again, trying to ignore the cold that was rattling his bones as he stood naked in the snow.
He’d felt the pain of transformation, and yet it was night. There was no sign at all that the sun would soon break the horizon.
And the pain had been like nothing he had felt before, not like it was each morning when his body transformed once more from flesh to stone.
Contemptuous, spiteful laughter rose in his memory, seemed to ring in his, for he had memorized long ago every word from Gaelzeroth’s lips that had sealed his fate forever. Until the day a woman looks upon you with love in her heart, you will guard my keep from my enemies, keep watch over me and mine like the good little watch dog you are!
Warmth flooded him in spite of the cold. She loved him!
A tentative smile curled his lips. His little rose, his Bronwyn loved him!
A shaky laugh escaped him, a sound that had not emerged from him in …. He broke off the thought, sobering.
He was going to freeze to death. “Beloved,” he muttered wryly. “You picked a hell of a time to free me!”
The full impact of his predicament began to settle inside of him. He had nothing--no clothes, no weapon--no wealth, no estate, no chance to win his beloved Bronwyn.
“Evil bastard!” he snarled, looking around again and trying to formulate a plan since his wits was all he had and the strength of his arms.
Any curse can be broken, Gaelzeroth had said. The trick is to formulate one so cleverly diabolical that it is unlikely to ever be broken!
It would not have been either, if not for the fact that he had become so enamored of Bronwyn that he had not counted the cost to himself, that he had not been able to stay away even knowing she must be revolted or, more likely, terrified by his beastly form. He would have been perched still on his prison ledge to guard the knave’s keep forever.
And he had been stripped of everything.
Fury began to boil inside of him as the realization sank into him fully that he was still cursed, for he had no way to take his lady to wife.
Stalking purposefully across the keep, his hands balled into fists, he headed straight for the guard room. He knew that few would be on watch on such a night as this and those few would most likely be as drunk as the king’s man who’d been sent to oversee them but preferred to keep his fat ass warm before the hearth in the great room.
There were three men-at-arms he discovered when he pushed the door open and entered. They looked up from the game of chance they were playing half-heartedly and there mouths slowly slid to half-mast. Stalking purposefully toward them, he grabbed the nearest, hauled him from his seat and punched him squarely in the jaw. Pain exploded in his hand, but he ignored it as he had the cold, flinging the unconscious man toward the others. One sprang away from the body as it flew toward. The other went down beneath the weight of the unconscious man. He slammed his fist into the second man’s belly as the soldier grabbed for his sword. Off balance already, the blow doubled him over, sending him further off balance. He sprawled in the floor. Before he could get up, Nightshade had the blade at his throat. “Don’t,” he growled warningly.
The man subsided and Nightshade turned his attention to the third man. Seeing he was still struggling to crawl out from under the first man, Nightshade whipped the sword in his direction. “Slowly, unless you’re of a mind to be spitted on my blade.”
The man subsided and Nightshade looked them over one by one. “You! Get up and tie these two up.”
The man stared at him blankly for a moment but rose cautiously to his feet when Nightshade backed up a few paces. The two men still conscious exchanged a speaking glance as the man who’d been order to tie the other two moved slowly to obey. “It will cost you your life,” Nightshade growled warningly.
The man sent him a
He’d felt the pain of transformation, and yet it was night. There was no sign at all that the sun would soon break the horizon.
And the pain had been like nothing he had felt before, not like it was each morning when his body transformed once more from flesh to stone.
Contemptuous, spiteful laughter rose in his memory, seemed to ring in his, for he had memorized long ago every word from Gaelzeroth’s lips that had sealed his fate forever. Until the day a woman looks upon you with love in her heart, you will guard my keep from my enemies, keep watch over me and mine like the good little watch dog you are!
Warmth flooded him in spite of the cold. She loved him!
A tentative smile curled his lips. His little rose, his Bronwyn loved him!
A shaky laugh escaped him, a sound that had not emerged from him in …. He broke off the thought, sobering.
He was going to freeze to death. “Beloved,” he muttered wryly. “You picked a hell of a time to free me!”
The full impact of his predicament began to settle inside of him. He had nothing--no clothes, no weapon--no wealth, no estate, no chance to win his beloved Bronwyn.
“Evil bastard!” he snarled, looking around again and trying to formulate a plan since his wits was all he had and the strength of his arms.
Any curse can be broken, Gaelzeroth had said. The trick is to formulate one so cleverly diabolical that it is unlikely to ever be broken!
It would not have been either, if not for the fact that he had become so enamored of Bronwyn that he had not counted the cost to himself, that he had not been able to stay away even knowing she must be revolted or, more likely, terrified by his beastly form. He would have been perched still on his prison ledge to guard the knave’s keep forever.
And he had been stripped of everything.
Fury began to boil inside of him as the realization sank into him fully that he was still cursed, for he had no way to take his lady to wife.
Stalking purposefully across the keep, his hands balled into fists, he headed straight for the guard room. He knew that few would be on watch on such a night as this and those few would most likely be as drunk as the king’s man who’d been sent to oversee them but preferred to keep his fat ass warm before the hearth in the great room.
There were three men-at-arms he discovered when he pushed the door open and entered. They looked up from the game of chance they were playing half-heartedly and there mouths slowly slid to half-mast. Stalking purposefully toward them, he grabbed the nearest, hauled him from his seat and punched him squarely in the jaw. Pain exploded in his hand, but he ignored it as he had the cold, flinging the unconscious man toward the others. One sprang away from the body as it flew toward. The other went down beneath the weight of the unconscious man. He slammed his fist into the second man’s belly as the soldier grabbed for his sword. Off balance already, the blow doubled him over, sending him further off balance. He sprawled in the floor. Before he could get up, Nightshade had the blade at his throat. “Don’t,” he growled warningly.
The man subsided and Nightshade turned his attention to the third man. Seeing he was still struggling to crawl out from under the first man, Nightshade whipped the sword in his direction. “Slowly, unless you’re of a mind to be spitted on my blade.”
The man subsided and Nightshade looked them over one by one. “You! Get up and tie these two up.”
The man stared at him blankly for a moment but rose cautiously to his feet when Nightshade backed up a few paces. The two men still conscious exchanged a speaking glance as the man who’d been order to tie the other two moved slowly to obey. “It will cost you your life,” Nightshade growled warningly.
The man sent him a
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