A Darker Dream

Rayven waited at the bottom of the staircase, speechless, as he watched Rhianna descend the steps, a vision in a swirl of pale pink satin and ivory lace, an angel with a cloud of golden hair and eyes the color of a mid-summer sky. The gown revealed the slender curve of her neck and a modest expanse of honey-hued skin. Pink slippers peeked from the ruffled hem of her gown.



"How pretty you are, my sweet," Rayven said. Taking her hand in his, he pressed it to his lips.



A wave of color washed into Rhianna's cheeks as she saw the admiration in his eyes.



"You look very handsome yourself, my lord," she replied, feeling suddenly shy.



Clad in tight-fitting black breeches, soft black leather boots, a white shirt, and a black broadcloth coat trimmed in black satin, he looked every inch a gentleman of quality and wealth.



The word "vampyre" whispered down the corridor of her mind. Resolutely, she pushed it away. She would not think of that now.



"Do you still think this is a good idea?" he asked as he placed a white woolen shawl around her shoulders, then reached for his cloak.



"You needn't accompany me if you'd rather not," she said.



His knuckles brushed her cheek. "I was only thinking of you, of your reputation."



"I don't care what others think, my lord," she replied, "so long as I am with you."



A bit of warmth, like the touch of sunlight, settled around his heart. "As you wish," he said, and offered her his arm.



The church, made of wood and hewn stone, was set against the hills. The light from dozens of white candles filled the room, bathing the painted faces of the wooden saints in a soft amber light.



The pews were filled with friends and family, and Rhianna smiled at her mother and sisters as she took her place among them. For a moment, she held her breath, waiting. Waiting for what? she mused. For the church to collapse? For the priest to come forward, cross in hand, and cast Rayven out of the church?



"Relax, my sweet." Rayven whispered. He took her hand in his and patted it reassuringly. "My presence will not cause the chapel to go up in flames. The priest will not renounce me as a spawn of Satan."



Rhianna felt her cheeks grow hot as he put her fears into words.



In spite of his mocking words, Rayven was not as at ease as he would have had her think. Time and again his gaze was drawn to the large wooden crucifix mounted on the wall behind the altar. He had not been inside a church in almost four hundred years. The last time he had entered a church had been soon after he had been made Vampyre. He had taken shelter inside a small chapel to escape the light of the sun. Huddled within one of the tiny confessionals, he had begged forgiveness for the blood he had spilled, for the lives he had taken.



Now, sitting beside Rhianna, he was acutely conscious of the whispers erupting behind him as the townspeople voiced their surprise at seeing him there. He rarely left the castle, except on those occasions when he went to Cotyer's.



"He never seems to change..."



"What do you suppose he does up in that castle?"



"... nerve, to bring him here..."



"... not natural, the way he lives..."



The whispers and speculation came to an abrupt halt as the village priest and the groom took their places at the altar. Moments later, Rhianna's sister walked down the aisle.



She was a pretty girl, Rayven mused, radiant on this, her day of days. She wore a modest ivory gown and veil and carried a bouquet of primroses and delicate ferns.



The groom, Creighton York, was tall and rather thin, with dark brown hair and brown eyes.



Rayven slid a glance at Rhianna as the priest began to speak. He didn't have to probe her mind to know what she was thinking, to know she was imagining herself standing at the altar, repeating the vows that would bind her to the man she loved. A single tear slid down her cheek as her sister's new husband lifted her veil and kissed his bride.



A sharp pain pierced Rayven's heart. Some day, Rhianna would stand at a similar altar and say the words that would forever bind her to another man. He could not abide the thought. The anguish of knowing she belonged to another would be his undoing.



On that day, when he knew she was forever lost to him, he would go out to meet the sun.



There was a party after the ceremony. Creighton York was the only son of a middle-class family. His father, Langston, was the village silversmith. The reception was held in the town hall.



Rayven stayed in the background, relieved that there were no mirrors in the large wooden building. He stood in a corner, comfortable in the shadows as he watched Rhianna move about the room, mingling with the guests, laughing with her sisters, pausing to speak to her mother, helping Mistress York at the table.



She was a vision, his Rhianna, a faerie queen in a swirl of pink skirts. There were other women present - some younger, some who possessed more generous curves - but there were none more fair of face, none as vibrant and alive as she. In a room filled with living beings, her scent, her blood, stood out like a beacon shining across a midnight sea, tantalizing his senses.



Rhianna looked up, her gaze drawn to his like a bee to pollen. Rayven stared back at her, his eyes dark and compelling. Before she realized what she was doing, she was moving toward him, unaware of the people who spoke to her as she passed by.



She blinked up at him. "My lord?"



"May I have this dance, sweet Rhianna?"



"Dance?" Only then did she notice that the musicians were playing, that others were dancing.



She stepped toward him, a sigh of contentment whispering past her lips as he took her in his arms and whirled her around the floor. She had never danced with a man who was so light on his feet, whose very touch made her whole being tingle with yearning and forbidden desires. She looked into his eyes, fathomless black eyes that held her spellbound, until she was aware of nothing and no one save the dark lord of Castle Rayven.



Vampyre.



The arm around her waist tensed as the word crossed her mind. He knows, she thought, knows what I'm thinking. He had told her once that he could read her mind, and she had refused to believe him, but she believed it now.



Leaning back a little, she gazed into the depths of his eyes. Kiss me, my lord, kiss me now.



And, ever so slowly, he lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers.



She gloried in his kiss even as she contemplated what it would mean to live with a man who could divine her every thought. A man who was not a man at all.



When the dance ended, he escorted her across the hall and handed her a glass of wine, then sat beside her while she ate a piece of wedding cake. Later, there were toasts to the bride and groom, and then Aileen and Creighton took their leave. Shortly after that, Rhianna went to bid her mother and sisters good night.



"Come home with us," Ada urged. She slanted a glance in Rayven's direction, shuddered as his hell-black eyes locked on hers. "Please, daughter, come home where you belong."



"I can't. Mama. I've promised to stay with Lord Rayven for a year."



Ada shook her head. "I don't understand you, daughter. What hold does he have on you?"



"I love him," Rhianna said quietly. "That's the hold he has on me. He has granted me a year to be with him, only a year, and I will not leave him one day sooner."



Ada shook her head again. "I fear he has bewitched you."



Rhianna bit back a smile. "I assure you, Mama, he is neither witch nor sorcerer."



"I'll wager he is not a mere man, either," Ada snapped. "He's evil, Rhianna. Why can you not see that?"



"He's not evil, Mama. He's been kind to me, to our family. Have you forgotten that Aileen would have had no dowry if not for Lord Rayven's generosity? Have you forgotten that he provided the means to enlarge our cottage, that he's the one who made it possible for us to keep our land after Papa died, that he's put clothes on our backs, food on our table?"



"I've not forgotten," Ada replied in a hushed tone. "But I fear his generosity is not born of kindness, Rhianna. I fear it is only a matter of time until we learn his true purpose."



Rhianna shook her head. She started to tell her mother about the shelter in the village, then closed her mouth, remembering she had promised Rayven she would tell no one.



"I've got to go, Mama," she said. She gave her mother a quick hug, kissed her sisters good-bye. "I'll see you all soon."



She was unusually silent in the carriage as they rode back to the castle. Rayven regarded her through narrowed eyes, wondering what was bothering her. Was it her mother's disapproval? A touch of melancholy because her sister seemed happily wed? Or was she trying to find a way to tell him she had changed her mind about spending a year in the company of a vampyre?



"Rhianna?"



She turned toward him, her face in shadow. "Yes, my lord?"



"What troubles you?"



"My mother. She thinks you're evil, that there's some nefarious reason why you're being so kind to me and my family."



"And what do you think?"



"I think I shall die if you don't kiss me."



"Ah, Rhianna..."



"Are we never to make love, my lord?"



"Would you marry me, Rhianna?"



"Marry you," she gasped.



"Is the thought so repugnant?"



"No, but..."



"Only for what is left of our year, Rhianna. For what remains of the time you promised me, I should like you to be my wife."



"And then?"



"And then I shall free you from your vows."



His proposal left her speechless. Marry him?



"I shall make it worth your while, my sweet." He took her hands in his, delighting in the warmth of her skin. "I want you, Rhianna, more than I have ever wanted anything. More than I yearn to see the sun again."



"You need not marry me, my lord," she said softly. "I should think I've made it quite clear that I want you, as well."



"Ah, Rhianna, to my surprise, I find that there lingers within me a scrap of conscience. I would not take your maidenhead, nor steal your innocence, without benefit of marriage." He kissed her palm, his tongue stroking the sensitive flesh, sending shivers of delight racing through her. "Say yes, sweet Rhianna."



She could not see his face in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her - deep black eyes that glowed with a fierce inner fire.



Vampyre.



"I will not hurt you, Rhianna McLeod."



"I know." She looked at her hands, enfolded in his. Strong hands, yet he had ever been gentle with her.



Lord Rayven is a man driven by dark appetites.Bevins's words, spoken earnestly, warning her to be careful.



He's evil, Rhianna. Why can't you see that?She heard her mother's voice echo in the back of her mind.



She searched Rayven's eyes and knew he was aware of her thoughts, her doubts.



"Rhianna..."



"I will marry you, my lord, whenever you say."



"Tomorrow night."



"So soon? I had hoped..."



"What had you hoped, my sweet?"



"To be married in a church, in a gown of white silk, and a veil, with my mother and sisters beside me."



"You shall have it."



"By tomorrow night, my lord? I think not."



"Arrange for the wedding you have always dreamed of, Rhianna," he said. "All I ask is that you don't make me wait too long, and that you agree to have the ceremony performed in the chapel here, in the castle."



"There's a chapel here?"



Rayven nodded. "How much time do you need?"



"Two weeks should be time enough, my lord."



Bevins was astonished at the news. Rhianna's mother was horrified, her sisters speechless.



Montroy was stunned.



Sitting across from Rayven at Cotyer's several nights later, Dallon shook his head in disbelief. "She agreed to marry you?"



Rayven nodded. He could sense the jealousy radiating from the other man, the anger, see it in the way Montroy's fist clenched around the mug in his hand. "I never thought... I never thought you would get married."



"Nor I," Rayven replied. He glanced around the hall, nodded at Tewksbury and Jackson, who were involved in a never-ending card game.



"I suppose you'll keep her locked up in that blasted castle," Dallon said, his voice tight. "Damn it, Rayven, you can't make a prisoner of her!"



Rayven didn't move, didn't change his expression, yet Montroy knew he had gone too far.



Dallon cleared his throat. "I just meant that she deserves better than that."



"She will not be a prisoner," Rayven said. "She will be my wife. As such, she will be free to come and go as she pleases."



Dallon nodded again. He didn't miss the warning in Rayven's eyes, or the fine edge in his voice, and he knew it would be wise to change the subject.



"She wants to be married in church with her family beside her," Rayven remarked. He took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with the odor of strong whiskey and cigar smoke and overall, the warm thick scent of blood.



Montroy sat back in his chair. He took a deep breath, striving to compose himself. "You can hardly blame her for that."



"She has asked her two oldest sisters to stand up with her."



Rayven cleared his throat and glanced around the room. In four centuries, he had never asked a favor of another man.



With a sigh, he looked at Montroy again. "I have no friends to speak of," he said tonelessly. "But I would consider it an honor if you would stand up with me."



Dallon blinked at him, obviously at a loss for words, and then he nodded.



"I should be most pleased, my lord," Montroy replied soberly, though he wondered how he could bear to be present while Rhianna pledged her heart to another. "When is the marriage to take place?"



"In ten days."



Ten days, Montroy thought, and wondered if there was anything he could say to change Rhianna's mind before it was too late.



During the next week, Castle Rayven enjoyed more company that it had known in over four hundred years. Rhianna's mother and sisters came often to help with sewing Rhianna's wedding gown and to plan the wedding dinner.



It should have been a happy occasion, Rhianna mused. There should have been smiles and laughter as they sat in the solarium working on her gown, but anyone looking at her mother's face would have thought they were preparing for a wake. Ada muttered repeatedly that no good would come from this marriage, that there was something amiss within the castle, that Lord Rayven was not the nobleman he seemed. Rhianna did her best to ignore her mother's dire warnings, though sometimes, when she was alone, she wondered what good could come of marrying a vampyre.



Her sisters thought it romantic that she was marrying the mysterious dark lord of the castle. They oohed and aahed as she showed them around, marveling at the tapestries that hung on ancient walls, at the huge fireplaces in the main hall, at the heavy swords crossed over the hearth. They ran through the gardens; they were enchanted by the maze.



Bevins, on the other hand, was enchanted with Rhianna's mother. He made any number of excuses to enter the solarium when Ada was there, pausing in the doorway whenever he passed by, stopping to inquire if they wished refreshments. Ada pretended to be unaware of Bevins's interest, but Rhianna noticed the way her mother's eyes sparkled when Bevins was near, the way her cheeks flushed when their hands accidentally touched.



Bridgitte was the first to mention it aloud. They were in the solarium, turning the hem on Rhianna's wedding dress, when Bevins entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits. He served them each in turn, smiled at Ada, and left the room.



"I think he likes you, Mama," Bridgitte remarked. "He always gives you the biggest biscuit, and his eyes smile when he looks at you."



"I don't know what you're talking about," Ada retorted.



"It's true." Brenna grinned at her younger sister. "Maybe we'll have a new father soon."



"Hush, Brenna," Ada admonished.



"He's nice looking, mama," Lanna added. "And his eyes do smile when he looks at you."



"Nonsense!"



"It isn't nonsense, Mama," Rhianna said. "He told me he thought you were a fine-looking woman."



"When?" Ada asked, her cheeks flaming. "When did he tell you such a thing?"



"The first time he brought me home."



Flustered and flattered, Ada bent her head over her sewing so her daughters couldn't see her flushed cheeks. It had been years since a man had looked at her in such a way. More years than she cared to remember. She might have found Bevins's interest flattering if it had been anyone else, but she wanted nothing to do with anyone in Rayven's employ. It was hard enough to stand by and watch her daughter make what Ada thought was the biggest mistake of her life. She jabbed the needle through the material, silently berating her husband. But for Vincent, Rhianna and Rayven would never have met.



At dusk, Rhianna's mother and sisters took their leave. Rhianna had invited them to stay for dinner each night, but Ada had always refused. She had made any number of excuses, but Rhianna knew the truth, knew that her mother was afraid to be in the castle after dark. There were too many stories of strange goings on at Castle Rayven, too many rumors of ghosts and ghouls prowling the grounds. Each night before she left, Ada made the sign of the cross on Rhianna's brow and admonished her to say her prayers and keep her rosary close at hand.



Tonight was no different. Rhianna stood at the door, the touch of her mother's calloused thumb lingering on her brow as she watched her mother's carriage drive away.



With a sigh, Rhianna closed the door and made her way into the dining room. She sat down at her usual place, smiling at Bevins as he set a plate before her.



Moments later, Rayven entered the room. He kissed her on the forehead, then took his customary seat across from her. A moment later, Bevins placed a decanter and goblet in front of him.



Rhianna glanced at the decanter, at the dark red liquid that shimmered within the crystal. She looked away as Bevins filled the goblet and handed it to Rayven.



Sheep's blood and wine. How had he existed on such a thing for over four hundred years?



She stared at her plate, at the mutton and potatoes and freshly baked bread, and tried to imagine what it would be like if she could never eat solid food again, if she were forced to drink the blood of people or animals to survive.



She thought of all the things she loved - bread and cheese and chocolate. Sunshine, and grass wet with dew. Swimming in the lake on a hot summer day. Working in the gardens with the sun on her back and the scent of freshly dug earth filling her nostrils. Watching children at play... things forever lost to the man sitting across from her.



This was how it would be when they were married, she thought. They would never share a meal, or walk hand in hand in the gardens in the morning when the dew sparkled on the ground. She would never know the wonder of motherhood. She would change her life to conform to his. The moon would become her sun, the night her day.



She was suddenly aware of the silence in the room. She could feel his gaze burning into her. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his eyes.



Pain. Stark, unrelenting pain. And beneath it all, the loneliness of four hundred years. How did he bear it?



He said nothing, only stared at her, and she knew that he had divined her every thought, that he had felt her revulsion, her pity. She could feel the rage that bubbled beneath the surface, his anger, his bitterness.



She felt her heart skip a beat as he lurched to his feet. For a moment, he stared down at her, and then, his cloak whipping around his ankles, he left the room. A moment later, she heard the slam of a door and knew he had left the castle to prowl the gardens, knew that, sooner or later, he would go to the maze. He would sit in the shadow of the wolf and the raven and stare into the darkness that was a part of him. How did anyone survive centuries of darkness?



She sat there a moment and then, slowly, rose to her feet to follow him.



"I wouldn't, miss."



"Bevins, I didn't see you."



"Let him be, Miss Rhianna."



"I can't. He's hurting..."



Bevins nodded. "Aye, miss, but he's used to it long since."



She stared at Bevins as if seeing him for the first time. "All this time, you've known what he is and never told me." And then a new thought occurred to her. "Are you one, too?"



Even as she asked the question, she knew it was impossible. "Does he..." She tried to find a way to phrase it delicately, and found none.



"He has drunk from me in the past, miss, when there was no one and nothing else available."



"Your loyalty runs very deep."



"He saved my life, miss. Could I do less?"



Rhianna glanced at the window. She could see nothing but darkness beyond. Rayven was out there, alone and lonely, and it was her fault. She had driven him away, into the night.



"I must go to him." She was heading for the door as she spoke. "Is he in the maze?"



"No, miss."



"No?" She stopped and turned around. "Has he left the grounds?"



"No, miss."



"Bevins!"



"I'm sorry, Miss Rhianna."



"Then I'll find him on my own," she exclaimed, and stormed out of the castle.



Outside, she stood shivering in the darkness. And then, suddenly, she knew where he was.



It took her twenty minutes to find her way to the gate in the north wall. She was shivering from the cold by then, but she had come too far to go back for a wrap. A chill mist dampened her hair.



The gate opened on well-oiled hinges, and she closed it carefully behind her. The damp grass muffled her footsteps and soaked her shoes. And then she saw them, a small flock of sheep huddled against a rock. They didn't spare her a glance as she approached. She peered into the darkness, trying to see what held their attention.



At first she saw nothing, and then she saw a bit of white against the dew-damp grass, and above the body of the sheep she saw a pair of eyes. Dark eyes that glittered with an unearthly red glow.



And then a dark shape rose up from behind the carcass.



The wolf had black hair. Blood dripped from its fangs. A low growl rumbled deep in its throat, sending a frisson of terror running down her spine.



Go away! Rayven's voice echoed in her mind. Go!



Slowly, she took a step backward, and then another, and another until, driven by a nameless horror, she turned and ran for the safety of the castle.



Bevins was waiting for her at the door. He asked no questions, simply wrapped a warm woolen blanket around her shoulders and led her up to her room. As if she were a child, he helped her out of her clothes and into her nightgown. He brought her a cup of hot tea and sat beside her while she drank it. When the cup was empty, he took it from her hands, then tucked her into bed. Rising, he extinguished all the candles save one, and then, sitting down in the chair beside the bed, Bevins took her hand in his and settled back to wait out the night.