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.