"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.