Born of the Night
Page 2
As causally as she could, she walked toward the water wagon and took a drink.
No one paid her any heed. Nor did anyone seem to notice when she took a knife from a sheath someone had carelessly left lying on the ground. Tucking the weapon into the pocket of her skirt, she turned away from the wagon and headed for the darkness beyond the camp, hoping that anyone who saw her would think she was one of the camp followers seeking a momentary bit of privacy.
Had anyone noticed her departure? She didn't dare look around, only kept walking, moving deeper into the shadowy darkness beneath the trees.
A capricious wind stirred the leaves.
Far off in the distance, she heard the melancholy howl of a wolf.
Glancing upward, she reckoned her direction by the position of the moon. All she had to do was keep heading west. With any luck at all, she would make it to her brother's estate. Thomas was her oldest brother, and her favorite. He would take her in and give her shelter until her father came for her.
She ducked under a low branch, wondering how long it would take her to reach her brother's estate. She was hungry and weary and not at all certain how much farther she had to go.
With a sigh, she increased her stride. She could rest later. For now, she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the camp she had left behind. She had gone only a short way when she paused, a shiver of unease prickling her spine. Someone was watching her.
"Who's there?" she called softly. "Show yourself." Delving into her pocket, she withdrew the knife and held it close to her side, hidden in the folds of her skirt.
A rustle to the left drew her attention. Heart pounding with fear, she turned to see a giant of a man striding toward her.
"So, missy," he said in a voice like rumbling thunder, "what are you doing out here all by yourself?"
She shook her head, her hand tightening on the knife even as she wondered if the weapon would do her any good against a man of his size.
"Are you lost, girl?"
She shook her head again.
"Are you deaf, then?" he asked, moving closer. "Mute, perhaps?"
She took a step backward, her eyes widening as he began to unfasten his belt.
"Lucky I am that I followed you out here," he said with a leer. "I was getting tired of waiting my turn."
Shanara's heart plummeted to her toes. She had hoped anyone seeing her leave the camp would think she was one of the camp girls. Now she saw the error in her thinking.
She turned to ran, but he was too fast for her. One beefy hand closed on her shoulder. With a cry, she twisted in his grasp, the blade glinting in the moonlight as she raised her arm to strike.
Muttering an oath, he grabbed her wrist, his hand squeezing it until her fingers went numb and the knife tumbled from her grasp. In the next instant, she was flat on her back, held in place by his knee while he unfastened his trousers, then tossed her skirt over her head.
She screamed in terror and revulsion as he parted her thighs and she felt his skin against hers. Desperate to stop him, she pounded her fists against his head and shoulders, but he only laughed, one meaty hand holding both of hers over her head.
It was difficult to breathe with her heavy skirt covering her face. Her heart was pounding so rapidly she was certain she was going to faint. She prayed that she would faint before he defiled her.
Abruptly, his weight was gone.
She heard a horrible shriek followed by an even more horrible gurgling sound, and then silence.
Afraid to look, afraid not to, she pulled her skirt away from her face and peered into the darkness.
A huge black wolf stood over the man's body. As if sensing her watching him, the wolf lifted its head. It stared at her through midnight-blue eyes. Blood dripped from its fangs and its tongue. The man's blood.
The wolf lifted its head. A howl rent the stillness of the night and then, amid a shimmer of moonlight, the wolf's form began to change, its thick pelt undulating, changing, until the wolf was gone and a tall man stood naked before her, his long black hair awash in the light of the moon, the scar on his cheek like a ribbon of silver.
It was the last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness.
When she woke again, it was morning and she was lying on his blankets back at camp with no recollection of how she had got there.
The wagons were gone. Some of the men were eating breakfast, others were saddling their horses. There was no sign of Reyes.
She sat up as the memory of what had happened the night before returned. Surely she hadn't seen what she thought she had seen! She had heard the stories of the Reyes family, how they had been cursed by a witch to run with the wolves when the moon was full, but she had never believed such ludicrous tales. Men could not transform into wolves. It was impossible… yet how else to explain what she had seen last night, when the moon was full?
"A dream," she murmured. "It was naught but a bad dream."
And even as she spoke the words, she saw Reyes striding toward her, his long black hair falling over his shoulders, his dark blue eyes fixed on her face.
She suddenly recalled that the wolf's eyes had also been blue…
"Get up, woman," he said gruffly. "We ride at once."
When he reached for her arm, she scrambled to her feet and backed away. "Touch me not!"
"I've no time for your nonsense," he said impatiently. "We're leaving."
"Please, let me go home."
"All in good time," he replied, and taking hold of her hand, he dragged her to his horse, lifted her into the saddle, and vaulted up behind her.
They traveled all that day. She was grateful, at least, that they rode at the head of the column as the horses behind them stirred great clouds of dust.
They stopped once at noon to rest and water the horses and again a few hours later. She had expected they would make camp at dusk, but night fell and there was no sign that they were going to stop.
She sagged against Reyes, too exhausted to care that he was her enemy.
She didn't remember falling asleep, but she woke abruptly, a huge castle rising before her eyes. Reyes guided his horse across a narrow stone bridge that spanned a moat, and then under a portcullis. They passed through the main gate and then they were inside the inner courtyard. Servants ran to and fro, offering water and wine to the trail-weary warriors. Youths led the warhorses into the barns to look after them. Wives and children filled the yard, welcoming their husbands and fathers home.
Reyes took Shanara by the arm and led her up a winding staircase to the first floor and into the banqueting hall. Inside, he bade her sit down at one of the tables. At any other time, she would have argued, but she was too tired to offer any resistance, and too hungry.
She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as serving women hurried into the hall, laying out trays laden with meat and vegetables and baskets of crusty brown bread. Tankards filled with ale were set on the tables.
Stomach growling, Shanara filled a trencher with food, acutely conscious of Reyes sitting at the head of the table.
The room was soon filled with hungry men. Laughter and conversation rose on all sides as the women joined their men.
With the edge taken from her hunger, Shanara looked around the hall. It was an enormous room. A dozen long trestle tables were scattered down its center. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall, with a pair of crossed swords hanging over the mantel. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and fresh rushes covered the floor. On the walls were tapestries depicting a variety of hunting and battle scenes.
But it was Reyes who drew her attention again and again. Clad all in black, he sat alone at the head of the table absently picking at his dinner while he watched the goings-on in the hall. He smiled as his men toasted him again and again, sharing stories of his bravery in battle, telling how he had ridden into the midst of a fierce skirmish to save one of his men.
She found it curious that he sat at the head of the table without female companionship.
She had no sooner finished her meal than a young woman clad in a long gray gown appeared at her side. "Please come with me, my lady."
Shanara sent a glance in Reyes's direction, but he was paying her no attention. When the girl gave a gentle tug on the sleeve of Shanara's gown, Shanara rose and followed her from the hall.
The maid led her up a narrow winding stairway, down a long dark corridor, and into a large room where another, older woman, also clad in gray, waited.
Before she knew what was happening, Shanara found herself being undressed and urged into a large wooden tub filled with hot water. In spite of her protests that she was perfectly able to bathe herself, the women bathed her and washed her hair, then helped her out of the tub. They dried her off, anointed her with fragrant oil, wrapped a bit of toweling around her hair, then helped her into a long, loose-fitting gown of ice-blue velvet.
"Sit here, my lady," the older one said, indicating she should sit on a low stool.
Knowing it was useless to argue, Shanara did as she was told.
"Such beautiful hair," the woman said, removing the toweling. "Like auburn silk."
"Indeed," murmured her companion, a note of envy in her voice.
Shanara closed her eyes. She had always enjoyed having someone else brush her hair. The woman had gentle hands, and for a few moments, Shanara gave herself up to the luxury of being pampered, something she had sorely missed since her mother passed away.
"Will there be anything else, my lady?" the older woman asked.
"Thank you, no."
Looking pleased with themselves, the two women bowed in her direction and then left the room.
Sitting there, Shanara took a good look at her surroundings. A large bed covered with furs stood between two arched windows that overlooked the courtyard. There was a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed, a square table and two chairs in one corner. A fire burned in the raised hearth, providing the room with heat and light. Another, smaller round table held a flagon of wine, a pair of goblets, a bowl of fruit, and a platter of assorted meats and cheeses.
She was thinking of pouring herself a glass of wine when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door.
No one paid her any heed. Nor did anyone seem to notice when she took a knife from a sheath someone had carelessly left lying on the ground. Tucking the weapon into the pocket of her skirt, she turned away from the wagon and headed for the darkness beyond the camp, hoping that anyone who saw her would think she was one of the camp followers seeking a momentary bit of privacy.
Had anyone noticed her departure? She didn't dare look around, only kept walking, moving deeper into the shadowy darkness beneath the trees.
A capricious wind stirred the leaves.
Far off in the distance, she heard the melancholy howl of a wolf.
Glancing upward, she reckoned her direction by the position of the moon. All she had to do was keep heading west. With any luck at all, she would make it to her brother's estate. Thomas was her oldest brother, and her favorite. He would take her in and give her shelter until her father came for her.
She ducked under a low branch, wondering how long it would take her to reach her brother's estate. She was hungry and weary and not at all certain how much farther she had to go.
With a sigh, she increased her stride. She could rest later. For now, she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the camp she had left behind. She had gone only a short way when she paused, a shiver of unease prickling her spine. Someone was watching her.
"Who's there?" she called softly. "Show yourself." Delving into her pocket, she withdrew the knife and held it close to her side, hidden in the folds of her skirt.
A rustle to the left drew her attention. Heart pounding with fear, she turned to see a giant of a man striding toward her.
"So, missy," he said in a voice like rumbling thunder, "what are you doing out here all by yourself?"
She shook her head, her hand tightening on the knife even as she wondered if the weapon would do her any good against a man of his size.
"Are you lost, girl?"
She shook her head again.
"Are you deaf, then?" he asked, moving closer. "Mute, perhaps?"
She took a step backward, her eyes widening as he began to unfasten his belt.
"Lucky I am that I followed you out here," he said with a leer. "I was getting tired of waiting my turn."
Shanara's heart plummeted to her toes. She had hoped anyone seeing her leave the camp would think she was one of the camp girls. Now she saw the error in her thinking.
She turned to ran, but he was too fast for her. One beefy hand closed on her shoulder. With a cry, she twisted in his grasp, the blade glinting in the moonlight as she raised her arm to strike.
Muttering an oath, he grabbed her wrist, his hand squeezing it until her fingers went numb and the knife tumbled from her grasp. In the next instant, she was flat on her back, held in place by his knee while he unfastened his trousers, then tossed her skirt over her head.
She screamed in terror and revulsion as he parted her thighs and she felt his skin against hers. Desperate to stop him, she pounded her fists against his head and shoulders, but he only laughed, one meaty hand holding both of hers over her head.
It was difficult to breathe with her heavy skirt covering her face. Her heart was pounding so rapidly she was certain she was going to faint. She prayed that she would faint before he defiled her.
Abruptly, his weight was gone.
She heard a horrible shriek followed by an even more horrible gurgling sound, and then silence.
Afraid to look, afraid not to, she pulled her skirt away from her face and peered into the darkness.
A huge black wolf stood over the man's body. As if sensing her watching him, the wolf lifted its head. It stared at her through midnight-blue eyes. Blood dripped from its fangs and its tongue. The man's blood.
The wolf lifted its head. A howl rent the stillness of the night and then, amid a shimmer of moonlight, the wolf's form began to change, its thick pelt undulating, changing, until the wolf was gone and a tall man stood naked before her, his long black hair awash in the light of the moon, the scar on his cheek like a ribbon of silver.
It was the last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness.
When she woke again, it was morning and she was lying on his blankets back at camp with no recollection of how she had got there.
The wagons were gone. Some of the men were eating breakfast, others were saddling their horses. There was no sign of Reyes.
She sat up as the memory of what had happened the night before returned. Surely she hadn't seen what she thought she had seen! She had heard the stories of the Reyes family, how they had been cursed by a witch to run with the wolves when the moon was full, but she had never believed such ludicrous tales. Men could not transform into wolves. It was impossible… yet how else to explain what she had seen last night, when the moon was full?
"A dream," she murmured. "It was naught but a bad dream."
And even as she spoke the words, she saw Reyes striding toward her, his long black hair falling over his shoulders, his dark blue eyes fixed on her face.
She suddenly recalled that the wolf's eyes had also been blue…
"Get up, woman," he said gruffly. "We ride at once."
When he reached for her arm, she scrambled to her feet and backed away. "Touch me not!"
"I've no time for your nonsense," he said impatiently. "We're leaving."
"Please, let me go home."
"All in good time," he replied, and taking hold of her hand, he dragged her to his horse, lifted her into the saddle, and vaulted up behind her.
They traveled all that day. She was grateful, at least, that they rode at the head of the column as the horses behind them stirred great clouds of dust.
They stopped once at noon to rest and water the horses and again a few hours later. She had expected they would make camp at dusk, but night fell and there was no sign that they were going to stop.
She sagged against Reyes, too exhausted to care that he was her enemy.
She didn't remember falling asleep, but she woke abruptly, a huge castle rising before her eyes. Reyes guided his horse across a narrow stone bridge that spanned a moat, and then under a portcullis. They passed through the main gate and then they were inside the inner courtyard. Servants ran to and fro, offering water and wine to the trail-weary warriors. Youths led the warhorses into the barns to look after them. Wives and children filled the yard, welcoming their husbands and fathers home.
Reyes took Shanara by the arm and led her up a winding staircase to the first floor and into the banqueting hall. Inside, he bade her sit down at one of the tables. At any other time, she would have argued, but she was too tired to offer any resistance, and too hungry.
She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as serving women hurried into the hall, laying out trays laden with meat and vegetables and baskets of crusty brown bread. Tankards filled with ale were set on the tables.
Stomach growling, Shanara filled a trencher with food, acutely conscious of Reyes sitting at the head of the table.
The room was soon filled with hungry men. Laughter and conversation rose on all sides as the women joined their men.
With the edge taken from her hunger, Shanara looked around the hall. It was an enormous room. A dozen long trestle tables were scattered down its center. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall, with a pair of crossed swords hanging over the mantel. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and fresh rushes covered the floor. On the walls were tapestries depicting a variety of hunting and battle scenes.
But it was Reyes who drew her attention again and again. Clad all in black, he sat alone at the head of the table absently picking at his dinner while he watched the goings-on in the hall. He smiled as his men toasted him again and again, sharing stories of his bravery in battle, telling how he had ridden into the midst of a fierce skirmish to save one of his men.
She found it curious that he sat at the head of the table without female companionship.
She had no sooner finished her meal than a young woman clad in a long gray gown appeared at her side. "Please come with me, my lady."
Shanara sent a glance in Reyes's direction, but he was paying her no attention. When the girl gave a gentle tug on the sleeve of Shanara's gown, Shanara rose and followed her from the hall.
The maid led her up a narrow winding stairway, down a long dark corridor, and into a large room where another, older woman, also clad in gray, waited.
Before she knew what was happening, Shanara found herself being undressed and urged into a large wooden tub filled with hot water. In spite of her protests that she was perfectly able to bathe herself, the women bathed her and washed her hair, then helped her out of the tub. They dried her off, anointed her with fragrant oil, wrapped a bit of toweling around her hair, then helped her into a long, loose-fitting gown of ice-blue velvet.
"Sit here, my lady," the older one said, indicating she should sit on a low stool.
Knowing it was useless to argue, Shanara did as she was told.
"Such beautiful hair," the woman said, removing the toweling. "Like auburn silk."
"Indeed," murmured her companion, a note of envy in her voice.
Shanara closed her eyes. She had always enjoyed having someone else brush her hair. The woman had gentle hands, and for a few moments, Shanara gave herself up to the luxury of being pampered, something she had sorely missed since her mother passed away.
"Will there be anything else, my lady?" the older woman asked.
"Thank you, no."
Looking pleased with themselves, the two women bowed in her direction and then left the room.
Sitting there, Shanara took a good look at her surroundings. A large bed covered with furs stood between two arched windows that overlooked the courtyard. There was a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed, a square table and two chairs in one corner. A fire burned in the raised hearth, providing the room with heat and light. Another, smaller round table held a flagon of wine, a pair of goblets, a bowl of fruit, and a platter of assorted meats and cheeses.
She was thinking of pouring herself a glass of wine when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door.
