image rising from the waters of the hot spring that followed him to sleep.

The next day they traveled through a deep valley. As they rode on, Darkfest was overwhelmed with a sense of evil. The horses felt it, too. It could be seen in the way their ears twitched, in the way they picked up their feet, the way they sidled close together.

As they moved deeper into the valley, Darkfest reached inside his shirt and withdrew a small leather pouch. Inside were bits of birch, hazel, rowan, ash, and willow. And a large piece of alder. He also wore a bracelet of carved alder on his left wrist

He saw Channa Leigh lift her head. "Where are we?" she asked.

"The valley of Madrigale."

"Something is amiss."

"Aye. I sense evil here."

She shivered and drew her cloak more tightly around her. "What kind of evil?"

"I know not."

They rode onward, and the sense of evil grew stronger.

Darkfest reined his mount to a halt, and the mare drew up alongside. His gaze moved over the valley before them. At first, he saw nothing and then, gradually, a dull shimmer, like moonlight on water, rose up before him, changing, twisting, taking on solid form and shape, until a figure with wrinkled gray skin and white hair stood before him. She wore a long black robe decorated with skulls and exploding comets.

"Who dares to cross my valley?" she demanded, her voice dry and brittle, like old bones.

"I am Darkfest, crone. Let us pass."

"Nay. Be gone!"

"I mean you no harm," he said quietly. "I seek the dragon Blackencrill."

"Then you are twice a fool," she said, cackling. Her deep-set yellow eyes narrowed as her gaze shifted to Channa Leigh. "Leave the girl and you may cross my valley in peace."

"Nay. The girl is mine." And even as he spoke the words, he regretted they were only partly true. She was his for this year only, no more.

The witch lifted a skeletal hand. He heard her mumbling something under her breath, felt an increase in the energy arcing between them.

He reacted instinctively, his right hand tingling as he summoned his power. There was no time to invoke a spell. He flung his own energy out to block her incantation. Power flowed from deep within him, racing down his arm, shooting blue fire through the tips of his fingers. There was a sudden crackling, like ice breaking, as blue flame met the black lightning hurled by the crone. A sharp whoosh of air flattened the grass and bent the trees. The crone screamed, a high-pitched cry of outrage and pain, as blue fire engulfed her. And then, abruptly, there was silence.

"Darkfest? Darkfest!"

Channa Leigh's frightened cry brought him back to himself. "I am here." He stared at the blackened patch of ground where the crone had stood. A faint wisp of black smoke rose skyward. "The danger is past."

They camped that night near a narrow stream bordered by slender willows. After supper, Channa Leigh sat beside the fire, staring broodingly into the flames. The fire's light cast golden shadows on her fair skin. Desire stirred within him, a hunger for the touch of her hand, the taste of her lips.

She turned as he came up behind her. "My lord Darkfest, is that you?"

"Aye." He sat down beside her, his insides quivering. "Channa Leigh, would you grant me a boon?"

"If I can, my lord. What is it you wish of me?"

"A kiss," he replied, chagrined at the unexpected quiver in his voice. "Would you grant me a kiss?"

She hesitated a moment. Was she repulsed by his request?

Or was it only maidenly modesty that made her delay before answering?

"And would you grant me a boon in return?" she asked at last.

"If I can."

"I should like to see your face," she said.

" 'Tis a bargain then. The wolf will come to you later." He drew his knife and placed it in her hand. "When he comes to you, cut off a bit of his hair and place it in this pouch."

"Will he let me?"

"Aye."

"Will you collect your boon now?" she asked, her fingers closing around the small leather sack.

"Nay. On the morrow, when the sun is new, we shall look upon each other. For now, I bid you good night."

"Good night, my lord."

She did not hear his footsteps, but she knew that he had left, knew she was there alone.

She sat by the fire until her eyelids grew heavy, and then she sought her blankets.

She was on the brink of sleep when a cold nose pushed against her hand. "Magick, is that you?"

The wolf whined softly as he stretched out beside her.

Channa Leigh sat up, her fingers searching for the knife she had placed nearby. "I need a bit of your fur," she said as her hand closed over the blade. She let out a soft cry of pain as the sharp blade pricked her palm. Taking hold of the handle with one hand, she gathered a bit of the wolf's fur in the other. Able to see now, she cut off some of the wolf's fur and placed it in the leather pouch.

"Thank you, Magick."

The wolf whined softly and licked her cheek.

'Tomorrow I am to see his face," she remarked, stroking the wolf's neck. "Will I find it frightening, do you think? Sometimes, when he is near, I feel so strange. Not afraid, exactly," she mused, and then paused. 'I don't know how to explain it. Maybe a little of what I feel is fear," she admitted.

"He is so powerful. I felt it today, in the valley. I was glad I could not see then."

The wolf looked up at her expectantly.

"No walk tonight." She slid under the covers and the wolf stretched out beside her.

He watched her steadily until she fell asleep; then he transformed into his own shape. Picking up the pouch, he walked away into the darkness.

CHAPTER 10

She woke with the warmth of the sun on her face and a sense of anticipation. On the morrow, he had said, when the sun is new, we shall look upon each other.

Throwing the covers aside, she sat up. "My lord?"

"I am here, Channa Leigh."

" 'Tis dawn."

"Aye. Are ye ready?"

"Aye," she replied tremulously. "I am."

"Hold out your hand."

She did as he asked, her fingers closing over something soft. She started to ask what it was, but then she knew. It was the wolf's fur, twisted into a tight braid.

She felt his hand close over hers.

"I am Darkfest," he said, his voice soft yet ringing with power. "Master of fire and light. Believe, Channa Leigh, and receive thy sight."

Heat flowed into her hand, raced up her arm. She trembled as his power poured into her, as warm as the sunlight on her face. She blinked and blinked again as her vision cleared. Looking up, she saw him watching her.

He wore a black shirt open at the throat and black trousers tucked into supple black boots. A long black cloak fell from his broad shoulders. She had not expected him to be handsome, but he was. Undeniably so. Why hadn't her father told her? Darkfest's hair fell past his shoulders, thick and black. His brows were slightly arched, his nose straight, his lips full. His expression was stern but not cruel. But it was his eyes that held her gaze. Green eyes that were familiar somehow. He was tall, as she had expected. She was sorely tempted to run her hands over his shoulders, to press her palms to his chest. She folded her arms tightly over her breasts to keep from reaching for him. His arms were long and well muscled, his hands large and capable-looking.

"How is it possible that I can see?" She glanced at the bit of braided fur in her hand. "How long will it last?"

"Until sundown."

"No longer?"

He shook his head. The power in the cuttings of the wolf's fur grew weaker with time.

"What sort of magic is it that grants me my sight?"

"The power that lies in the hair of the wolf." Odd, he thought, that in his human form he lacked the same ability. "The power within your own blood. I wove the two of them together, then cast a spell upon it, to quicken it."

"My blood? Where did you get my blood?"

"It was on the blade of the knife." He did not tell her how tantalizing he had found the scent of her blood or how frightened he had been at the way it called to him. Nor did he tell her that he had licked her blood from the knife. It had sizzled through him like the purest fire. The memory of it thrilled him even as it repulsed him, and he shook it from his mind to examine more closely later, when he was alone.

"And now, Channa Leigh," he said quietly. "Will ye now grant me my boon?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as he sat down beside her. Moving slowly, he slipped his arm around her waist, his hand splayed over her stomach.

Her heartbeat grew rapid. Her mouth grew dry. Every nerve in her body seemed to come alive as she waited for his kiss. He lowered his head toward hers. He kept his eyes open, and so did she. His eyes were as green as the leaves on the trees. They drew her in, made her think of cool spring nights under starry skies. His kiss was light, his lips warm and firm. He demanded nothing of her, only the touch of her lips against his. But it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She deepened the kiss. His eyes grew darker. His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer.

With a sigh, her eyelids fluttered down and she leaned in to him, her hands spreading across his back, her fingers kneading his flesh.

He groaned softly. Lifting her onto his lap, he kissed her again, his tongue stroking her lower lip, sending waves of pleasure rippling through her.

It was a kiss unlike any she had ever known. It burned away the memory of Ronin's chaste kiss and forever after spoiled her for any other.

She was breathless when they parted. Feeling bereft, she stared into his eyes, felt herself falling into the clear emerald depths. She felt the whisper of his power slide over her skin, heard the echoes of his lonely childhood, saw the small Cimmerian corner of his soul where his uncertainty lived, but before she could explore it further he drew his gaze away from hers.

"Something troubles you," she said, her voice tinged with amazement.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "What makes ye say that?"

"I saw it when I looked into your eyes. There is a dark place deep within you."

He did not deny it.

"What is it that troubles you?"

Lifting her from his lap, he stood and began to pace.

She sat down on her blankets and looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "Will you not tell me?"

"There is a darkness within me," he admitted. "More than the darkness of uncertainty. It is a love for the shadows of the night, for the dark magic that lingers just below my awareness." He held out his hands, palms up, and stared down at them. "The darkness calls to something within me that I do not understand. Sometimes…" He dragged his hand over his jaw, wondering how to explain the unexplainable.

"You are tempted by dark powers?"

"Aye."

"But why?"

He shook his head. "In here," he placed his hand over his heart, "I know that good is more powerful than evil, but still the darkness calls to me, tempting me to do that which can only be done through the power of darkness, to rise up and unleash the full power within me, the consequences to others be damned. I could destroy the village with the wave of my hand, enslave its people, cause famine and flood."

He dragged his hand over his face as if to block out the images his words had conjured. "I have ever used my powers for good, for healing. But there is another power, a dark power that tempts me. It calls to me in the lonely hours before the dawn, when goodness lies weak and vulnerable within me and evil rides the wings of the night."

"Virtue and vice," she said. "Truth and error. 'Tis a choice we all must make."

"Aye."

"You must not choose the darkness, my lord, you must not give in to it, else you be lost."

He thought of her words later that day as they left the valley behind and entered a stand of thick timber. She was wise beyond her years, he thought. Knowing but little of him or his past, she nevertheless sensed the danger that lay before him if he succumbed to the darkness that beckoned him, tempting him with powers beyond imagining. The darkness. More and more he was drawn to the night. The light of the sun made his skin tingle oddly; sometimes it burned his eyes. His taste in food was also changing; where once he had preferred his meat well done, he now liked it rare and dripping with blood.

The leafy branches overhead grew thick, so thick in some places that they shut out the light of the sun. The shade was a welcome break from the touch of the sun. The sounds of their horses' hooves were muted in the thick leaf mold and vegetation that covered the ground. Here and there he saw the glow of slanted yellow eyes observing their passing.

He watched Channa Leigh. Blessed with sight for this day, she looked at everything carefully, exclaiming softly when she saw a stag bound across their path. She remarked on the beauty of the trees, the eerie shadows beneath the branches.

Leaving the timber, they found themselves in a broad meadow.

"Oh, 'tis lovely!" Channa Leigh murmured.

And, indeed, it was. The grass was a thick blue-green. The trees wore gowns of green and gold, amber and ocher. Sweet-smelling flowers grew in clumps of bright pink and lavender, pale blue and purest white.

He heard the sound of a waterfall and turned his horse toward it, thinking to quench their thirst and refill their water flasks.

The falls were a beautiful sight—crystal clear water cascaded down the side of an onyx mountain, splashing over huge boulders to gather in a deep turquoise blue pool.

It wasn't until they were kneeling at the water's edge that he felt it, a ripple in the air, like the static before a storm.

He rose quickly to his feet, all his senses alert. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, heard nothing, and yet every instinct he possessed warned of danger. The horses stirred restlessly.

"What is it?" Channa Leigh asked. She came to stand beside him, her hand on his arm.

He shook his head. "There is something amiss. Can ye not feel it?"

She glanced around, her brow furrowed. "I feel… a stirring in the air."

"Aye, that's it." Gathering his power around him, he flung his senses out as a fisherman might cast a net.

There was a faint sizzle as his power came up against another force. There was a blinding flash and then a creature stood before them the likes of which Channa Leigh had never seen. It was as tall as the trees, covered with a slimy gray skin. Its eyes were close set. Its mouth was open, revealing jagged yellow teeth.

She took a step backward, repelled by the hideous creature. "What is it?"

Darkfest shook his head. He had no idea what kind of beast it was, only that it had been born of evil. He extended his arm toward the creature. "Begone!"

With a mighty roar, the beast shook its massive head.

Jerking free of their tethers, the animals bolted.

Darkfest straightened to his full height. "Begone, I say!"

The creature took a step forward, one hand reaching toward Channa Leigh. The air around it shimmered. The smell of brimstone filled the air. The grass beneath its feet withered and died.

Darkfest reacted instinctively. Thrusting Channa Leigh behind him, he lifted his hand. There was no time for words, no time to refine his magic. He gathered his power around him and hurled it at the creature.

Channa Leigh gasped and reeled backward as a ball of crimson fire flew from the wizard's fingers.

The creature screamed as its body burst into flame.

Channa Leigh covered her face with her hands, unable to watch as the leathery gray skin began to blister and melt.

There was an obscene popping sound, and then she felt Darkfest's hand on her shoulder. " 'Tis over, Channa Leigh."

Slowly, she lowered her hands and glanced around. Nothing remained of the creature but a small pile of gray ash.

She looked around, her eyes wide and scared. "Are there more of them?"

He closed his eyes a moment, then shook his head. "I think not."

"But what was it?"

"A minion of the dragon, perhaps, sent to frighten us away. No matter, 'tis over now. Come, let us go after the horses. They will not have gone far."

CHAPTER 11

Channa Leigh's gaze swept the land around them. She was all too conscious of time passing, all too aware that soon she would be trapped in darkness again. But for now, she delighted in everything she saw.

As Darkfest had predicted, their animals had not gone far. He lifted her onto the back of her mount, swung agilely onto the back of his own.

When they stopped to rest the horses later that day, she saw a spiderweb stretched between two bushes. She watched, fascinated, as a spotted spider slowly and carefully cocooned its unwitting prey in white silk.

They stopped again several hours later, this time near a river teeming with dozens of silver fish. Darkfest dropped down beside her. Stretching out on his stomach, he plunged his hands into the water up to his elbows and, to her delight, caught six fat fish with his bare hands.

Wrapping them in leaves, he put them in his saddlebags. "Dinner," he explained.

They rode until dusk, then made camp near a small blue pool surrounded by pale lavender ferns, flowering vines and tall slender trees with silver-blue leaves. It looked like a fairyland. She would not have been surprised to see unicorns peeking through the bushes.

She watched Darkfest unsaddle the horses and hobble them nearby and then, with a wave of his hand and a muttered incantation, a small fire sprang to life.

Needing to feel useful, she spread the bedrolls on either side of the fire, filled their water skins. She had never cooked fish over an open fire, but when she offered, he told her there was no need. He took care of it quickly and efficiently. He cut off the heads and tails, gutted the fish, removed the bones, then cut the fish up into chunks, which he put on sticks to roast over the fire.

The meat was juicy and tender. "Delicious!" she exclaimed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

He shrugged. "I dinna recall."

"That seems passing strange."

He nodded. There were many things he could do that he had no memory of knowing or learning. The knowledge simply came to him as needed. Some of what he knew he had learned from books, but some of his magic seemed inborn. His power over fire and the elements was simply there, a part of him for as far back as he could remember.

A heaviness fell over Channa Leigh's mood as the sun began to set. She stared at Darkfest, wanting to imprint his image on her mind.

"Thank you for this day, my lord," she said, and even as she spoke, her vision began to fade, to darken, until blackness descended on her once again.

"Channa Leigh?"

She turned her face away lest he see the tears forming in her eyes. She was grateful to have been able to see for one whole day, and yet having seen the beauty of the world around her only made the darkness that engulfed her seem all the worse.

She stiffened as she felt his arm slide around her shoulders.

"Channa Leigh, why do ye weep?"

"I'm not," she said, sniffing.

"No?" His finger lifted a fat teardrop from her cheek.

" 'Tis… 'tis only a… bit of dew."

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by her tears, her nearness. All too clearly he recalled the kiss they had shared, and hungered for more. Just one more taste of her honeyed lips.

It was a temptation beyond resistance. Drawing her closer, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

He felt her surprise and then her surrender as she leaned in to him, her arms twining around his neck.

He was breathless when he drew back, his body hard with wanting.

"My lord," she whispered.

"Forgive me."

"You must not kiss me so," she said, her voice as breathless as his. " 'Tis not right."

"Aye," he said, and kissed her again.

'Twas only a kiss, she thought. How could it have such power? It moved through her like sunlight and lightning, driving away the darkness. Her blindness no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but the touch of his lips on hers, the feel of his arms strong and sure around her, the heat that flowed through her, the little shivers of pleasure that made her press her body closer to his.

She ached deep inside, ached for something unknown, something she had never felt before. The intensity of it frightened her.

"Channa Leigh." His voice was thick and ragged, and in some way she didn't understand, it magnified the ache deep inside her, left her clinging to him in hopes that he could somehow ease the ache that throbbed in the very core of her being.

With a muttered oath, he put her away from him.

"My lord?" Confused, she reached out for him. She could hear the sound of his breathing. It came in quick gasps, as if he had run a very long way. "My lord, are you unwell?"

Unwell? He burned as with a fever. "Go to bed, Channa Leigh."

"But…"

"Do as I say!"

At the tone of his voice, she scrambled under the covers and pulled the blankets up to her chin, only to lie there, her heart pounding. What had she done to anger him so? One minute he was kissing her sweetly and the next he was pushing her away.

She tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway.

And then she felt a warm tongue lave her cheek.

"Magick!" Wrapping her arms around the wolf's neck, she buried her face in his thick fur. "I'm so glad you're here."

The wolf dropped down beside her, a low whine rising in his throat.

"I don't understand him," she wailed softly. "I don't understand myself, what I'm feeling. He makes me feel so… strange." She stroked the wolf's fur. "He gave me my sight today. It was so wonderful. I saw the sky and the trees. And grass, and a waterfall. And his face… Oh, Magick, I saw his face. And he's so handsome. And his eyes, they seemed so familiar, as if I'd seen them before…"

Her words trailed off and she frowned. "His eyes." Her fingertips slid up the wolf's neck to his head. "His eyes are your eyes," she mused. "The same shape, the very same color. How is that possible, unless… Of course! You're him, aren't you?"

The wolf whined low in his throat.

She felt her cheeks grow warm as she remembered what she had confided to the wolf, and suddenly she hoped she was wrong, hoped that the wolf was just a wolf, hoped if he was indeed Darkfest, he would not remember her words when he shed the guise of the wolf.

When she woke in the morning, her world was dark again, and she was alone. Her first thought was for the wolf. Was he a magical wolf, or was he the wizard? Why did touching the wolf restore her vision when touching the wizard did not?

Darkfest. Sitting up, she folded her arms over her breasts. He had kissed her and she had reveled in it.

Where was he?

And then she felt a stirring inside her and knew, knew, that he was nearby.

"Good morrow, Channa Leigh."

The sound of his voice moved over her, low and husky and strangely melodic. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she remembered the touch of his lips on hers, the way she had melted against him. Was he remembering, too?

"Good morrow," she replied tremulously.

"I've brought breakfast."

His voice was closer now. He was near, she thought, near enough to touch if she but had the courage to reach out.

He touched her shoulder. "Here," he said, and placed a plate in her lap. "There is bread and fresh berries."

"Thank you, my lord."

He sat down across from her, watching her eat, his breath catching in his throat as she licked a drop of bright purple juice from the corner of her mouth. Desire flamed within him as he imagined drawing her into his arms. What a rare and wondrous pleasure it would be to kiss her now, when her lips were moist and sweet with berry juice.

He swore softly. Would she resist his embrace? She had not resisted yesterday. Had it been attraction she felt for him then or merely gratitude because he had not left that whelp in the guise of a toad?

He scowled into the distance. He doubted the lad possessed the courage to risk his wrath a second time. She had lost nothing when the boy turned tail and ran. Nothing but the love of a young man who obviously adored her.

His scowl deepened. Ronin could find another lass. As for himself, in three hundred years he had never seen another woman he wanted or desired. Only Channa Leigh had touched his heart, quickened his need, aroused his desire until it beat within him like the beat of his own heart.

He rose, glad, at that moment, that she could not see the clear evidence of his desire.

She lifted her head. "My lord?"

"I'm going to saddle the horses and load the mule," he said, his voice curt. " 'Tis time to go."

He was in a foul mood the rest of the day, unable to shake off images of Channa Leigh in Ronin's arms. Channa Leigh, cleaning the hunter's house, preparing his meals, sleeping in his arms at night. Ha, the craven hunter was not worth a single hair of her head.

Hands clenched around the reins, Darkfest swore he would see the hunter dead before he would allow Channa Leigh to be his bride. And yet, if she loved Ronin, what right did he have to interfere? What right did he have to keep her from the man she loved? What right, except that he loved her himself, loved her beyond bearing. But she was his now. His until winter cast her shadow upon the land once more. In his heart, he knew it would not be long enough.

Channa Leigh rode beside the wizard, baffled by his silence, by the anger she had heard in his voice earlier that day. She cast back in her mind but could think of nothing she had said or done to rouse his ire. Still, he had not spoken a word to her since they left their camp that morning and she had no idea why.

Her horse came to a halt a short time later. Channa Leigh's heart began to pound when she felt Darkfest's hands at her waist as he lifted her from the saddle.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

He grunted softly. " 'Tis time to seek shelter for the night."

"My lord?"

"Aye?"

She took a deep breath. "Are you… are you angry with me?"

"Nay."

"Something is amiss. Will you not tell me what it is?"

"Ye need not worry."

"Was it my kiss?" she asked, grateful that she could not see his face. "Did it not please you?"

"Is that what ye think, lass?" he asked.

She nodded, lowering her head as heat suffused her cheeks.

Whispering her name, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her ever so gently. "Sweet," he murmured. "So sweet."

She swayed toward him, her hands resting on his chest. "More."

He willingly obliged her, his arms wrapping around her waist to draw her closer as he slanted his mouth over hers. Where his last kiss had been gentle, this one was filled with all the yearning in his soul. His tongue plundered her mouth, tasting the berries she had eaten earlier.

She boldly returned his kiss, made a soft sound of protest when he took his mouth from hers.

"Do ye love him?" Darkfest asked.

"Who?"

"The hunter, Ronin."

"Nay, my lord."

"And ye do not wish to marry him?"

"Nay, my lord, though he was my only hope."

"Another will wed ye."

She smiled up at him. "Know you who this stranger might be?"

"Ye will belong to me, lass," he said, the husky note of possession in his voice leaving no doubt that it would be so, "and to no one else."

"Are you asking me to marry you, my lord Darkfest?"

"Aye," he growled. "I'm asking." Pausing, he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had gentled. "Will ye let me love ye all the days of your life? Will ye share your happiness with me, and yer sorrows? Will ye help me to turn away the darkness? What be yer answer, lass?"

There was nothing to think about. There could only be one answer. No one else stirred her the way he did. No one else ever would. Her memory of Ronin burned away to ash in the fire that was Darkfest.

"I should be honored to be your wife, my lord," she murmured. "You will not harm Ronin?"

"There be no need now."

"You will not turn him into a newt should we meet in the square?"

"Nay, lass," he said, grinning.

"Nor a gopher?"

He laughed softly, charmed by her gentle humor and her genuine concern for the hunter.

"Think no more of him," he said, and drawing her into his arms once again, he kissed her, long and strong, driving everything else from her mind but the wonder of his kiss.

This was right, she thought. This was where she longed to be, where she was meant to be.

That night, when it was time for bed, she slept in his arms.

Darkfest groaned softly as the light of the morning sun played over his face. Opening his eyes, he squinted against the brightness. More and more these last days, he had been bothered by the sun's glare. It made his skin feel strange, as if it was shrinking.

He had rarely spent so much time out-of-doors. At home, his days were spent within the thick gray walls of his castle. When he felt the need to go out, it was usually long after sunset. He stayed up long past midnight, preferring to sleep the day away.

Beside him, Channa Leigh slept peacefully, her cheek resting on one hand, her mouth curved in a mysterious smile. Was she dreaming of him? Did he dare walk in her dream? If she was dreaming of another, did he want to know?

He shook off his jealousy. She had said she loved him and he believed her. Deceit was unknown to Channa Leigh.

The curve of her cheek drew his hand. Lightly, so lightly, he brushed his fingertips against her skin. So soft. So warm. His gaze moved over her face, slid down the slender column of her throat to rest on the pulse beating there.

Almost, he could hear the beat of her heart, hear the blood thrumming through her veins.

With a shake of his head, he rolled to his feet, troubled by the dark thoughts rising up within him.

As if bereft of his company, Channa Leigh awoke. "My lord?"

"I am here."

She sat, one hand reaching out for him.

Hunkering down on his heels, he took her hand in his. "Something troubles ye?"

"I… I dinna know. I was dreaming. It was a lovely dream, at first. And then…" She frowned. "I dinna know what happened, but suddenly the world was dark and I was afraid."

"Dark?" He frowned. She was always in darkness.

"I dinna know how to explain it. It was not a lack of vision, but a lack of light. Do you understand?"

"Aye, lass." He understood all too well. The darkness she spoke of was the darkness that dwelled within him, but how did she know of it? If she stayed with him, would it begin to overshadow her, as well? Troubled by that thought, he released her hand and rose to his feet.

"My lord?"

"Dinna fret, lass. All is well. We will reach the valley of the dragon on the morrow."

CHAPTER 12

They reached the home of the dragon late in the afternoon the following day.

Dismounting, Darkfest stared down into the valley that so many had entered and from which none had returned.

He had thought they would have to hunt for the dragon, but Blackencrill was there for all to see, his deep green scales shining iridescent in the sunlight. Small puffs of smoke wafted from his nostrils as he slept, his long body curled around a shining blue castle that shimmered like an enormous sapphire. Trees, shrubs, and grass all wore the scorch marks of the dragon's breath. The remains of charred skeletons, both man and animal alike, were scattered across the valley floor.

The dragon stirred, a low rumble of pain issuing from his throat, along with a short burst of flame. Lifting his great horned head, he took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

It was then that Darkfest saw the hilt of the sword protruding from the dragon's flesh. Embedded in the dragon's massive neck, the weapon looked no larger than a woman's embroidery needle.

"Who goes there?" The voice of the dragon was as the sound of a rusty saw being dragged over stone.

"My lord—"

"Be silent, Channa Leigh. Dinna move. He canna see you."

Gathering his courage, Darkfest moved away from where she sat her horse. Walking slowly, he descended several yards, then came to a stop. The scent of smoke and charred flesh filled the air.

"I am Darkfest, master of fire and flame."

What might have been a laugh filled the valley, followed by a great whoosh of orange flame that incinerated a nearby tree. "Thou? Master of fire and flame?" Another laugh as the dragon sent a tongue of flame arcing toward him.

Gathering his power around him, Darkfest summoned a ball of dark blue fire and flung it out to meet that of the dragon. There was a great fiery explosion as the flames met in midair. Sparks of blue and orange rained down on the ground.

"Who art thou?" demanded the dragon. His tone now carried a faint note of respect.

"I am Darkfest, wizard of the north. The name of Blackencrill is known throughout the land and I have come seeking a boon at thy hand."

"A boon? Of me? What is it you seek?"

"A drop of thy blood."

"And what will you give me in return?"

"I will remove that sword from thy flesh and heal thy wound."

"Who is the woman that awaits thee?"

"My betrothed."

"And if I want the woman?"

"Ye cannot have her. She is mine."

"What need have you of my blood?"

"It is to restore her sight."

"You intrigue me, wizard of the north. Come closer."

"Do I look a fool?"

"You fear me?"

Darkfest let his gaze wander slowly over the charred skeletons scattered on the valley floor. "Aye."

"I give you my word you may enter my valley in safety."

"And my woman?"

"And the woman."

"Did these others also have thy word?"

"They did not think to ask."

"And when we wish to leave?"

A low rumble of laughter rocked the valley floor. "You are a wise wizard. I shall do nothing to harm you or the woman."

"Are you sure 'tis safe?" Channa Leigh asked, trepidation clear in her voice. "How do you know you can trust this dragon?"

" 'Tis a chance we'll have to take."

She lifted her head as they rode across the charred valley floor. "I smell… death."

"Aye, lass," Darkfest replied, and for once he was glad she could not see the destruction that surrounded them. What he had seen at a distance was far worse seen up close. Skulls leered at him, their mouths open in screams of terror.

The dragon awaited them, an enormous beast with thick scales and feet armed with claws as long as battle lances. His eyes were large and black, and watched, unblinking, as they approached.

Dismounting, Darkfest lifted Channa Leigh from the saddle. He could feel her trembling.

"My woman is weary from the journey."

The dragon nodded in the direction of the castle. "You may refresh yourselves inside."

With a nod, Darkfest led Channa Leigh into the castle. It was bigger than any dwelling he had ever seen, with ceilings a hundred feet high. The floors were made of translucent crystal, the walls of jade. The hearth was large enough to roast a dozen oxen at one time. The furniture was of gigantic proportions.

The first door off the main hall was a bedchamber. A wave of his hand brought a fire to life in the hearth. He settled Channa Leigh in a chair, removed her shoes.

He found a ewer filled with water, as well as a bar of fragrant soap and a bit of toweling. He warmed the water in the ewer with a glance.

"There is water to bathe with," he told her. "Have ye need of anything else?"

"Nay, my lord."

"I will return as soon as I can."

"You will be careful!"

"Aye, lass."

"I dinna trust that dragon."

"Nor I." Placing his hands on her shoulders, he drew her up against him. "I will not be long," he promised, and kissed her gently.

Her arms went round his neck and she pressed herself to him. "Hurry back to me, my lord."

With a nod, he kissed her again. Then, taking a cup he found next to the bed, he went out to gather the dragon's blood.

"The castle is to your liking?" the dragon asked as Darkfest emerged.

"Aye. Who dwells there?"

"Only the memory of the creature who once tried to enslave me."

"What happened to him?"

The dragon flashed a smile amid a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. "What think you?"

"I think I would rather not know." He looked up, his gaze meeting that of Blackencrill. "Will ye now keep your word?"

"Think you I would not?"

"I think I would not like to meet the fate of the giant."

A low chuckle stirred the air above Darkfest's head. "Indeed, you would not." The dragon lowered his head, putting the hilt of the sword within Darkfest's reach. "Pull it out."

Darkfest wiped his hands on his trousers. The sword had obviously been embedded in the dragon's flesh for some time. The skin around the blade was black and putrid, the smell overwhelming.

" 'Tis likely to hurt."

"Do you think it doesn't hurt now?" the dragon roared. "Remove it!"

Wrapping both hands around the hilt of the sword, Darkfest gave a mighty tug. The blade tore free with a sickly wet sound. Blood oozed from the wound. It sizzled on the ground; the grass withered and died wherever it touched.

A drop landed on Darkfest's cheek and he howled with pain as it seared his flesh. He glared up at the dragon. "Ye might have warned me!" he exclaimed, tossing the sword aside. "How is she to drink this vile stuff?"

"You are the wizard."

"Aye. Be still now." Closing his eyes, Darkfest gathered his power. It grew within him, refining his senses, racing like quicksilver through his veins, dancing over his skin. He placed his hands over the wound in the dragon's neck, the power thrumming through him erecting a barrier of protection between the dragon's blood and the wizard's flesh.

"I am Darkfest," he murmured, his voice like the roar of the wind. "Master of fire and land. Be healed now, dragon, by the power of my hand!"

He felt the power flow down his arms and out through his hands, felt it spread over the dragon's flesh, burning away the foul infection with the clarity of healing fire. When he stepped back, all trace of the wound was gone.

Darkfest pulled the cup from inside his shirt. "Will ye now fulfill your part of the bargain?"

"Aye. A single drop, no more."

Darkfest nodded.

Using one of his fearsome claws, the dragon made a small scratch in his chest. Lifting the cup, Darkfest caught a single drop of glittering bright red blood. It landed in the cup with a soft sizzle.

"My thanks, my lord dragon."

"And mine," Blackencrill replied. "I have carried that sword in my flesh for a decade and more."

Darkfest gestured at a nearby skeleton. "Perhaps ye should have asked one of these to remove it for ye instead of burning the meat from their bones."

"They came to rob and to plunder," the dragon replied scornfully.

With a flick of his mighty tail, he gained his feet and stretched his wings. Such wondrous wings, pale green and gold streaked with crimson. Seeming light as thistledown, the dragon rose in the air.

"Be gone before sunrise, wizard," he called, and with a stroke of his powerful wings, the dragon left the valley.

Darkfest stared after the creature. The dragon had promised he would do them no harm; still, though mystified by the warning, he took it to heart. They would be away from the valley before dawn.

Channa Leigh stood at the window, letting the evening breeze waft across her face, letting its warmth dry her hair. She had bathed and washed her hair. When she went to put on her dress, she was surprised to find her old dress gone and a new one in its place. Now, waiting for Darkfest to return, she wondered if the blood of the dragon could indeed restore her sight.

She sensed the wizard's presence even before he spoke her name. She turned toward the sound of his voice. "My lord?"

"I have conjured a potion made from the dragon's blood," he said, entering the room.

A shudder escaped her at the thought of partaking of another creature's life force. "Is it… does it taste… vile?"

"Nay, beloved. It tastes of peppermint and honey."

"How can that be?"

"A bit of wizardry," he replied, and she heard the smile in his voice. "A lovely potion for a lovely maid."

She flushed, pleased by his flattery.

He closed the distance between them and placed the crystal goblet in her hand. "I am Darkfest," he intoned. "Master of fire and light. Drink, Channa Leigh, and receive thy sight."

With hands that trembled, she lifted the goblet to her lips and drank. It did, indeed, taste of peppermint and honey.

Darkfest watched her carefully, his heart pounding with anticipation as she drank the last of the brew.

He took the cup from her hand and set it aside. "Channa Leigh?"

She followed the sound of his voice. "Perhaps it takes a bit of time for the magic to work."

"Nay. I must have mixed it wrong." He paced the floor, going over the spell in his mind, and then he shook his head. "No, I did everything that was to be done, as it was meant to be done."

"My lord…"

"Forgive me, Channa Leigh."

"There is nothing to forgive." But he heard the disappointment in her voice. It was like a knife slicing through his heart. He had given her hope, and now that hope was gone.

He paced the floor, muttering to himself, as night flung her cloak across the sky. Channa Leigh slept, her head pillowed on her arm, and still he paced until he felt the breath of the sun warm the land.

In an instant, he recalled the dragon's warning. Lifting Channa Leigh from the bed, he draped her over his shoulder and bolted out of the castle even as it began to dissolve.

Their horses waited outside. Grabbing the reins, he closed his eyes, a distant part of his mind wondering why Channa Leigh did not wake up.

In desperation, he summoned his power, uncertain of the danger that stalked them. And even as he felt it slither up his spine, he saw it take shape, moving like a long black shadow around the edge of the valley, and everywhere it touched, thorns sprang in its wake. A dull roar filled the air, as if the very earth cried out in pain.

"I am Darkfest," he shouted, "master of fire and tide. Thou wicked dragon, I summon thee to my side!"

There was a mighty beating of wings, a blast of furnace heat, and Blackencrill descended to stand beside him.

Darkfest glared at the beast. "Foul dragon, you will take us from this place now, or your flesh will rot from your bones."

The dragon snorted, an oddly delicate sound coming from so large a creature. "I but promised I would not harm you," he said. "In return for your kindness, I warned you to leave the valley before the sun's rising." He glanced at the sky. "I fear you did not listen."

Channa Leigh stirred in his arms. "My lord?"

"All is well, beloved," Darkfest said. "Fear not. The dragon will see us to safety."

"Very well," Blackencrill said. "Hurry."

Darkfest settled Channa Leigh on the dragon's back. "Wait," he said, and lifting his hands, he summoned his power once more. "I am Darkfest, master of fire and ice. Horses and mule now become mice."

A rush of power flowed from his hands and a trio of mice stood where his and Channa Leigh's mounts and the mule had been. Gathering the creatures up, he dropped them into his pocket. Climbing onto the dragon's back, he put his arms around Channa Leigh and held her close. "Away, dragon!"

With a powerful thrumming of his wings, the dragon soared above the valley. Looking down, Darkfest saw that the valley was now surrounded by a tall hedge of briers and thorns. He could only wonder what might have awaited them if they had remained.

"Thy blood, dragon, why did it not work?"

Blackencrill shook his head. "You are the wizard, not I." And so saying, he landed in a broad meadow. "Perhaps you sought the wrong dragon. Be off now and begone. I want no more of your magic."

CHAPTER 13

The trip home was uneventful. Channa Leigh hid her disappointment well, but Darkfest could not shake off the sense of failure. It weighed like a millstone round his neck. Why had he failed?

The question plagued him long after they returned home. Even Channa Leigh's sweet voice could not ease his troubled mind.

Late one night as he wandered through the castle, he found himself standing in front of the painting of his parents. His gaze settled on his father's face. The Dragon Lord of Darkfest Castle.

Darkfest swore a short, pithy oath, then turned and went to his chamber. He worked all through the night, and as dawn rose in the sky, he held up a small vial of ruby-colored liquid. It held three drops of his own blood and the ashes of four of the wolf's hairs mixed with the juice of wild berries to make it palatable. He stared at the vial a long moment, wondering if he had at last discovered the secret to restore Channa Leigh's sight

Unable to wait a moment longer, he ran up the stairs to her bedchamber and rushed inside.

Kneeling beside her bed, he shook her shoulder lightly. "Channa Leigh! Wake up, lass."

She woke with a start. "Is something wrong, my lord?"

"Drink this." He thrust the vial into her hand. "Quickly now."

"What is it?"

"Drink!"

Compelled by the tone of his voice, she downed the contents in a single swallow, gasping as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat.

He watched her carefully, his heart pounding with excitement and trepidation.

And then, slowly, she turned to face him. "My lord," she breathed, and there was a wealth of wonder in her voice. "Truly thou art the most handsome of men."

"Channa Leigh!"

"I can see you." A smile as bright as summer sun curved her lips and lit her eyes. "I can see you!"

With a glad cry, he drew her into his arms, their tears mingling as he held her close.

"But how?" she asked. "How did you do it?"

"The dragon's blood," he replied with a rueful grin.

"What dragon? Not Blackencrill?"

"No. This dragon," he said, thumping himself on the chest

"You, my lord?"

"Aye. My father was known as the Dragon Lord of Darkfest Castle. I dinna know why I did not recall that sooner. For some reason I canna understand, there is magic in the wolf's hair, so I combined that with my blood. The dragon's blood." He frowned, wondering if his human hair would have worked as well.

"And will it last?" she asked.

"Only time will tell."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. And then she jumped to her feet. "Come," she said, holding out her hand. "We must go and tell my mama and papa."

Grinning, Darkfest gained his feet "Mayhap you should dress first."

She looked down at her nightgown and then back at him, her cheeks pink. "I think you may be right my lord."

The sun was still climbing in the sky when they made their way to Channa Leigh's home.

She burst inside, calling, "Mama, Mama!"

Her mother rushed into the room, wiping her hands on a towel, her brow lined with worry. "Channa Leigh! Child, what is wrong?'

"Mama. Oh, Mama." She flung herself into her mother's arms and hugged her tightly.

Mara looked into her daughter's face, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Can it be?" She glanced at Darkfest and took a step backward, drawing Channa Leigh with her. "What dark magic is this?"

" 'Tis magic indeed, Mama!" Channa Leigh cried. "Is Papa here?"

"What's all the ruckus?" Her father's voice preceded him into the room.

"Papa!" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. " 'Tis a miracle, Papa."

He hugged her back. "A miracle?"

She drew away a little and looked into his eyes. "I can see, Papa!"

Taking her mother and father by the hand, she pulled them into the kitchen and sat down at the table. They took their places, glancing over their shoulders as Darkfest followed them into the room.

He stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, while Channa Leigh told all that had happened since she had gone to live in the wizard's castle.

There were tears in Mara's eyes when the tale was told.

Dugald rose to his feet and faced Darkfest. "And so you mean to marry my daughter, do you?"

"Aye."

"And if I say nay, what then?"

"If Channa Leigh refuses me of her own free will, I will never see her again. But if she wishes to be my wife, as she said, then I will have her, with or without your blessing."

Dugald turned his gaze to his daughter. "Do you truly wish to marry this man?"

"Aye, Papa, with all my heart."

Dugald looked to his wife. "And what say you?"

"She loves him, old man. You can see it in her eyes."

And so it was that the fair maiden in the valley married the dark wizard upon the hill.

Darkfest stood beneath a canopy of tree boughs, waiting for his bride, felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw her walking toward him on her father's arm.

Never, in all his long life, had Darkfest seen anything to equal the beauty of Channa Leigh as she moved gracefully toward him. He gazed deep into her eyes, eyes filled with a love so deep and pure and true that it filled his heart with a sweet agony. The light in her eyes forever burned away the darkness that had ever been a part of him, banishing it from the depths of his heart and soul as if it had never existed.

It took but a few words spoken by the priest to make her his wife, to bind her to him for so long as she lived. And, thanks to his blood, she would have a long life indeed.

"I love ye, my lady of light," he murmured as he drew her into his arms.

"And I love you, my lord," she replied, and standing on her tiptoes, she claimed her first kiss as his wife.

The first, dear reader, but not the last.