Nightshade by Jaide Fox

would still free him from his tormented existence if she could, only for his sake and to make right what she had inadvertently deprived him of, but she did not even know what had transpired.
     
    Gaelzeroth had fallen to his own evil long ago, before the memory of anyone living, and nothing remained but the tales woven about him--many of which were probably exaggerated and some of which were probably completely untrue. According to legend he had been betrayed by his wife, a young woman he had forced to wed him, a witch whom he believed he might breed an even more powerful sorcerer upon. She had outwitted him, though, conspired with his enemies to weaken him so that they could destroy him.
     
    No one knew what had become of her afterward. She had simply vanished and all that Gaelzeroth had taken had passed to the son of his cousin--the son his cousin because Gaelzeroth himself had slain his brother.
     
    Was there some significance to the fact that Nightshade had been cursed to guard this keep and not one of the others Gaelzeroth had taken? She thought there must be. Perhaps Nightshade had been the captain of the guard and that was why Gaelzeroth had thought it would be amusing to make him guard the Keep for eternity?
     
    It seemed in keeping with the things that Gaelzeroth had done.
     
    And yet she could not see how that would help her to help Nightshade even if it were true.
     
    Pushing away from the window, Bronwyn paced for some time and finally settled on a stool before the hearth, staring into the flames.
     
    She had sent her maids away regardless of Marta’s warning. There had been a time when she had welcomed their presence, but now it only chaffed her more to feel their eyes upon her, to sense the speculation churning in their minds.
     
    Mostly, though, she had sent them away because, deep down, she hoped that Nightshade would ignore her demand that he not seek her out again. She had wanted him to brush aside her qualms and force her to take him as her lover so that she could enjoy his caresses without guilt.
     
    It had begun to seem unlikely that that would happen, though. It had begun to seem that either she had been completely wrong about his feelings for her, or he was bound by the sense of honor that he had lived by when he was a man.
     
    She covered her face with her hands. She did not want to live the remainder of her days with only that one moment of beauty to warm her memories--to haunt her. If she could do nothing to change her fate, or Nightshade’s, why was it wrong to take what happiness there was to be had? Who would it hurt save her when she was torn from his arms and forced to wed another man?
     
    It was pride that restrained her, not a sense of decorum or honor. She would gladly have thrown both to the wind but for her pride. She needed him to come to her to reassure her that he cared for her because that was far more important than the passion, however glorious it had been. If she called him, she would never know whether he had come because he yearned for her as she did him, or merely because he had been summoned.
     
    Irritated by her thoughts but unwilling to seek her bed in case Nightshade sought her out, she rose from the stool and began to pace her room again.
     
    He startled her. She had no idea how long she had paced the floor while he watched in silence, for he moved as no mortal man did. A jolt went through her when she turned to find him watching her near the window where she had stood so long.
     
    A heady mixture of longing and gladness filled her, but also wariness.
     
    Had she summoned him, she wondered in sudden embarrassment? Had she called to him aloud as she had stood by the window, fighting the urge to do so? “I did not,” she said emphatically, vocally answering the question in her own mind.
     
    He tilted his head curiously, but his eyes narrowed. “Did not, what?”
     
    Embarrassment colored her cheeks. It stirred her irritation to the surface. “You gave me