Stroke of Midnight Read online

  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.

  They walked for a time in silence. Shanara was acutely conscious of the man at her side. He towered over her. Bare-chested and barefooted, he looked more like a barbarian than ever. His skin was very brown. Dark bristles shadowed his jaw. His wounds looked red and painful. In truth, she was surprised that he was on his feet at all.

  From time to time she could feel his eyes on her, as tangible as a touch. What was he thinking? She shivered, wondering what he would do to her when her father refused to take her place.

  She slid a furtive glance in his direction, her mind filling with questions.

  "What is it?" he asked gruffly.

  "Nothing."

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. " 'Tis obvious you want to ask me something. Ask it."

  "How long have you been cursed?"

  "Since I reached manhood."

  "Were you frightened, the first time it came upon you?"

  "Aye."

  "Does it hurt? I saw you one night, from the window. It looked…" She shivered, unable to find the words to describe what she had seen.

  "It hurts," he admitted quietly. "Every time."

  "And you have no control over it?"

  "Some, but very little when the moon is full."

  "What does it feel like, to be a wolf?"

  He looked down at her. "Like nothing you can imagine. Everything is magnified. Sounds. Smells. I can hear a leaf falling from a tree, see clearly in the darkness, run for miles and miles…"

  "It rather sounds as if you like it."

  "In some ways, I do."

  "Can you change at will?"

  "Aye."

  "And if you have a son, will he be accursed, as well?"

  He nodded curtly.

  "Why was your father cursed in this way?"

  "He angered your father's witch," he said, his voice bitter.

  "Do you mean Melena?"

  Reyes nodded. "In return, she decreed that all males in my father's line would be cursed to run with the wolves when the moon is full."

  "I find that hard to believe. She has ever been kind to me. What did your father do that made her so angry?"

  "He was a handsome man, my father. She wanted a son and wished for him to sire it. When he refused to betray my mother, Melena set a curse upon him."

  "Did your father try to break the spell?"

  "Aye. My father went to Melena and pleaded with her to release him. But she refused. A year later, after my mother had conceived, my father went to Montiori and begged him to order Melena to break the spell. Your father promised he would do so, but first he wanted to see my father undergo the change. My father agreed. During the next full moon, he went to your father's keep, and when the moon rose, he transformed into a wolf. And your father killed him."

  She fell silent, thinking of what Reyes had told her. It explained why he was not married. What woman would marry a man knowing that her sons would inherit the same dreadful affliction?

  "Why did your father have to wait for the full moon? Could he not change at will?"

  "No, though I do not know why." He shrugged. "Perhaps the curse gets stronger with time."

  Though the day was cool, a fine sheen of sweat covered Reyes's face and chest. His steps had slowed. His skin was hot when her arm brushed against his.

  "You've a fever," she said.

  He nodded.

  "You should rest."

  He glanced at her, bemused by her concern. Would she care whether he lived or died if she knew what he had planned for her? "The keep is just over that rise," he said. "I'll rest there."

  She didn't argue. If he fainted along the way, so much the better for her. It would give her yet another chance to try to escape.

  But he didn't faint.

  They were nearing the crest of the hill when a dozen riders appeared. The men halted a short distance away.

  "My lord!" one of them called. "We have been searching for you since daybreak."

  The man closest to them dismounted. "Here, my lord, take my horse."

  With a nod, Reyes put his foot in the stirrup. He took a deep breath, then swung his leg over the saddle. "Bring the woman." Clucking to the horse, he rode toward the castle.

  The rider who had given Reyes his mount lifted Shanara onto the back of one of the other horses. The knights followed their lord back to the castle. The riderless knight ran behind them.

  Shanara let out a sigh as they rode through the gates into the keep. She was his prisoner yet again.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  « ^ »

  Shanara followed one of Reyes's men up the stairs. He showed her to a room where the two gray-clad women who had looked after her before awaited. She frowned, trying to remember their names. Beatrice and Alyce, if she recalled aright. In less time than she would have thought possible, the maids had removed her clothing, washed her from neck to heel, and then wrapped her in a towel.

  "Now," said Beatrice, tapping her foot. "What shall she wear?"

  "The mauve velvet," said Alyce.

  Beatrice shook her head. She was the elder of t
he two, with brown hair, gray eyes, and a sweet, motherly face. "Nay, Alyce, the green silk. It matches her eyes, and you know it is Lord Reyes's favorite color."

  "Then I shall wear the mauve," Shanara decided. She had not missed the smirk on Alyce's face.

  "Will you not reconsider?" Beatrice asked hopefully. She ran her hand over the green silk. " 'Tis a lovely gown."

  Shanara shook her head. "The mauve."

  With a sigh of resignation, Beatrice helped Shanara into the mauve gown. She brushed Shanara's hair until it gleamed, then swept it away from her face with a pair of jeweled combs.

  "You look lovely," Beatrice declared. "Does she not, Alyce?"

  The younger woman nodded sullenly.

  "Come along," Beatrice said, and Shanara followed her down the corridor to a door she recognized all too well. It led to his bedchamber.

  With a smile, Beatrice opened the door. When Shanara didn't move, the woman gave her a little push, then shut the door behind her.

  The room was dark and smelled of candle wax and herbs. A fire blazed in the hearth. She took a step toward the huge four-poster bed in the center of the room.

  Reyes lay under a mound of heavy blankets. As she drew nearer, she could hear the sound of his labored breathing. His brow was covered with perspiration.

  Moving to his bedside, she called his name.

  He stirred restlessly at the sound of her voice.

  Shanara laid her hand on his shoulder. His skin was hot. Now that she was close, she could see that the wound in his arm was discolored and swollen. He groaned when she ran her fingertips over the wound.

  Leaving the room, she went down to the kitchen. The cook looked up, startled to find a stranger in her domain.

  "I need some hot water," Shanara said, "and a pot of strong willowbark tea. I also need a poultice to draw poison from a wound, a sharp knife, and a needle and thread."

  "Who are you to give me orders in my own kitchen?" the cook demanded, waving a big wooden spoon in Shanara's face. "Begone from my kitchen this instant!"

  Holding her ground, Shanara drew herself up to her full height. "If you refuse to do as I ask and Lord Reyes surrenders to the fever burning within him, his death will be upon your head."