Beneath the Shadows of Evil... Taken Read online

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  Enid hobbled through the dense woods in the hour before dawn, leaning heavily on her cane as she collected her precious herbs. The early winter had destroyed most of what she needed, but she knew just where to look to find the remaining hardy plants that would finish her most important recipes. Most of the tonics for Mikhal’s bride would have to come from the herbs she had dried over the summer, but Enid wanted to collect the last of the fresh ones while she still could. The girl would need many doses of tonic throughout her pregnancy if the child was to survive, and Enid intended to be well prepared. She wasn’t about to let Mikhal down.

  Humming to herself, walking a path only she knew, she wove through the thicket with unsteady but determined feet. The moonlight guided her steps as she went, and her mind drifted back to the bedchamber in the castle, where the Gypsy wench lay.

  She knew Mikhal had secured a great prize when he’d captured the Golden Child of Nicolae. The tales of the girl had been spread far and wide for many years. It had come as a shock to see a human nestled so cozily in her friend’s bed, but now she knew he had a good reason, and Enid intended to do everything she could to help Mikhal in his quest.

  Reaching her destination, Enid smiled to herself, removed her cloak, and spread it before her on the hard ground. Her old knees would need comfort in this task. Using only the moon for illumination, she went about her work, and began to fill her basket, but soon her ears picked up the sound of voices not far off in the distance, making her gnarled hands stop in midair.

  The old woman strained to hear but could only pick up bits and piece of what was being said, but it piqued her curiosity all the same. Who was having this secret meeting in the forest? Leaving her basket and her cloak upon the ground, she picked up her cane and carefully placed each footfall as she crept closer to the voices.

  Pausing every few feet to see if she were close enough to hear them clearly, Enid slowly made her way in the darkness. She knew that a single sound would give her away. It was more than likely that those having the secret meeting, were vampires and she knew that their hearing could pick up the slightest noise. No humans would be foolish enough to come on to Mikhal the Merciless’s land while the sun was still in bed, and all of the servants were safely tucked away in the castle, serving the creatures of the night that dwelled there. She knew the terror her friend instilled in those who labored for him, and none would be so bold as to venture from their assigned places where a measure of safety lay.

  Finally, Enid was able to hear enough of the words to follow the hidden men’s conversation. She desperately wanted to creep closer so she could see their faces, but knew she didn’t dare. Even her breathing could be heard by the living dead. She stood stone still and listened, her eyes widening as their whispered words of treason became clear.

  “I agree the mating claim shouldn’t have been done, but as of yet, I see no real harm in it.”

  “No harm? You did not see our Lady weeping upon her bed. Her heart is breaking because of that Gypsy whore.” Andor winced at the remembered pain Marishka’s anguish had caused him. The barely healed lash marks that covered his body still throbbed whenever he moved, and he blamed Alliana for every ounce of his agony.

  “Calm yourself, Andor. Marishka will survive her latest tantrum.” Enid’s ears perked up. Andor? So it was Marishka’s stupid fledgling that dares to speak against his Master. But who was the other? The voice was certainly familiar but she couldn’t say for sure who it was.

  “How dare you say Lady Arcos is prone to tantrums! She is your Mistress as well.”

  “Yes, and I love her dearly, but she is very temperamental. We all know that she has been through much in her life, and it is apparent in the way she allows her emotions to get the best of her.”

  “I will speak no more if you insist on disparaging My Lady.”

  “You would do well to calm yourself if you want my help.” Both men paused while Andor thought things through. He knew he needed this man’s help if he were to successfully knock Mikhal the Merciless from his place as Master of their clan. He also knew that he had already taken the man before him far enough into his confidence, so that the other could turn on him if he wanted to. No, it was best to stay the course and enlist his help.

  “I apologize. It’s that I truly care for Marishka, and it pains me to see her suffering.”

  “I care for her as well, but as of yet I see no reason that Mikhal the Merciless should not remain the Lord of this castle. He has done very well thus far, and it is his birthright. Marishka has been wounded yes, but we both know her flights of fancy are as fickle as those of a child. She will recover from her latest tragedy.”

  Again Andor had to quell his temper. What did this man know of his Lady? He had no right to say things against her. “All I ask is that you look for opportunities to sully the Gypsy in the Master’s eyes. That way we can remove her as a threat and break the mating bond. If he becomes weak in the future, well then...”

  “I will agree to disparage the wench, nothing more. I am loyal to My Lord, as you should be, Andor.”

  “I shall wait and see who deserves my loyalties. For now, they reside with my Lady.”

  Without another word, Andor turned and left the clearing followed by the other man, whose identity remained a secret to Enid, much to her dismay. She slowly stood but could only see the dark images of the two men as they walked away in the moonlight, their backs to her, identities well concealed.

  She shook her head and thought about what she had heard, and thought about who would dare to plot against Mikhal. Andor didn’t surprise her. The minion was stupid and lovesick; it was the other that cut her heart. She had believed that those with any power or brains who surrounded her friend were extremely loyal, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  Was it Lucian? It didn’t sound like him, and Mikhal’s first in command had never been anything but faithful, some other idiot minion with dreams of power perhaps? Not many would dare to go against their Master, and she hadn’t thought that buffoon Andor even had any friends. Could it be the Mage? He had always been a true friend to both Mikhal and Marishka, but friendship could be a motivating factor. Maybe it was the Seer? He might be one to ask. Oh it was impossible to guess. No, she would simply tell Mikhal, and let him deal with extracting the information from the half-wit Andor.

  Shaking her head in dismay, the witch hag wandered back to fetch her basket and cloak, lost in thought, brooding over the treason she’d overheard. While she agreed that Mikhal shouldn’t become attached to the Gypsy, she also firmly believed that he was strong enough to take care of matters, and her intuition told her Andor was up to more than driving Alliana from the castle. There was trouble brewing, and Enid intended to stay on her toes and keep her ears open.

  Chapter Fifteen

  While Andor was plotting treason in the woods surrounding the castle, Mikhal was on a mission of his own. After leaving his wife’s room he went to the stables and mounted his horse, fire blazing in his eyes. He kicked the beast’s sides with such fury that it reared up into the air, and then shot off into the blackness, racing down the road leading to the sleeping village.

  Thoughts of Alliana’s rejection burned in his gut. How dare she? How dare she after all he had done for her? Well, he didn’t need her, and he certainly didn’t care if his presence distressed her. Once Enid pronounced her well, he’d do more than sit by her side whether she liked it or not. Let the selfish bitch rest in her bed all snug and content for the time being if that’s what it took to make sure his son was safe. He’d find his pleasure elsewhere, but when the time came she had better welcome him with open arms.

  Fury and bloodlust roared through his veins as he arrived at the village full speed. The clatter of the horse’s hooves rang out in the night, signaling his arrival, waking the sleeping serfs, and thrusting them into a living nightmare. The Master had come. What did he want? Whom would he take? None were safe when Mikhal the Merciless arrived in the dead of night
.

  Mikhal dismounted and strode to the center of the Village Square; throwing his head back and letting out a snarl that chilled the bones of all who heard him. He stood in the moonlight, turning slowly, his beast fighting to be set free as he inhaled the essence of fear that swirled around him from every dark hovel.

  “Bring out your daughters. I want the ones with golden hair, young and pretty, soft and warm. Bring them to me now, or the burning and slaughter will begin.”

  The sound of weeping permeated the stillness following his proclamation. The peasants had been through this horrid ordeal before, and knew if they if they didn’t comply, Lord Arcos would begin ripping their doors off the hinges and dragging entire families into the streets to be raped, sodomized, and cut down like cattle. Later, some would be taken to his dungeons, and some placed into servitude in the castle for a life of unspeakable woe. Whatever fate lay in their future, the serfs knew that if they didn’t show their immediate obedience to their Lord, many would have their throats slit where they stood, and by morning the cobblestones would run red with pain and agony.

  “Which cottage shall it be first? You know you must do as I ask. There is no choice in the matter. You baker? You blacksmith? Do not forget that my sister has a taste for babes. How many infants lay behind your closed doors? All I ask is for one young woman with golden hair. It is your choice, one to take the suffering of all, or all to pay the price of defiance to save a single girl. Bring me your sacrificial lamb and I shall be gone from here.”

  Mikhal heard cries of protest coming from inside several dwellings as daughters begged their fathers for mercy and mothers screamed in protest, but one by one the young girls of the village were brought before him. He stopped before each, examining them like a horse upon the block, curling his fingers in their hair as they wept and moaned, pinching and squeezing, testing their flesh. Most had to be held in place by their fathers to keep them from bolting as the eyes of the hated Lord of the castle raked over them and his hands touched them in intimate places, but one girl stood silently, her eyes luminous in the moonlight, full of terror but not tears.

  Mikhal grabbed her roughly by the arm and her eyes flashed with fury for just a second, almost like Alliana’s did when she raged at him, and it set off a primitive need inside him. He wanted spirit, wanted fight. An unmoving bag of flesh wouldn’t stir his loins. Mikhal dragged her after him, causing her to stumble on her long nightdress, and she felt to her knees, still without a word. He turned on her with a fierce snarl, yanking her up, and then shaking her without mercy, before holding her in one powerful arm as he mounted his horse.

  The cries of the villagers rang out in the night as he took his captive away so he could sate his lust and dine in private, very pleased with his catch. He didn’t need the little whore lying in bed in the castle, he didn’t need her at all, and if she refused to appreciate him, then this one would do just as well.

  He looked down at her and noticed her eyes again. They were huge and full of fear as she stared at him, but still she did not shed a tear. Still she did not beg for mercy. “You do not cry? Aren’t you afraid of what I am going to do to you, Sweet?”

  “Yes, My Lord, very.”

  “You should be.” The scent of her terror filled his nostrils and he could hear the frantic pounding of her heart in her breast. Mikhal bent his head to the slim column of her neck and nipped until he drew blood, savoring it as he spurred his mount faster, his manhood hardening as his beast’s bloodlust surged through him. When he reached a clearing he threw the trembling girl to the ground and set upon her in a flash, tearing the flimsy nightgown from her body so she lay pale and shivering in the moonlight.

  He fell upon her, squeezing her breasts in a painful grip, clawing, biting, hurting, slapping, and taking out the rage he felt towards his wife on his hapless victim. He straddled her body as she fought him, and let his beast emerge, grinding down against her soft flesh, forcing her hands above her head as he loosened the ties of his leggings to free his manhood. It was then Mikhal realized that though his beast wanted the girl’s blood, the man in him was showing no response to her body. What had swelled only moments ago had softened.

  He stroked himself and rubbed against her, grinding down again with his bare cock so the heat of her naked thighs caressed him, but still he felt nothing. Furious he closed his eyes and pictured Alliana. How she’d felt beneath him like this, how she’d cried out in pleasure, how she’d made his blood stir, but still his loins did not fill with blood, his manhood did not harden. He remained limp and unready to take the girl who was so very available to him, and it made him furious.

  Snarling, enraged with his wife, disgusted with himself, he brought the girl up and tore into her neck, drinking until she was limp in his arms. Her blood was sweet and rich, and oh so potent, and it filled his belly, but left him with a sense of longing all the same.

  He flung her corpse from him and stared down at the broken girl in the moonlight, fury churning in his gut. The hair was right. It flowed in golden waves around her. The body was right, her form was soft and she was small and delicate, but she wasn’t Alliana. She wasn’t his wife, and because of that he hadn’t been able to take her. What had Alliana done to him? Had she bewitched him?

  Snarling, Mikhal rose and tied the laces of his legging, not ready to dwell on what the night’s actions meant. Instead, as always, he focused on his rage, letting it overtake him, reveling in the feel of the familiar emotion. Snarling again, in the foulest of moods, Mikhal wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and mounted his horse, turning its head towards the castle, never once sparing a glance back at the innocent girl who lay battered and lifeless in his wake.

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  Mikhal was in a foul mood when he arrived in the great hall to meet Enid. Every time he’d thought about his inability to rape the girl from the village, he fueled his anger with whatever little scrap of Alliana’s remembered insolence he could think of. It kept him enraged throughout the night, and helped him succeed in avoiding the issue of why his wife, who was but a lowly human, was having such an astounding effect on him.

  He had convinced himself that the reason he hadn’t taken pleasure in raping the wench was because it was his little wife who deserved such harsh treatment, not the hapless girl. She was but a pale substitute. It had nothing to do with how soft Alliana’s skin was, how sweet she smelled. It mattered naught how wild she’d been as he thrust deep inside her, or how she’d cried out with passion as she’d achieved ecstasy, she was still just a woman. Alliana wasn’t different from the others, wasn’t better. He wasn’t taken by her; he didn’t care. It wasn’t that at all. It was because of his unrequited anger that he hadn’t been able to appease his lust. Mikhal was certain his manhood would have swelled to bursting if he’d been releasing his fury on the right woman.

  Yes, Mikhal the Merciless had worked himself into quite a state throughout the night, and that fact was quite apparent to Enid when she entered the castle. The midwife didn’t know for sure that the reason for Mikhal’s agitation lay in the chamber upstairs, but she certainly would have bet her last remaining teeth on it. Perhaps the wench was more of a danger after all. Should she still tell Mikhal of Andor’ treason?

  Enid hobbled across the room to where Mikhal stood before the huge hearth. His head hung. His jaw was working in agitation as he mumbled to himself. He wasn’t even aware of her presence, and that wasn’t good at all. She’d never in her life seen Mikhal the Merciless with his guard down.

  “Aye, Mikhal. You seem troubled, my friend.”

  Mikhal started at the sound of her voice, turning to look at her in surprise. “Enid.” He left the word hanging in the air, not giving voice to the same thought she’d had only a moment earlier. How had the old witch snuck up on him?

  “Is the girl not well, Mikhal? You could have summoned me.”

  “She’s fine. At least she was when I last saw her. The servant girl would have called me if there was a problem during t
he night.”

  “Then she isn’t what’s troubling you?”

  Mikhal grimaced. He wasn’t ready to speak of Alliana with Enid or anyone else. Now that the midwife was here, he was anxious to go upstairs and see the woman who filled him with such turmoil. “I’m fine Enid. I wish you to check on my wife.”

  Enid cocked her head and stared at Mikhal with her dark piercing eyes, holding him in her gaze, making it clear she wanted to talk of the matter further, but was now the time? He seemed agitated enough as it was. And what of her knowledge of Andor? Did she dare reveal the other’s doubts about Mikhal’s feelings for his Gypsy wife when he was having trouble dealing with them himself? In the end, she decided to bide her time and simply nodded her consent, then followed him up the stone staircase.

  They arrived in Alliana’s chamber to find her sitting up in bed, staring at her breakfast tray as if it contained the head of a beast instead of the simple fare of cheese and bread. Her cheeks were still pale, but the dark circles had gone, leaving her looking very much like a porcelain doll. Thalia had removed the pins from her hair and brushed it to a luminous shine, and it fell about her shoulders in a cascade of golden waves that Mikhal very much wanted to entwine his fingers in. He waved absentmindedly at Thalia, shooing her out, and then walked towards his wife.

  Alliana looked up and steeled herself, determined to be strong for the horrid examination that was to take place. Deciding to be polite in hopes that the midwife would keep her caustic comments to herself, Alliana greeted them with a forced smile.

  “Good morning, My Lord. Enid.”

  “Why is she always smiling, Mikhal? Are you certain she isn’t feeble headed?”