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 br**sts. 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.