Captured by the Dark Lord (5 page)

She blanched, shocked that he
touched her, her eyes wide with fear and desperation.  He knew these emotions,
had become a master at evoking them in all who ventured close.  He knew terror
had dulled her mind and she had not listened to him.  He shook her slightly.

She blinked, as if waking
from a nightmare, then trembled when she realized it was real.  She tore at his
hands, frantic.  “Never!  I’ll never help you!” she screamed and fought him
feebly, her hair a wild, tangled mass, whipped by the blasts of air his fury
had aroused.

For a moment, he felt pity
and nearly released her from Helmskeep, but then he angrily banished such weak
emotion.  He would have what he wanted, even if he should be damned for all
eternity for corrupting an innocent.  His dues had been paid.  If she’d once
been pure of heart, the evil infecting his soul had surely penetrated hers.  It
mattered not.  “You will not go until I have what I want.”

“NO!”

He released her and she
pushed away from him, running to the windows.  They were out of reach, but she
could not have escaped through them regardless.  He controlled this castle,
these lands.  Nothing happened here unless he wished it.

Breathing erratically, she
gasped in frustration and ran away, back through the hall, disappearing into
one of its many branches.

“Try all you like,” he
whispered to the empty chamber, regret sharp and piercing, “you can no more
escape than I.”

* * * *

As Bianca fled through the
halls, flames leapt to life in bronze sconces as she approached.  Certain at
first, that she’d discovered someone she could appeal to for aid, she ran
faster, calling out for help.  Finally, however, breathless and dejected, she
had had to face the truth.  She was alone in this wretched place with the death
knight.  She’d discarded the useless hope that a person ran before her lighting
the candles, just out of reach--someone who could help.  A silly thought it
was, for a foolish, naive girl.  Damian Alessandro controlled this castle and
everything in it.  Even the windows and stone seemed to obey him, for escape
hovered always just out of reach.  Sometimes the windows’ sills seemed but an
inch distant, but if she found a table to stand on, they remained elusive, as
if always rising beyond the reach of her arm.

She couldn’t go back and face
him.  He’d terrified her, not as a death knight, but as a soul in wretched
agony.  She’d failed for the first time in her life, failed to ease another
being’s suffering.  Her own body had echoed that cry of anguish, and she could
not bear it a moment longer.

The halls twisted, ending in
inexplicable places, and turning in opposite directions, guiding her to some
unknown destination--perhaps back to him.  Finally, after what seemed hours,
and her hope of escaping had given out, she came to a door at the end of the
hall.

Weary from frustrated tears
and her flight, she opened it, caution gone in the wake of exhaustion.  Inside
laid a sumptuous feast for the eyes, a delight to her worn senses.  She rubbed
her eyes, not believing what she saw, but still it remained.

A bed draped in ruby and gold
brocade encompassed nearly one entire wall and extended far into the room.  The
bedcovers were turned back as though she was expected, revealing crimson silk
sheets and mattresses stacked as high as her waist.  Several gowns lay across
the fine spread: an emerald trimmed in silvered lace with a train that spilled
onto the floor; a deep indigo with ivy embroidery in pale cerulean; a third of
gold, barely visible beneath the others.  A fire burned merrily in a small
hearth, and beside it, a tub of steaming water sat ready for her bath.

Her scalp and skin itched
from the sweat and tears she’d shed in her frantic race to escape and her
travels.  Her dark gray gown felt heavy, dirty, and somber, as if all her sorrow
and hardship could be peeled away just by removing it.

The temptation was too great
to be ignored.  Bianca stepped inside and closed the door behind her.  On a
table beside the bed, a silver platter sat, gold filigree coating the edges
like lace.  Atop the platter lay several plates, each more tempting than the
last:  one of sliced meats in thick juices; another of cheeses, white, yellow,
and some marbled with blue veins, others a creamy paste to spread upon fresh,
dark bread; still another plate held fruits; and another brimmed with cakes
topped with wild berries and stiffened cream.  She could hardly assimilate the
delicious scents of food teasing her senses and the delicate fragrance of rose
petals floating in the bath.

Bianca was past the point of
caring if dark magic had conjured the room and its contents.  If he thought to
seduce her with food, bath, and gowns, he was wrong.  Nothing he did would
change the fact that she could not heal him.

But she was of no mind to
spite herself and allow his efforts go to waste.

Testing the water, she
discovered the bath was still too hot, so she sat on the edge of the bed and
sampled the choice bits of food.  Mulled wine warmed her throat and heated her
from the inside out, and her nerves mellowed.

Full and sated, she stood and
untied the lacings on the sides of her gown enough so that she could pull it
over her head.  She dropped the hopelessly soiled dress on the floor, then
shrugged her shift off her shoulders.  The thin shift followed the gown, and
she stepped from the pile.

She shook her hair out,
stretching her muscles, then walked to the tub, eager to wash the grime away.

“Is all to your liking, my
lady?”

Bianca whirled around and
screamed, covering her naked breasts and womanhood with her arms. 

Damian stood near the bed,
watching her.

“Get out!” she screamed and
shook her hair forward for more coverage.  She could reach for a bath linen,
but then he would see something she’d rather he didn’t.  How could he have
entered?  She’d heard nothing, not the opening of the door, not his footsteps,
or the creak of his armor--nothing!

He raked his gaze down her
body, and her skin flushed under his perusal as if he touched her.  “I assure
you, Lady Bianca, I have not the appetites of a mortal man.  Your virtue is
safe from me.”

His gaze rested lingeringly
on the blossoming curve of her breasts before moving up to settle on her face. 
His face remained impassive, but there was a glint to his eyes she’d not seen
before.  It was sufficient to make her doubt his words, and despite his earlier
actions, a flash of heat suffused her insides and caused her skin to prickle
with awareness.  But perhaps it was merely the wine that made her react so.

Bianca swallowed and closed
her eyes, counting to ten before opening them once more.  Still he stood there,
watching her, not recognizing--or perhaps unwilling--to take her hint to leave
her room. 

She straightened and regarded
him with a cool stare.  “Leave me, now, or I swear I will do myself harm if
only to be free of you,” she said slowly, enunciating each word for emphasis.

He smiled then, a curving of
his lips that was crooked and self-satisfied.  Gone was his fierce demeanor. 
She could almost believe him just a ... man.

“As you wish, my lady.  I
will return to you on the morrow.”  He turned and strode to the door.

“Remember to knock next
time.”  Her words stopped him.  For several moments she more than half feared
that he would turn his wrath upon her again, but after no more than a brief
hesitation, he continued as if she had not spoken.

She glared at the panels of
the door as he closed it behind him.  Though it was muffled by the thick wooden
door, she swore she could hear him laughing. 

But that was impossible.

He was a beast.  Amusement
was an emotion he could no more feel than he was capable of experiencing other
human emotions.

Immediately, she twined a
bath linen around her body, then strode to the door and checked to make certain
it was locked, not that it would keep him out should he choose not to honor her
privacy.  She fumed inside, thinking of his gall.  Oh how her father and his
men would laugh to see her now, and then quail at the thought of her defiance
to a creature of infamous legend.

She’d reached the point of
exhaustion where even facing nightmares failed to rouse her sense of
self-preservation, though he’d managed to stir her with his entrance ... and
not entirely with fear.

With that disturbing thought,
she went to take her bath, but looked constantly over her shoulder, expecting
to meet his piercing, encompassing stare as she bathed.  Tomorrow, she would
find a way to escape if it killed her.

Chapter Four

Round and round she went in
her mind, trying to think of a way to leave the castle without him being aware
of her escape.  He controlled the building and the grounds, but how far his
reach encompassed, she couldn’t know until she tested the edges of his power.

She could think of nothing
that she hadn’t already tried.  The only way she would be able to accomplish
her goal, she finally realized, was if he was not attuned to her every move. 
To do that, she would have to lull him into a sense of complacency.  Then she
could slip away before he awakened to her plan.

Her problem in setting her
plan into motion arose when she discovered he was avoiding her.  She couldn’t
fathom why.  He did not return to her room—though, when she wasn’t looking, her
dishes emptied and fresh food appeared both to break her fast, and later on at
noon.  She’d studied the platters thoroughly to discover the source of their
power, and checked the room for secret passages that servants or the like could
pass through, but could find nothing.

His power extended beyond her
comprehension, and she did not like the thought that he could come into her
room so easily with no obstruction and do whatever he wanted.

She could not endure this. 
She had to act, but he was being ... difficult.

With great reluctance, she
dressed in the indigo gown, struggling with the back lacings.  She couldn’t get
them tight enough, and so the neckline slipped low on her breasts, just above
her nipples.  It couldn’t be helped, but, if she was to believe his words of
the other night, it didn’t truly matter.  According to him, he had not the
desires of a flesh and blood man.

Perhaps some memory of his
life before lingered, not a feel of what it had been, but a memory of what he
had once felt, and that accounted for his seemingly lascivious behavior? 

It might be no more than
thoughts to comfort herself with, but it made far more sense to her way of
thinking than to believe a ghostly creature could feel the fire of lust in his
blood as the living did.

Bianca wandered through the
halls, noticing they had changed yet again into some semblance of normalcy. 
Perhaps it was only her hysteria that had made them appear to be a maze the
night before.  She checked doors as she came upon them, but many of the rooms
were barren, and those that were not, did not contain her quarry.  She
continued on to the great hall, but it too was empty save for two hearth fires
and banners streaming the walls.  She stopped a moment to study them, wishing
she could understand why his coat of arms seemed so familiar to her.

Still the memory eluded her. 
Shaking her head, she walked to the opposite side from which she’d come, intent
on finding him.  The corridor was much the same as the other, until she reached
the end.  A shaft of light stretched into the dark corridor through an open
doorway.  She approached cautiously and peered inside.  Warm sunlight turned
the room to gold, revealing a rounded room lined with shelves of leather bound
books.  The pungent scent of oil and parchment pleased her, as did the earthy
scent of leather.

She realized this was the
tower she’d seen when outside, reaching so high to the sky.  Arched windows
broke the walls at regular intervals, disappearing up past her line of vision
from the door frame.

Damian sat in a carved chair,
facing one window, his profile to her.  He slouched low in the chair, legs
extended out, with his arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown upon his
face.  Dust motes floated in the air like fairy dust, glittering in the
sunlight streaming through the windows, gathering on his armor and hair.