For the remainder of the day she avoided her suitors. She spent time embroidering, which she hated, but no one would think to look for her in the small room with the rest of her ladies. She spent time in the kitchens trying to help the cook, but getting in the way more than not.
Finally, she retired to her room, skipping the last dinner completely. It was only now, late at night, that Bria could finally relax. She sat on the window ledge, staring at the moon floating high in the dark sky. It was almost full, a sliver of it gone as if an artist had chiseled it away. Or maybe a lover had stolen a piece of it to give to his fair lady, Bria thought wistfully. She wondered if she’d ever feel that kind of love. She didn’t think so.
Suddenly, the pounding of horses’ hooves sounded in the courtyard. She glanced down from her seat on the window ledge as a group of five soldiers thundered in.
They came to a halt in the middle of the inner ward and dismounted. One man gave orders. Bria couldn’t hear the words, only the resonance of his voice echoing off the castle walls. The men moved to obey his commands. The leader stood, his hands planted on his hips, gazing up at the keep. He reached up to slide his chain mailed hood from his head. Flowing black hair fell about his shoulders.
Bria squinted, trying to make out the man’s face, but he was too far away and the night was too dark. She shrugged slightly. Rude of him to be coming this late at night, Bria thought. Her father was in bed and couldn’t welcome him properly.
As if to confirm her thoughts, her father’s personal servant rushed out in a long night dress to greet the leader, bowing humbly. One of the soldiers moved to the leader’s side. Together they turned to gaze at her.
Bria straightened her shoulders. If she’d been closer, she would have been able to see his face, his eyes. As it was, she could see neither. But his gaze pinned her where she sat. Strangely, a tingle raced along her shoulder blades.
He gazed at her for a long moment and then turned toward the servant. After a moment, he followed the servant up the stairs and into the keep.
Bria watched until he’d disappeared inside the doors and they were closed behind him. She narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering who the arrogant lord was. She hoped he wasn’t another suitor, but she knew he was.
The next morning, Bria stood in the outer ward, staring at the lowered drawbridge, wishing her father had asked her to go hunting with him. Instead, he’d taken her suitors. She was surprised when even Garret had gone.
“What troubles you?”
Bria shook herself from her thoughts and turned from the entrance to look at her grandfather.
Harry smiled warmly at her. “There are other places you’d like to be, eh?” He leaned close to her. “Me, too.”
Bria smiled and returned her gaze to the soft blue velvet in her hand. She placed the fabric down on the merchant’s cart and moved to the next fabric. Harry trailed behind her as she softly touched the material and then moved to the next fabric laid out on the wooden pushcart in the outer ward.
The merchant said to her grandfather, “Perhaps some beautiful satin will make her happy.”
Her grandfather glanced at him, but didn’t answer.
Bria didn’t even look at the merchant. Her mind was occupied by the five men hunting with her father. She didn’t want to marry any of them. Bria shook her head, trying to shake the feeling of trepidation mounting inside her at her pending betrothal. She could only hope someone else would show up to rescue her from the sinking feeling growing deeper in the pit of her stomach.
“You went to Castle Knowles after Mary’s death, didn’t you?” Harry asked.
Bria was so unprepared for his statement that she could not hide the affirmation written all over her face.
Harry shook his head in disapproval.
“I had to do something!” Bria objected in a low voice. “I was hoping Knowles wasn’t as bad as I was hearing.”
“He’s worse,” the merchant whispered.
Bria’s eyes shifted to the merchant as he presented her a piece of red satin.
“I’ll never grace his lands again,” the merchant continued. “His tax collectors stopped my wagon yesterday, demanding payment for my passage through their lands.”
Bria perused the short man. His black hair was creeping away from his forehead; his eyes were lined with age. He had to look up to meet her gaze.
“Now, I consider myself a very fair man, as my prices are testament.” He indicated the fabrics on the cart with a generous wave of his hand.
Bria didn’t move. “Go on.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I was ready to give my fair amount. It’s not unheard of for a lord to tax a poor merchant. After all, we’re only trying to make a living. We work as hard as any man –”
“About the tax collectors,” Bria reminded him.
“Of course. Sheriff Kenric and his men stopped me on the road and demanded payment. But what he asked was three times anything I have ever heard of! It was an outrageous amount. He might as well have stolen my entire wagon of fabrics. I usually have three or four times as much cloth. But alas, this is all I have. Sheriff Kenric took the rest as payment.”
Bria glanced at her grandfather. What Lord Knowles was doing to the people of his lands, as well as those visiting, was preposterous. Anger surged through her so fiercely that she clenched her fist around the red satin fabric.
“M’lady, please,” the merchant said gently. “The few goods I have left are quite delicate.”
Bria immediately dropped the red satin and mumbled an apology. She moved on to the next piece of fabric and her breath caught in her throat. It was a rich, luxurious black velvet. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the fabric, which caught the light of the sun and seemed to absorb it. It was beautiful -- perfect! “Grandfather, don’t you think this is what the –” She stopped suddenly, feeling foolish about speaking of her imaginary hero in front of the merchant. “Never mind.” Though she didn’t say it, this fabric was exactly what the Midnight Shadow would wear.
Bria stroked the material lovingly, sensing something powerful in its color.
A hand seized her wrist and she glanced up into her grandfather’s intense blue eyes. “Bria,” he whispered.
“What?” she asked, confused at his intensity.
“Don’t do anything rash,” he pleaded.
Bria shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.” But even as she said the words, her gaze traveled to the black velvet. Exactly what the Midnight Shadow would wear.
“Have you decided upon some fabric?” the merchant wondered.
Bria lifted her gaze to the merchant, a reply on her lips, but over the merchant’s shoulder through the inner gatehouse, she spotted a tall man with hair as black as the witching hour moving past the opening. Was it the man she’d seen in the courtyard the previous night? She dropped the black velvet back onto the cart. She wanted to have a few words with the man for arriving at such a rude late hour. “Excuse me,” she muttered and moved quickly toward the gatehouse.
“Bria!” her grandfather called after her.
She raced after the dark-haired stranger, feeling the need to explain to him why it wasn’t good manners to arrive so late and, in doing so, discourage him from seeking her hand. She agilely dodged the other merchants in the outer ward.
She skidded to a halt just inside the inner ward, looking first left, then right. The courtyard was packed with peasants and knights come to see what the merchants were selling.
Bria exhaled sharply, thinking she’d lost him. But then the man revealed himself, rising from a bent position. He was tall, Bria realized, a good head above the tallest man in the crowd.
That did not dissuade her from her mission. Bria followed him as he continued into the inner ward toward the keep, skirting the crowd. She kept her gaze on him so as not to lose sight of him, though it would have been difficult to do so. As he moved through the ward, Bria noticed his confident gait, as if he were used to getting what he wanted. Well,
she thought, this was one woman who would sorely disappoint him.
She followed, studying his back. His shoulders were broad. He was probably a warrior.
Bria almost slammed into a woman carrying a basket of eggs, but she dodged to the left and moved around her.
The man paused to speak with another man, a peasant by the looks of his brown tunic and breeches frayed around the ankles. Bria tried to see the visitor’s face when he glanced back toward the open gatehouse, but he turned away from her to the peasant, giving her only a teasing glimpse of his tanned skin. Then he continued into the keep.
Bria pursued, bounding up the steps. Inside there were fewer people, and she moved a little faster. He was directly in front of her, walking down the hallway. His black hair just touched his strong shoulders. At this range, she could see blue highlights in his hair as he moved past the torchlight. It looked thick and wavy, and she wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked.
She shrugged off the thought. He could have the most luxurious hair in the land, and it wouldn’t make his late arrival any more correct.
“Excuse me!” she called.
He didn’t stop.
“Excuse me!” she called louder. Her voice echoed in the hallway.
He halted in the middle of the corridor.
Bria slowed her rushed walk to stop directly behind him. She’d opened her mouth to reprimand him for his ungracious behavior when he turned. She stood, staring, unable to say a word. Her anger dissipated like water in a drought.
The visitor’s face was rugged, a knight’s face, but there was more to it. His jaw was strong and square, clean of stubble. His sensual lips were curved in a cynical twist. His nose was straight. But it was his eyes that captured Bria’s attention. They were black, the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Yet there was something gentle in them, something that called to her. His glorious hair framed his face with black waves.
Bria stared, unable to utter a word. For here she stood, face to face, with the most handsome man she had ever seen.
“You!” Terran gasped, recognizing the woman he’d seen standing at the gatehouse at Castle Knowles. What was she doing here? Who was she?
He could only stare into those blue eyes. Like rare gems, they shone and sparkled with an inner light. His eyes perused her face slowly, savoring every gorgeous inch, her slightly uplifted nose, her high cheekbones, her full, kissable lips. He had a sudden desire to take her into some alcove and sample those lips to see if they were as soft and delicious as they appeared. Her hair was uncovered, and the wild, rebellious locks hung loose, curling around her cheeks and neck, as if to call attention to her most delicate attributes.
He’d never in his life felt this kind of desire. With Odella it had been different. He’d wanted to worship her beauty, not touch her. He realized with unexpected shock that Odella had been more like a prize to him than a flesh-and-blood woman. But this woman, God save him, this woman he wanted to kiss and ravish and worship in a very different way.
Is this some sort of witchcraft? he wondered. How could I possibly feel such an attraction when I’ve only just come face to face with her?
“Welcome to Castle Delaney,” she greeted. Her voice was soft and husky. Terran found himself strangely mesmerized by the movement of her lips.
“Thank you,” he said and found it was all he could say.
“You arrived late last night.”
Terran stared at her. A scowl crossed his brow as her accusation penetrated his musings. He nodded. “How did you...” Then he remembered seeing the woman far above in the keep, watching. At first glance he’d believed her to be an angel floating far above him. But slowly he realized she’d been seated on a ledge and her ethereal glow was due to her white night dress and the light of the moon. “Ahh,” he said. “It was you who greeted me with your silent gaze.”
“I’m sure Lord Delaney would have greeted you himself if you hadn’t arrived at such a late hour.”
A grin curved his lips. This bewitching little nymph had spirit. It took courage for a woman to speak so boldly to a lord. He found himself liking that willful energy very much. “We rode long and hard, but could not have made it earlier.”
She nodded, thoughtfully. “I see,” she said softly. “And who does Castle Delaney have the pleasure of welcoming?”
Terran opened his mouth to reply, but closed it promptly. How much did she know about Lord Knowles? He wasn’t oblivious to some of the foul rumors that had been spread about him. If she were anyone in the castle of importance, or even anyone who lived in the castle at all, she would already know of him. And most likely dislike him. “You may call me lord.”
A frown crossed her brow and her lips gave a sensual little pout, but she assented with a nod.
“And you?” he wondered.
“You may address me as lady.”
Terran chuckled. “This game could become most dangerous.”
“Oh,” she asked innocently, “how so?”
Was she truly so innocent, or was she enticing him? One side of his lips rose in a grin. “How so, indeed,” he whispered. “Perhaps lady would like to give me a tour of this grand castle.”
Her gaze swept him and he felt his blood race. A mere look from those blue eyes was enough to call forth images of her naked body below his, her lovely lips parted in a moan of ecstasy.
“Very well,” she agreed.
Terran stared at her, intrigued. She was either too trusting or a sly vixen. He would decide which.
He held out his arm to her, and she hooked her hand through it. Her touch sent tremors racing through his body. God’s blood! If a mere touch of her fingers gives me this much pleasure, I’ll be in heaven tasting her lips.
As they walked, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Why was he so attracted to this woman? He was in mourning for Odella, and yet he felt as though... as though she was nothing compared to the vibrancy and life he felt from the woman beside him. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and touch her. Maybe she could cure him of this horrible ache in his chest, this emptiness, at least for a few hours.
“You must have ridden a long way,” she said.
The little vixen. She was trying to get information from him. “Long enough to need a hot bath,” he admitted.
“I’m sure the servants saw to that last night,” she said. “What would you like to see first?”
“Nothing,” a voice from behind them called. “If he wants to see the castle, he can find someone else to show him.”
An old man stood just behind them in the hallway, and Terran’s smile died as he saw the fury in the man’s eyes. It was quite obvious the old man knew who he was and quite apparent he didn’t like him. This was the reaction Terran had prepared himself for. He sighed and calmly removed lady’s hand from his arm. “I’m afraid our excursion is over,” he said regretfully.
“Grandfather!” she objected. “I’m more than capable of taking him –”
“Do as I say, girl,” he commanded. “Come away from him.”
Terran’s jaw tightened at the way the old man spoke. There was no reason to be harsh with her. It wasn’t her fault.
The woman stood her ground for a long moment, her chin raised slightly, her eyes flashing like lightning. Then she stalked away from Terran and joined the old man.
Terran bowed slightly to the old man before moving away from them.
“Grandfather! That was rude.”
“He is not welcome here,” her grandfather snarled, “and you will stay away from him.”
“Who is he?” Bria asked, taken aback by his vehemence.
“It’s best your father tell you.” Harry took her hand and led her in the opposite direction of the man.
Bria walked beside her grandfather, her curiosity more than piqued. Who was the man? Where had he come from? And why did her grandfather hate him so?
“We should start our practices again,” Harry said. “Meet me tonight.”
Lord Delaney and the su
itors returned from the hunt that afternoon. Terran watched them dismount from a balcony in the keep. He’d been denied a room at the castle, further evidence Lord Delaney wanted nothing to do with him. But that didn’t dissuade Terran. He set up camp on the meadows just outside the castle.
Falconers rushed up to the men, removing the falcons from the hunters’ wrists to bring the birds to the mews for a rest.
Lord Delaney was at the front of the group. The others followed him like lap dogs, vying for attention. Terran shook his head slightly. He looked closer at one of the suitors. Even from this distance, the blond hair and handsome face were unmistakable.
Garret Dysen. The man Odella called for as death claimed her. Terran’s jaw clenched; his shoulders became rigid. He had the sudden desire to run the man through.
Suddenly, a woman ran out to the group. She threw her arms around Lord Delaney’s neck and spoke briefly with him. Terran recognized her instantly. It was lady from the hallway. As he watched the vibrant little nymph, she exchanged words with all the men and then grabbed Garret’s hand, pulling him through the inner ward toward the outer gatehouse.
A fierce rage seized Terran. What was this? he wondered, scowling fiercely. Where was she going with him? But then he knew instinctively: she was going for a tryst with her lover.
So, he thought, this Garret whom Odella had loved so much was a faithless dog. And his little vixen was just that, a temptress for all men to beware. Including him.
“Show me!” Bria whispered.
“All right,” Garret exclaimed, “all right!” He laughed. “You certainly can be insistent.”
She crossed her arms. “You haven’t seen the half of it.”
They were standing in a clearing just outside the castle, hidden from any castle occupant’s view by a thick growth of trees.
Garret held out his sword to her. Her fingers wrapped around the handle. Bria swung the sword from side to side, testing it, feeling its weight.
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