Millbrae Valley, 1847
Blinking back her tears, Rhianna stood at her father's graveside. She had left the convent school as soon as she received word that her father was dying, but she had arrived too late to bid him a last good-bye.
Standing there, she remembered how kind and jolly he had always been when she was a little girl, before times got hard and the laughter forever left his eyes. Once, she had thought him calloused and unfeeling.
And even though she had understood his reasons, she had hated him for selling her to Rayven, but she had forgiven him for that long ago. She wished she had told him so. She murmured the words under her breath, hoping he could hear them.
She glanced at her sisters, who stood on the opposite side of the grave. They had grown from pretty little girls into lovely young women since she had last seen them. Aileen, the eldest, was engaged to be married in the spring. Rayven had given her a generous dowry that would enable her and her future husband to buy a small piece of land and build a home of their own.
She had been surprised to see how well they all looked. Their clothes were new and fashionable. The cottage, once little more than a hovel, was in good repair. Two large rooms had been added. A small stable had been built behind the cottage. It housed three milk cows, a goat, a sheep, and two fine horses.
When she'd questioned her mother about the changes in their circumstances, Ada had explained that Lord Rayven had refurbished the cottage and built the barn. Each year he sent a generous allowance.
"It was so good of you to think of our needs, Rhianna," her mother had said, "especially when your father sent you away."
"I had nothing to do with it," Rhianna had replied, though of course, in a way, she had.
"But why else would he do such a thing?" her mother had asked. "We are nothing to him."
He had done it because of her, Rhianna thought, and knew she could never repay him for his kindness to her family, for the education he had provided her.
The graveside service was brief. When the last prayer had been said, her mother dropped a handful of earth on the simple wooden coffin, and then each daughter, starting with the youngest, did the same.
Rhianna knew it was a sound she would never forget.
Putting her arm around her mother's shoulders, she led her away from the grave.
Back at the cottage, Rhianna brewed a pot of tea, then sat at the table across from her mother.
Rhianna picked up her cup, holding it in both hands, hoping the warmth would ease the coldness that she'd felt inside ever since she left the convent.
"How is Lord Rayven?" she asked after a while.
"How should I know? I heard he left the castle shortly after he sent you to Paris."
"He's not here?"
The coldness that had invaded her body now crept into her heart. He was gone. For four years, she had dreamed of seeing him again. Such a short time they had spent together, yet he had been in her thoughts every hour of every day, in her every dream at night.
"An odd man, that one," her mother mused. "I only saw him once." Ada shivered. "Such cold eyes.
Never have I seen such cold eyes."
"Cold?" Rhianna shook her head. He had not seemed cold to her. Lonely. Isolated. But not cold. She had seen the warmth in those eyes. The heat of desire. The flame of passion.
"Did he say where he was going? When he would be back?"
"Not that I recall." Ada sipped her tea. "Did he... Forgive me, Rhianna. I said I wouldn't ask, but I must know. Did he defile you, child?"
"No, Mother. He was kind to me."
"Kind?"
Rhianna nodded. "I had the best of everything while I was with him. He sent me to the best school in Paris, made sure that I had new clothes every year. I was the only girl who had a room of her own. He sent me an allowance each month so I would have spending money of my own. In truth, he has been most generous to me. And to you, it seems."
"Aye. It's glad I am that you're back, child. Have you come home to stay?"
Rhianna thought of what it would be like to live in the village again. She would miss Paris, miss her companions at school. But this was Rayven's home. Surely one day he would return. And she would be here when he did.
"Yes," she decided, "I'm here to stay." And knew that she would have stayed in any case. Her mother had never been strong; now she looked frail.
Ada smiled. Setting her cup on the table, she stood up. "I'm tired. I think I'll go lie down for a while."
"Rest well, Mother."
"Welcome home, daughter." Giving Rhianna an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, she left the room.
Her sisters came in then. Aileen, the eldest, was now 17. Lanna was 15, Brenna almost 14, and Bridgitte had just turned 12. Subdued by the funeral, they sat at the table, reminiscing about their father, remembering the good times and ignoring the bad.
"He never forgave himself for what he did to you," Aileen remarked. "Even though the money Lord Rayven paid him put food on our table." She paused, her fingers toying with the sash of her dress. "Was it awful, living with Lord Rayven?"
"No." Rhianna glanced around the cottage. How different it looked. And yet, even though it was now clean and well-equipped, it still looked like a hovel when compared to the castle's opulent furnishings.
She spent a quiet evening with her mother and sisters, reminiscing about old times, listening to their plans for the future.
Later, when everyone else had gone to bed, Rhianna saddled one of the horses and rode to Castle Rayven.
The castle was as she remembered it, a stark and lonely sentinel looming over the town. The mist, ever constant, shrouded Devil Tree Mountain, so that only the tallest spires were visible from a distance.
He wasn't there. She knew that, yet she needed to see the castle again, to walk through the gardens, to say good-bye...
Dismounting at the side gate, she tethered the horse to a tree, opened the gate, and stepped into the garden. Gone were the beautiful flowers she had planted, the shrubs, the roses. The trees, once flourishing, were dry skeletons.
Heavy hearted, she wandered up and down the narrow twisting paths. All her hard work gone for naught.
Only the maze remained, standing stark and green against the gray stone walls.
With a sigh, she made her way back to the side gate and took up her horse's reins. It was time to go.
Everything she had planted, everything she had once hoped for, was gone, like a bad dream.
She was here. Cloaked in the shadows of never-ending night, he watched her walk along the moonlit paths. She had changed in the last four years. Youthful curves had matured. She moved with womanly grace and self-assurance, and he watched her with a sense of pride, knowing that he was, in part, responsible for what she had become, though her inner beauty had always been there.
Rhianna.Her name rose in his mind, chasing away centuries of darkness. Rhianna... Why have you returned? Come to torment me anew? To remind me of what can never be? Rhianna... beloved...
how I have yearned for you... dreamed of you... Rhianna...
"My lord?" She turned around, expecting to see him standing behind her, his dark cloak swirling around him like smoke, but there was no one there.
Confused, she peered into the shadows. She had heard his voice so clearly, she could not have imagined it.
Dropping the horse's reins, she hurried along the narrow brick path that led to the front of the castle and pounded on the door.
She waited. And listened. And knocked again.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, the door creaked open. "Good evening, miss," Bevins said.
"Bevins! What are you doing here?" He looked much the same, she thought, though his hair seemed grayer than before, thinner with the passage of time.
He lifted one brow. "Why, I live here, miss."
"But I thought Lord Rayven had gone."
Bevins cocked his head to one side, and she had the strangest impression that he was listening to a voice only he could hear.
"Bevins? He is gone, isn't he?"
"Yes, miss. He left soon after you departed for Paris."
"You didn't go with him?"
"No, miss. My place is here."
"Is he... Will he be coming back, do you think?"
"I cannot say, miss. Might I ask why you left Paris?"
"My father died. I came home for the funeral."
"I am sorry, Miss Rhianna. Please accept my condolences."
"Thank you, Bevins." With a sigh, she turned to go, and then she paused. "Are you quite certain he's not here?"
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason. I mean, that is, I thought I heard him call my name."
Bevins blinked at her, astonishment evident in his eyes. "You heard his voice?"
Rhianna nodded. "At least I thought I did. He... he sounded so sad. I suppose I must have imagined it."
"Yes, miss."
"Well, I'd better be going. If you hear from Lord Rayven, please give him my best, and my thanks for being so kind to my family."
"I will, miss. And may I say that Paris must have agreed with you, for you have blossomed into a lovely young woman. I know Lord Rayven would be pleased."
"Thank you, Bevins. Good night."
"Good night, miss."
Shoulders sagging, Rhianna walked down the steps to collect the horse. It was sheer nonsense, of course, thinking she had heard his voice. It was only that she had missed him so much these past four years. Missed him, and dreamed of him.
Standing at the side gate, she looked up at the windows of the east tower. "Rayven," she whispered, "I know you're here."
Hidden in the shadows of a lonely tower room, a man clad in the darkness of the night heard her plea, and wept bloodred tears.
She went back the next night and the next, wandering through the gardens for an hour, hoping he would come to her, hoping she would feel his presence and know he was there.
But he did not seek her out.
Sometimes, as now, she sat on one of the stone benches, lost in thought as she gazed up at the east tower, wondering where he was, what he was doing, wondering at the overpowering urge that brought her to this place night after night, the certainty that he was nearby. Strange, she had no desire to come here during the day. Was it because she had never seen Rayven when the sun was up? What a puzzle he was, a man as dark and mysterious as the night itself.
Rising, she walked toward the maze, her heartbeat increasing as she drew nearer.
"There's nothing in there to be afraid of." She spoke the words aloud, hoping to bolster her flagging courage. "There's nothing there in the darkness that isn't there in the light." Yet, even as the words left her lips, she wondered if that was true.
Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath and stepped into the maze. Greenery rose all around her, enfolding her, embracing her. Feeling as if she were being guided by an unseen hand, she went steadily onward, anticipation quickening her footsteps, until she reached the heart of the labyrinth.
She came to an abrupt halt as she glanced around. She had expected the roses within the maze to be dead, like the ones in the gardens, but the bushes here were full and green. Her gaze lingered on the statues, the bronze wolf and the black raven captured forever in metal and marble.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her waist. There was something ominous about the statues tonight. She had the eerie feeling that the wolf and the raven were watching her, waiting for a chance to pounce.
She was turning away when she saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. She glanced over her shoulder, her mind telling her that she was imagining things again.
But it wasn't her imagination this time.
Rayven materialized out of the shadows near the statue of the wolf, the moonlight shining in his thick black hair, his cloak enfolding him like a living thing.
"My lord," she murmured, suddenly breathless.
"Good evening, Rhianna." His tongue lingered over her name, drawing it out, making her shiver, as though he had caressed her.
"You're here." She glanced at the statue of the wolf. It looked different somehow. "Bevins said you weren't here."
"Why are you here, sweet Rhianna?"
"My father..."
He shook his head. "I know why you have come home. Why are you here?"
"I missed you, my lord. Being here, on the castle grounds, made you seem less far away."
"You missed me?"
Rhianna nodded. "You find that so hard to believe?"
He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "I find it impossible to believe."
" 'Tis true, nonetheless. I am sorry if it displeases you."
"It does not displease me, sweet Rhianna," he replied quietly. "How long will you be here?"
"At the castle?"
"In Millbrae."
"Oh. I've come home to stay."
"No. You must not."
Rhianna looked up at him, surprised by the vehemence in his voice. "It seems my presence displeases you as much as my honesty, my lord."
"Nothing about you displeases me, sweet Rhianna. It is only your well-being I am thinking of."
"My lord?"
"Your future, Rhianna. I would see you wed to a man worthy of you, not some farmer who will make you old before your time, who will plant a babe in your womb every year, and see you to an early grave."
"You wish me to marry?"
"Is it not your wish, also?"
"Yes, of course, but..."
His gaze held hers. "But?"
" I don't want to marry for wealth, my lord, but for love."
"Love." The word was a whisper, a wish unfulfilled, a dream unborn.
"Have you never been in love, my lord?"
Slowly, he shook his head, his dark eyes filled with such pain, such stark loneliness, that she wanted to weep. Was it only her imagination, or did his cloak seem to wrap more closely around him, as if to comfort him?
"And you?" he asked. "Have you, in your few short years of life, found love?"
"Aye, my lord, though I fear he does not return my affection."
"Then he is a fool!"
A faint smile curved Rhianna's lips. "On that, at least, we are agreed."
Rayven fought back his anger. The urge to destroy the cur who failed to return her love rose up within him, and with it an all-consuming jealousy. "Who is this man?"
"Can you not guess?" Rhianna replied, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
Rayven closed his eyes, pain ripping through him. If he survived another four hundred years, he would never forget this moment, the love shining bright and clear in her eyes, the wonder of it.
A long shuddering sigh escaped him, and then he opened his eyes.
"Go away from here, Rhianna," he said, his voice brusque, his eyes as cold as black ice. "Leave my house and never come back."
She recoiled as if he had slapped her, the hurt in her eyes scorching his soul.
"Be gone," he said. "Pray I never see you again."
"As you wish, my lord," Rhianna said, and turning on her heel, she fled his presence without a backward glance.
Behind her, a black wolf lifted its melancholy cry to the night.
