"Aye?” Roget asked warily.
"Did you murder our father? Remember, I will find out if you do not speak true."
Bitterly, it seemed, Roget shook his head. “No Garret, our father died of a broken heart. It was ever you he loved. I did not realize the true depths of his feelings for you until you were gone. Then it was too late."
Had Roget ever regretted what he had done to his brother and father? Now he possessed all he had schemed and plotted for. Sometimes there was no justice in the world.
"Get you from my sight before I change my good intentions.” Garret's voice clearly revealed his feelings of anger and betrayal. “I suggest you find yourself another evil knight, for I will be gone from here as soon as I am dressed.” Roget turned quickly to leave. “I ask that you forget I am kin and never bother to darken my door—ever."
Without replying, Roget walked out of the tent.
Garret stood tall, still holding the two swords, staring at the tent entrance.
Minna scrambled off the pallet. Garret looked over his shoulder at her. “My love, you do not know what strength of will it took for me to let him live."
Minna gave a shaky laugh and hurried over to slide her arms around his waist, kissing his back and resting her head against him. “I do know, my lord. And I thank you for it."
Garret turned in Minna's arms to return her embrace, but he did not release the swords. “I suggest we gather our things, so I may spirit you away from here. Now that I have my sword arm back, I suggest I find a place to offer my services."
"Would you be of a mind to pledge fealty to my father?"
Garret looked down at her. “Your father?"
"I know you love me, Garret.” Minna gave him an indulgent smile. “But are you so blinded by your love that you do not remember I am an heiress in my own right?"
Garret actually looked like he was blushing. “But I thought..."
"That I never wanted to go home?"
"Well, aye, I did."
"I did not want to go home because I did not want to be forced to marry Roget. Since I no longer have that worry, there is naught keeping me away."
Garret leaned down to kiss her. “As you wish, love."
After a sweet interlude, Minna asked him, “Shall we marry in secret before we return?"
"It would be my pleasure, Minna,” Garret assured her. “Now hurry, so we may be away to our new life."
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NOCTURNAL OFFERING
by
Monica M. Martin
Prologue
Château Poitier, France
October 31, 1201 A.D.
Rhiannon struggled for air. She dragged in labored breaths, fighting the inevitable moment, which now approached upon swift wings. Through the haze, she saw tears well in his large black eyes. They were pools of unfathomable sorrow as they moved over her face. Without a doubt, she knew his eyes were capturing impressions he'd relive for years, even centuries to come. Silent red streams spilled down his ashen cheeks. His pale fingers swiped at them, and he muttered indistinctly before turning away. Charles was usually so calm and composed, she'd never witnessed him in such a state.
She watched him pace back and forth. His footfalls pounded urgently against the timber floor. She sighed wistfully, aware of the ache in her heart. He looked just as dashing in his sable and crimson surcoat as he had the day she'd met him forty-three years ago. His long black curls had lost none of their richness and luster, while her red locks had faded to white. Mortality had its price, and she was about to pay hers.
Sir Robert and Lady Grace knew it was time; they'd said their goodbyes and then departed the room, giving Rhiannon and Charles these precious moments of privacy.
Mustering strength, Rhiannon pulled herself up and rested against the heaped pillows. She welcomed the numbness that followed after the stabbing pain. She drew several deep breaths, regaining her composure. “I'm not able to struggle through another day, my darling Charles. I'll pass on before you awaken."
"No!” He turned to face her. “Don't say that!” He smashed his palm against the stone wall. “Don't!” He let out a wrenching sob.
"Charles, I—"
"I can't go on without you!"
"Charles.” She opened her arms and reached out to him. “Please..."
He rushed to her side, knelt, and took her hands. His gaze filled with longing as it searched her face. “Death is inevitable for all mortals, but I've become accustomed to your presence, dear heart. For the first time in my existence, I feel utterly helpless. Forgive my weakness."
I'd not have caused him such pain if I'd been stronger. She gently squeezed his hand.
"'Tis challenging to stand by and watch you die. I've loved you so long. ‘Tis just too much to bear.” His tears fell unchecked. “All I want to do is save you ... make you like me."
"'Tis too late for that now.” Rhiannon stroked his tear-stained cheeks, blood smearing her unsteady fingers. “I-I recognize how devastating this is for you. I do."
"I sound pathetic.” Charles laughed harshly. “Right now I am pathetic."
"No. You are not. You're a man in touch with his emotions. ‘Tis why I've come to love you so deeply.” She waited for the current wave of pain to subside before she continued. “You are true. Never change your beautiful self. Not for anyone."
He eased himself into the bed beside her and encircled her in his arms. “My beloved angel. My only love.” He kissed her forehead.
He was a giant of a man; she always felt protected in his embrace. She melted into his warmth. Here, she was safe. Here, she was home. Love conquers even the strongest of men. I loathe what I'm doing to you.
He stroked her hair and placed his lips to her forehead. “We've an extraordinary marriage,” he whispered, his breath cool against her skin.
"Indeed.” She smiled as memories flooded her mind.
"And now you're leaving me."
"I-I am sorry. I...” The words caught in her throat. She was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open.
"You must fight it, my love."
She nodded. “Yes ... a little longer."
"You've spoiled me for other women. My existence will be bland without you to flavor it.” His words quivered along with his large frame.
"You existed without me for over two hundred years, in fact. Time will heal your hurt, my brave knight. You'll find a new love."
"I will not. You're my soul mate.” He sighed.
"And you're mine.” She shivered, the chill permeating her gown. He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and held her close.
"I knew you were the one the moment your father presented you to me. Arranged marriage or not, you're the only one for me."
She smiled. “I couldn't understand why barons vied for your allegiance. When Father told me ... I fought him, even tried to run off to the nunnery. But the night I met you, I was lost to you."
"Hmm ... I smelled your apprehension, although you hid it well, it was not enough to deceive an immortal. The moment you melted, I felt that, too."
"I remember the stories—which, I imagined, were fabricated: The night warrior moves with stealth in the dead of night, vanquishes without sound, and leaves no trace. Father imagined that almighty God favored you, and he would somehow be blessed by our union."
"Your father was a rather ambitious man. The truth would have boiled his gut."
"Hmm ... Men know your worth."
"You're the only one I've ever desired to garner appreciation from.” He stroked her cheek.
"Sir Knight, the way you look into me causes me to blush. After all these years, I fear I'm still in awe of you."
"There's no fairer, or more accommodating maiden in all the land.” He smiled for the first time that evening. “We are blessed, you and I. Many crave the love we share."
"Indeed they do. I should not have refused immortality all those years ago."
"You were afraid, and rightly so. Immortality is somewhat
daunting..."
She rubbed her aching throat. “Age has sapped my youth and my strength."
"Don't go...” Charles whispered. He drew back and searched her eyes.
"I don't want to leave...” She paused to take a breath. “'Tis in one's nature to be concerned with what one cannot have. If I could relive my youth, I'd choose immortality without a second's thought. But ‘tis too late now.” She struggled to drag air into her lungs. The chill had seeped right through to her bones, numbing her completely.
"If there's a way, another life, promise you'll come back to me. No matter what!” Charles exclaimed.
"I ... I'll come back to you..."
He shook her. “Promise you'll be my eternal bride."
She nodded at his words, too tired to speak.
"Say it!"
"I ... I promise to be yours forever. Upon Beltane, I will offer myself up to the darkness, to you, my only love."
He held her tightly. “I'll await you, milady. There'll be no other."
"You must go on. You must."
"When you return to me I will. Then I'll remember this date with joy: the rebirth of my twin-soul. Come back to me; make it right.” His cheek pressed to hers, and they rocked together. “I love you! I love you! I love you..."
Darkness enveloped her...
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Chapter 1
England, 2005
It was Friday at last. Nadia's day began with a nutritious breakfast of rolled oats, fruit, and orange juice, a four-mile bicycle ride, and liters of water. A fitness fanatic, she simply loved the adrenaline rush in the morning. It was a natural high, and she was a natural kind of girl. Nothing like a good workout to ease frustration and get those creative juices flowing.
Nadia was pleased with her literary success—she had three international bestsellers under her belt, and a potential fourth was about to land on her editor's desk. Furthermore, she still had over two months before the year ended. Her muse had been a loyal friend indeed. On the other hand, Rose, her best friend and publicist, had been nagging her to slow down and add some romance to her life.
Rose, a sex-crazed Spaniard who was hot-blooded to boot, considered constant male companionship necessary for self-esteem and stress relief. For Rose, stress relief was a good shag. The type of men she attracted fell at her feet in worship. The latest, Bruce Williams, was the personal assistant to recluse Charles Poitier, a nightclub entrepreneur and heir to the Poitier fortune.
Poitier's upmarket clubs were for the out-of-the-ordinary, discerning individual. According to gossip columns, his tastes ran towards the rather exotic. Rose didn't agree with most of the gossip about the enigmatic Frenchman. Apparently, he was tall, dark, and handsome—just the way Nadia liked her men. No one had managed to snap a shot of Poitier, though.
Rose vouched for his utterly gorgeous looks—not that this was any assurance, as Rose's tastes differed wildly from Nadia's. Much to her dismay, Nadia knew Rose had gotten it into her head to play matchmaker again. Nadia was a simple girl; she couldn't imagine having anything in common with a well-heeled Frenchman, especially one rumored to engage in kinky edge play.
Nadia just didn't have time for romance right now. It interrupted her creative flow. She'd grown tired of Rose setting her up with the too-hot-for-you guys, the-too-sexy-for-words guys, and worst of all, the in-your-wildest-dreams guys, none of whom suited her in the slightest. Not one reached second base—not that she was a prude or some kind of high-maintenance bitch. But equality and simplicity were high on her agenda; she really didn't need help choosing a man. She simply wasn't interested in others’ ideals. A pity nymphomaniac Rose couldn't understand this.
Nadia had known her ideal since she was a giggling teenager. There was more to her than a throbbing pussy, as her ex-husband had discovered. In the long term, she wasn't about to settle for less than her ideal. Her marriage to Simon had ended in divorce two years after it began. Admittedly, this had left Nadia a little shell-shocked and in need of therapy. Rose was right to say one had to date to weed out the defective men. Simon had been all wrong for her, right down to his blonde tips and calculating blue-green eyes.
Nadia had grown a lot in the past four years. She was in no hurry to settle down. Heck, she was only twenty-six years old; her uterus wasn't about to dry up anytime soon. She was fine just the way she was.
Nadia brought herself back to the present, dismounted, and pushed her chrome mountain bike up to the gate. She lived in a white, turn-of-the-century two-bedroom cottage with a red tiled roof, and like most quaint English houses, hers had a white picket fence. The garage matched the house perfectly as well. She resided on the outskirts of Staines. It wasn't the best neighborhood, but she was happy here. Her neighbors were nice people who generally kept out of her business. What more could she ask for?
Opening the gate, she wheeled her bike through. After squeezing past her red, seventies vintage Volkswagen, which she'd aptly named Ladybug, she parked her bike in the stand at the rear. Next, she secured the garage, then made her way back down the cobblestone path to her letterbox. Her eyes moved over the fence. She noticed several palings had come loose again, and the lawn needed mowing.
Nadia sighed.
Maybe I do need a man around. I'm not good at this home-handyman stuff. She laughed at her thoughts.
No, I don't need a man. I am a self-possessed, balanced human being, and I don't need anyone to validate me as a person. I am complete. Neediness is highly unattractive. Should I feel the desire to have a man in my life, he'll complement me, walk beside me through thick and thin. He'll respect me for who I am and treat me as his equal; there'll be none of this take, take, take. There. Much better.
Maybe Rose was right when she said I was sexually frustrated. Maybe I could do with a decent lay. Gosh, thinking on it ... it's been a while. So why don't I just take her advice and get a shag? She'd stop matchmaking if I acquired one on my own.
She laughed aloud. “That woman's getting to me,” she muttered.
Nadia couldn't help smiling as she dug through her letterbox. She collected several nondescript envelopes and one elaborate, rose-colored number, on which her name was superbly penned in fine gold letters. She envied such a hand. Hers was a disaster. She thanked God for modern technology, as she didn't have to rely on her penmanship.
Letting herself in, she kicked off her exercise shoes to avoid marring the newly-buffed timber floor, which gleamed back at her in warm reddish-brown tones.
A bundle of black-and-white fur meowed and wove itself through her legs. She almost tripped. “Muffieeee.” She bent and scratched her disgruntled cat behind the ear. “Did you miss mommy?
"Meowwww.” The cat looked up at her through displeased gold eyes.
Muffie was a gift from the neighbor to her left, a thank you for caring for Muffie's mother when she'd decided to give birth to her kittens in Nadia's laundry two years before.
"Meeeeooowwwwww.” Muffie started to paw Nadia's leggings.
"Come on then, I'll feed you."
Nadia made her way down the hall and into the kitchen, Muffie yowling at her all the way. Placing the letters on the breakfast table, she warmed some milk and tuna for Muffie—those were the cat's favorite dishes. After that, she filled the jug and made herself a cup of tea.
She peered through the sash window and into the backyard. It had begun to rain again. There's no point taking tea out there.
Nadia sipped her tea while sorting the mail, saving the eye-catching letter until last. “I wonder what this is.” She tapped it on the bench top. “I'll open it once I've checked my e-mails and read through some edits; that'll give me time to cool down, and then I'll take a bath. Focus is the key; I can't go getting all distracted."
She hurried across the corridor into her cozy office, and switched on her computer. Then she parted the cream-colored lace curtains to reveal the rich, red-brown timber surrounding the two sash windows. It was raining rather heavily now, crystal drople
ts pattering at the windowpanes. She stood and admired her most frequented space. The solid mahogany computer desk and bookshelves matched the polished floor perfectly. She loved this room, the one that brought forth most of her inspirations. Everything was here.
Nadia checked her e-mail and replied to the pressing messages. Then she printed her latest draft and settled herself on the floral embroidered chaise lounge opposite the bookshelves. Muffie curled up in a black-and-white ball on the angora rug at her feet and purred contentedly. Nadia stroked the top of the cat's head with her foot, causing her to purr even louder. Finally, Nadia donned her glasses and began to read.
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Chapter 2
Rhiannon Rediscovered
England, 2005
Charles stood silently in the chamber they'd prepared for his future bride. This was where she'd be reborn as his nocturnal offering on Halloween night. It would be a celebration long anticipated: He'd waited eight hundred years for her return. She promised to offer herself up to him forever, to share blood. Nothing could change that. Nothing.
Charles’ dearest immortal friends, Sir Robert and Lady Grace, flanked him, their silver-blonde hair a startling contrast to his black curls. In appearance, they were as different as night and day. In reality, they'd been born on the same day, reborn on the same day, and were inseparable for all eternity.
Immortals entered the dimly-lit chamber in quiet succession, forming a circle around the altar on which Lady Rhiannon's shrouded body had once lain. They rehearsed for the offering, the rebirth of Charles’ immortal beloved. A pure white sheet draped the cold, gray stone, awaiting her tall, waiflike form. A pillow dressed in white lay waiting to caress her luxurious hair. However, this time her body would not be that of a gray-haired woman who'd passed onto death, but that of a fiery redhead who'd awaken to the night for eternity, as his immortal bride...
The all-consuming numbness he'd felt for centuries had evaporated the moment he'd seen Nadia walking along that moonlit street and followed her home. He'd found her at last. Since then, not much else had mattered.
A Torrid Celebration! Page 7