Stroke of Midnight (9 page)

She was thinking of pouring herself a glass of wine when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door.

CHAPTER 3

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Reyes paused at the door to his bedchamber, his hand on the latch. Why had he sent the girl to his room? He had no intention of treating his captive as a guest or using her as a whore. She was only a pawn in a dangerous game of cat and mouse.

He closed his eyes, picturing Shanara Montiori in his mind: defiant green eyes set beneath soft brown brows, a fall of reddish-brown hair as thick as his own, skin smooth and unblemished.

Reyes swore a vile oath, annoyed by the turn of his thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and he would do what he had vowed to do. He would keep her imprisoned while he waited to hear from Montiori, and when her father refused to take her place, as Reyes knew he surely would, Reyes would send her back to her father a piece at a time, until the coward agreed to surrender or to face him, one on one, in a battle to the death. No armies. No spectators. Just the two of them, alone.

He had ordered that she be bathed and attired in clean clothes because he could not, in good conscience, do otherwise. Now it was time to remember that she was his prisoner and treat her as such. He would personally escort her to the dungeon. He would demand that she write a letter to her father, telling Montiori of his terms, and then it was up to Montiori.

Filled with new resolve, Reyes opened the door and stepped inside, felt his breath catch in his throat as she turned away from the hearth to look at him, her eyes wide and startled, like a doe sensing danger. The velvet gown hugged a figure any man would kill to possess. The light from the fire danced in her hair and caressed her cheek.

Clearing his throat, he closed the door behind him.

She took a step backward and then, as though thinking better of it, she drew herself up to her full height. And waited.

And he did what he had been wanting to do from the moment he first saw her. Walking purposefully across the room, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He had expected her lips to be sweet, but he hadn't expected the sudden heat that flowed through him. It wasn't just the heat of desire, or the normal longing of a man for a woman. No, it was more than that, a feeling he didn't understand, one he had never known before.

Forcing himself to let her go, she stared up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. He had to get her out of here, now, he thought, before he drew her down on the bed, removed her gown, and explored the lush curves that lay beneath.

"Follow me," he said curtly, and before he could change his mind, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

After a moment's hesitation, she followed him.

Wordlessly, he led her through the keep and down the winding stone steps that led to the dungeon.

It was a cold and dismal place, lit by torches. He heard the scurrying of rats as he opened the door to the first cell and motioned the girl inside.

Without looking at him, she entered the cell, her head high.

He locked the door and pocketed the key. "My steward will bring you paper and quill in the morning. You are to write to your father and tell him of your circumstances. Tell him if he wishes to see you again, he will take your place here. If not…" He almost choked on the words. "Your life will be forfeit."

"He will never agree," she said.

"You had best hope he does," Reyes replied. And then, unable to face her any longer, he turned and left the dungeon.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Shanara looked at her surroundings. The floor and the walls were of damp gray stone. There was a straw tick and a ragged blanket on the floor in the corner, both of which were no doubt crawling with vermin. A vile odor rose from the slop jar in the corner.

Despite her determination not to cry, hot tears burned her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Her father would never sacrifice himself for her. He had five strong sons and three other daughters. His youngest daughter was of little value. She doubted he even remembered her name or was aware of her absence from the keep.

If only her mother were still alive, but Elene had died last year, struggling to give her husband yet another child.

Shanara whirled around as she heard a scrabbling noise behind her, a cry of alarm rising in her throat as a large black rat crawled out from under the straw tick. Picking up her skirts, Shanara retreated to the far corner of the small cell, her back pressed against the damp wall.

Despair settled on her shoulders like a shroud. She was going to die here, in this horrid little cell. The rats would eat her flesh, and no one would care…

She pressed her fingertips to her lips. Why had Reyes kissed her, then thrust her aside? She would not have been surprised if he had forced himself upon her, but the fact that he had pushed her away surprised her a great deal.

But it didn't matter now. Nothing mattered now. 

Reyes sat in front of the hearth, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. Six days had passed since he had locked Montiori's daughter in the dungeon. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined her sitting in that damned dismal cell with nothing to do but stare at the bars that imprisoned her. He imagined her horror at sleeping on a stained tick on the cold floor. He shied away at the thought of rats sharing her cell. His only concession had been to see that she received nourishing meals. Meals she had, thus far, refused to eat. Perhaps he was being too cruel. Perhaps he would tell Rolf to put a bed in her cell…

"No!" She was the enemy. No matter that she was young and more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. He could not think of her as a woman. She was a means to an end, no more, no less.

He looked up as his steward entered the room. "Did she write the letter?"

"Yes, sire." Rolf handed him a piece of rolled parchment.

Reyes read it quickly. As he had instructed, she told her father that she had been taken captive by Lord Reyes and that her life would be forfeit if Montiori did not comply with his wishes before the next full moon.

"Shall I send the missive?"

"Yes. Have Mergrid take it. Tell him to wait for an answer."

"Yes, my lord."

"Is there something else?" Reyes asked.

"She still refuses to eat."

Reyes nodded, then dismissed Rolf with a wave of his hand.

Rolf bowed from the waist, then left the hall.

Reyes swore. He had ordered his cooks to prepare dishes to tempt a lady's taste, but to no avail. For the last six days, every tray had been returned, untouched. He took small comfort in the fact that she drank the water if not the wine.

Gaining his feet, Reyes paced the floor. She was the enemy. It should make no difference whether she supped or not. He swore under his breath. She was only a woman. When she got hungry enough, she would eat.

It was the same thought that crossed his mind later that night when he sat at the table, his plate piled high with fresh venison and an assortment of side dishes.

Muttering an oath, he grabbed a plate, filled it with meat and vegetables, and then made his way to the dungeon. She would be of no use in a trade if she starved herself to death. A harsh laugh escaped his lips. No doubt that was her intent.

He opened the door that led to the dungeon, grimaced at the stink of waste and decay that fouled his nostrils. Who could eat in a place like this? He thrust the thought from his mind as he descended the stairs and walked down the corridor that led to her cell.

She was standing in the corner farthest away from the straw tick.

His heart clenched when she turned to look at him. There were dark shadows under her eyes, her cheeks looked sunken, her skin pale. Her eyes were dull and filled with resignation.

"I've brought your supper," he said, his voice gruff.

She gestured at the straw tick. A large gray rat with beady black eyes looked up at him, a bit of potato in its jaws.

A vile oath erupted from Reyes's throat. Tossing the tray in his hands aside, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door. The girl let out a wordless cry as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the dungeon and up the stairs to the second floor. He opened the door to one of the vacant bedchambers, pushed her inside, and locked the door.

Striding to the head of the stairs, he looked over the railing at the servants milling below.

"Alyce! Beatrice! Attend me immediately."

In moments, the two maids were there, awaiting his orders.

"There is a woman in the room next to mine," he said, thrusting the key into Beatrice's hand. "Clean her up and bring her something to eat."

Beatrice curtsied. "Yes, my lord," she said, and hurried away.

"As you wish, my lord," the younger one replied with a saucy smile.

She was a pretty thing, was Alyce, with her curly brown hair and guileless blue eyes. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then returned to the hall and his own dinner, but food no longer held any appeal.

Late that night, he prowled the castle until, too restless to remain inside its walls, he left the keep by way of a secret passageway that emerged in the side yard. Under cover of darkness he shed his clothing, then surrendered to the beast within him, his body shifting, his bones popping and cracking as they took on a new shape.

Shanara stood at the window, her heart pounding. Surely she could not be seeing what she was seeing. But even as she watched, the man in the yard below cast off his clothing, and his body began changing, stretching, until, impossible as it was to believe, a large black wolf stood in his place.

She jerked away from the window when the wolf lifted its head. Had he seen her? She shivered as a howl rose on the midnight wind.

When she looked out the window again, the wolf was gone.

So, she had not been dreaming the last time. All the stories were true. Everything she had heard about Reyes was true. She had been afraid of him before, but not like this. It was one thing to be held prisoner by one's enemy, something else entirely when your enemy wasn't human.

She couldn't stay here any longer, clinging to the slim hope that her father would rescue her. Montiori would never agree to take her place. Still, he might consider the killing of his brother and the abduction of one of his daughters reason enough to attack Reyes.

But whether her father came for her or not, her life would be lost one way or another. If her father refused to take her place, she would be killed. If war came, her fate would be the same. Her father would not barter for her life. Alive or dead, she would be nothing but an excuse for another battle, another war.

She moved around the room, looking for anything she could use, either as a weapon or as a way to break the lock on the door.

She was about to give up hope when she saw the handle of a knife protruding from under the napkin on her dinner tray. A tray that should have been picked up hours ago. Using the tip of the blade, she pried at the lock on the door.

It gave with a soft click. Slipping the knife into the pocket of her gown, she tiptoed out of the room.

CHAPTER 4

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He ran through the night, every sense aware of his surroundings. He knew there was a deer hiding in the trees behind him, that another wolf had made a kill. He smelled the blood in the air. The earth was damp beneath the sensitive pads of his feet as he ran tirelessly through the darkness.

Freedom. It sang through his veins. He was no longer the lord of a great castle, no longer responsible for hundreds of lives. The woes and wars of mankind meant nothing to the wolf.

There was only freedom and the urge to hunt.

A rabbit sprang out from behind a bush. He chased it down; grabbing it in his jaws, he devoured it in a few bites.

The kill satisfied the urge to hunt, stilled the restlessness in his soul. What would it be like to succumb fully to the wolf, to turn his back on mankind and live in the wild? Even as the thought tempted him, the image of a green-eyed woman rose in his mind, luring him back toward the keep.

He had to see her one more time.

He was halfway back to the castle when a dark gray shape materialized out of the shadows and padded silently toward him.

Reyes came to an abrupt halt when the other wolf growled, its hackles rising as it bared its teeth.

Reyes sniffed the air and immediately recognized the scent of the other wolf. They had met before. On other occasions, Reyes had backed down. But not tonight. Tonight, the image of a green-eyed woman tormented him, a woman who filled him with a yearning he dared not indulge. Tonight a fight was just what he needed to ease his frustration.

He bared his own teeth as the gray wolf walked stiff-legged toward him. Reyes was aware of other wolves nearby. He felt the weight of their eyes watching him.

The gray wolf attacked without warning, burying its fangs deep in Reyes's shoulder. Reyes howled, the pain slicing through him like the cut of a knife.

Shaking off the gray, Reyes whirled around and charged, his own teeth leaving bloody furrows along the other wolf's hindquarters.

Backing off, they faced each other and then the gray wolf lunged forward. Reyes dodged his attack, his teeth savaging the gray's neck.

They met again, and yet again. Reyes was confident of victory until he lost his footing on the damp leaves. The gray wolf was on him in an instant, his teeth slashing at Reyes's neck and shoulder.

Knowing it was only a matter of time before the rest of the pack came to finish him off, Reyes fought back as best he could. And then, abruptly, the gray wolf let him go and backed off. Moments later, the pack had disappeared into the darkness.

Reyes lay there, panting heavily, wondering why the other wolf had broken off the attack.

And then he heard the sound of footsteps moving in the underbrush. Had it been a deer, the wolves would have attacked, but in spite of tales to the contrary, wolves rarely attacked humans.

Shanara darted behind a tree, one hand covering her mouth to stifle a gasp. The foolhardiness of leaving the castle struck home as she watched half a dozen dark shapes disappear into the underbrush. What was she doing out here, armed with nothing but a knife?

She shook off her fears. Better to die trying to escape than wait like a lamb for the slaughter! She was about to continue when she realized that what she thought was a shadow on the ground was, in reality, another wolf. Was it dead? Wounded wolves were doubly dangerous.

Just when she was certain she had nothing to fear, it struggled to its feet, whining softly.

Pity welled in her heart as the beast stood there, head hanging, tongue lolling. Blood soaked its shoulder, dripped from its neck.

Her heart seemed to stop beating when it lifted its head and looked at her through eyes dark with pain. Midnight-blue eyes.

"Reyes." His name whispered past her lips. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved toward him, stopping only when he bared his teeth. "You need help." Even as she spoke the words, she wondered if he understood her. "You're bleeding."

He growled softly and she took a step backward. Would he kill her for trying to help him? She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise inside her. What difference did it make if he drove a sword through her heart or savaged her with his teeth? One way or another, he intended to kill her, making her wonder why she had ever thought to help him. He was her enemy, as she was his.

He took a step forward, fell heavily as his wounded leg refused to support him.

More fool she, she had always had a soft spot for wounded animals… but this was no animal. "Can you walk if I help you?"

He let out a soft bark which she took to mean "yes." Slipping her arm under him, she helped him stand.

"What shall we do now?" she wondered aloud. " 'Tis a long walk back to the castle."

The wolf shook his head and started walking, not toward the castle, but deeper into the woods. Stooped over, she walked beside him, supporting him as best she could. No easy task, as heavy as he was.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she saw a small stone cottage through a clearing in the trees.

The wolf was panting heavily by the time they reached the cottage. Shanara opened the door, waited for him to enter, then stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

When she looked at the wolf again, she saw that he had collapsed on the floor.

She searched the darkened room until she found a candle and a flint on the mantel. Lighting the candle, she glanced around the one-room cottage. Did it belong to Reyes? She moved about the room, looking into the cupboards, which were stocked with a few foodstuffs—sugar, flour, salt, a box of dried venison, as well as pots and pans, pewter plates and goblets and cutlery. A square table and three chairs stood against one wall, a narrow bed against another. A small box held an assortment of bandages and liniment, as well as a sharp knife, a needle, and sturdy thread.

After laying out the supplies on the table, she went outside and filled a bucket with water from the well, then went back into the cottage, hoping the wolf hadn't bled to death in her absence.

Reyes lay on his side, his eyes closed, his nostrils filling with the scent of his own blood. He had been injured in the past, but never this badly. Blood leaked from the cut in his neck, the deep gash in his shoulder, leaching away his strength.

He opened his eyes when he heard the woman approach, watched warily as she knelt beside him. Dipping a bit of cloth in a bucket, she washed the blood from his neck and shoulder. She threaded a needle with a long piece of thread and then, biting down on a corner of her lower lip, she began to stitch his wounds.

He whined softly as the needle pierced his flesh. If he'd had the strength to regain his human form, he could have dulled the pain with a glass of ale. In his wolf form, all he could do was endure it.

She worked quickly. From time to time she spoke to him, soft words of reassurance. Steeped in pain, he clung to the sound of her voice.

"There." Laying the needle aside, she stroked his head. " 'Tis done."

He licked her hand, then closed his eyes and slept.

Shanara stared at her hand, startled, and then laughed softly. No doubt it was just the wolf's way of saying thank you.

Still bemused by her reasons for helping him, she put the needle in the box and replaced it in the cupboard. Finding an old rag, she wiped the blood from the floor, then pulled a blanket from the cot and spread it over the wolf.

Feeling suddenly weak from all that had transpired that night, she dropped into one of the chairs and wrapped her arms around her waist. She was hungry and tired, so tired. She glanced at the cot against the wall, thinking how good it would feel to lie down and sleep for a few hours. And then she looked at the door. This would be the perfect time to get away from him.

And that was just what she would do. Going to the cupboard, she pulled out several pieces of dried venison. She put all but one in her skirt pocket and moved toward the door.

She stood there with her hand on the latch, unable to make herself walk out the door. It was true that Reyes had killed her uncle and her cousins and kidnapped her, but it was also true that he had saved her from being ravished by one of his own men. She couldn't leave him, not now, when he was hurt.

Turning away from the door, she went to the cot and sat down, her gaze resting on the wolf while she ate the dried venison. Then, with a sigh, she slid beneath the blankets, asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Reyes opened his eyes, awakened by a shaft of golden sunlight filtering through the cottage's single window. He drew a deep breath and his nostrils filled with the scent of the woman. Was she still here?

Turning his head, he saw her curled up on the cot. She had tended his wounds last night. Even now, he found it hard to believe, not only because they were enemies, but because he had been in his wolf form. Why had she helped him? He had done nothing to incur either her friendship or her concern, yet she had stitched his cuts and covered him with a blanket. He grinned wryly, wondering which of them would be the most grateful for that this morning.

Sitting up, he ran a hand over his neck and shoulder, remembering how gently she had washed the blood from his wounds, the compassion in her voice as she sewed the gash in his neck and shoulder.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten since the night before, and not much then, since his mind had been on the woman instead of the meal.

Rising, he wrapped the blanket around his waist, then rummaged through the cupboard until he found a few strips of dried venison. He ate three pieces, then, grabbing a cast-iron pot, he went outside to fill the container. Returning to the cottage, he lit a fire in the hearth, hung the pot from the tripod to heat.

His gaze returned to the woman. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of auburn silk. He sucked in a deep breath as he remembered the feel of it against his cheek, the flowery fragrance that clung to each strand.

Why hadn't she left last night?

He noticed the soft curve of her cheek, the slender line of her throat, the arch of her brows, the swell of her breasts beneath the blanket.

The woman stirred, but didn't awaken.

Desire stirred within him. She was here. She was his to do with as he pleased. The words whispered through his mind, urging him to take her, willing or not.

It was tempting, so very tempting. Had she not come to his aid the night before, he might have surrendered to the longing that burned through him, but she had not only helped him, she had stayed with him through the night. He could not repay her kindness by forcing himself on her.

Lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize she was awake and staring at him, the look in her eyes telling him that she knew every lustful thought that had crossed his mind.

"Good morrow," he said, his voice gruff.

She nodded, her gaze moving over his bare chest and the blanket tightly wrapped around his waist.

"Thank you for tending my wounds."

"You're welcome," she murmured.

"How did you get past the gates last night?"

She stared at him. Was he so foolish as to think she would tell him?

Reyes nodded. "Why did you not leave here when you had the chance?"

Her gaze slid away from his. "I know not."

"You should have gone when you had the chance," he said curtly.

She looked up at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "You could let me go now."

"No, I cannot." He gestured toward the hearth. "There is hot water if you wish to bathe."

She nodded, but made no move to get up.

Grunting softly, Reyes left the cottage.

Throwing back the covers, Shanara slid her legs over the edge of the cot. Did she dare bathe with him prowling the grounds outside?

Keeping one eye on the door, she found a chunk of soap and a piece of toweling. Moving quickly, she washed her hands and face, then removed her stockings to wash her legs. She was drying her feet when he knocked on the door.

"Nay, do not enter!" she cried, her heart pounding at the thought of him seeing her bare legs.

Moving quickly, she finished drying her feet, then drew on her stockings and shoes, smoothed her skirt, ran a hand through her hair.

He knocked on the door again.

Shanara took a deep, calming breath, then called, "Enter."

Reyes stepped into the room and moved toward the hearth.

Shanara's eyes widened as he reached for the cloth she had used. "Do you mean to bathe?"

"Aye."

"I will wait outside."

"No."

She stared at him, speechless. "You cannot expect me to stay while you wash!" she exclaimed in horror.

"And how long would you remain if I let you but of my sight?"

The rush of color in her cheeks was all the answer he needed.

When he reached for the soap, she quickly turned her back to him, her arms crossed over her breasts.

Grinning, Reyes dropped the blanket.

Shanara stared at the wall, trying not to listen as he washed, trying not to imagine how he looked without the blanket. She knew it was shameless of her, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Having five brothers, she was no stranger to naked men or the male body, but Reyes was not kin and, truth be told, none of her brothers was as tall as her captor, nor did any of them have shoulders as broad. Certainly none were as handsome…

She shook the thought aside. The man was her enemy. He was keeping her against her will, hoping to trade her life for her father's, and though she had little love for her father, he deserved her loyalty.

"Let's go, lass."

"Are you decent?"

"Not always, but I am covered."

She turned to find he had wrapped the blanket around his waist and tied it in place with a leather thong.

"Do you often find yourself naked in the woods?" she asked, then clapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Not often." Opening the door, he waited for her to cross the threshold, then followed her outside, closing the door behind him.