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.