Dagon rose early the next morning in a good mood. Even the gray skies and a light rain that shadowed the dawn did not sour his pleasant disposition. He had surprisingly enjoyed a restful sleep in one of the many guest suites and had assumed he owed his fine slumber to the fact that he had once again resumed control of his life.
He showered and dressed in black wool trousers, a black knit sweater, and added a gray sports jacket to keep the chill of the castle off him. A pewter clip held his hair back, and he slipped a black silk handkerchief into his chest jacket pocket. He was ready for the day.
He intended to speak with Bernard regarding Sarina, finding a more appropriate place on the castle staff for her. And he intended on solving this puzzling dilemma with a bit of research.
It was with a light step and an eager appetite that he entered the dining room. Margaret was just setting his place at the head of the long table.
“Up early this morning, sir; couldn’t you sleep?”
His beaming smile answered her query, though he confirmed it with, “A most sound sleep. I hope Sarina slept as well.”
“She still sleeps soundly, sir. I thought it best not to wake her, she needs rest to recover and I imagine her body will be quite sore today.”
“I think a few days off will suit her well,” he said, realizing he had no intentions of instructing her return to work until she was fully recovered from her ordeal.
Margaret nodded. “As soon as she wakes, I’ll move her to her own quarters and see to it that she rests.”
“No need to rush. I will be busy in my study for most of the day.” He didn’t want Sarina’s peaceful sleep disturbed.
He had actually thought to check on her before he came down for breakfast, but decided it was best he didn’t see her in his bed, snug beneath his covers, her familiar body warm and tempting. No he didn’t want to see Sarina anywhere near his bedroom again.
“I’ll have Bernard bring you coffee directly and your breakfast will follow shortly,” Margaret informed him, placing the morning newspaper beside his plate.
“I have a taste for one of your delicious omelets this morning,” he said with a grin that charmed a smile and a blush from Margaret.
“Along with my angel biscuits and my blueberry bourbon preserves?”
Dagon licked his lips like an eager boy in a candy shop.
Margaret’s biscuits were so light and tasty that they could only be called angel biscuits, and her preserves won numerous awards. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep her on his staff, and besides, he cared for her as he would a favorite aunt.
“You’ve brought sunshine to a dreary day,” he said and she dismissed his compliment with a smile and a wave of her hand as she walked from the room.
Dagon settled in his seat to read the paper and await his meal.
Bernard appeared only moments after Margaret left and poured him a cup of steaming coffee.
Dagon felt this was the perfect time to discuss Sarina with him and placed his paper aside. “I have informed Margaret that Sarina will have a few days’ recovery time before she is expected to return to her duties.”
“I assumed so,” he answered cautiously, this time prepared for battle. “I have already reassigned her chores.”
“Good,” Dagon said, dropping a dash of milk into his coffee. “I think we should find more appropriate duties for her.”
Bernard cleared his throat and stood straight and stiff. “I assumed that would be your intention.”
It was obvious the man was annoyed, and Dagon attempted patience. “I know how trying her ineptitude has been for you.”
“We have more than sufficient grounds for dismissal, sir.”
“I am well aware of that, Bernard, but she deserves a chance.” He almost cringed at his own words. Sarina had been given more than her fair share of opportunities to prove herself and had not only completely failed but created havoc in the process. Any sane employer would dismiss her without regret. He could not. He wondered if he had just crossed the line to insanity.
“Shall I remind you of her many chances?”
“That won’t be necessary. I understand how you feel.”
“No, sir, you do not understand or you would not ask this of me. She possesses no powers and lacks even the simplest mortal skills. Whatever am I to do with her?”
“I am sure we can find a spot in the castle where she will be safe.”
Bernard smiled. “I know the perfect place.”
“Where?” Dagon asked anxiously, eager for this problem to be solved.
“Your private chambers.”
It was a good thing Dagon had not sipped the coffee from his raised cup or he would have choked on it. “Impossible.”
Bernard shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so, sir.”
Dagon’s tone turned forceful. “I know so, Bernard. She will not be assigned to my quarters.”
Bernard remained calm as he announced, “Then I am sorry to inform you of my resignation and of Margaret’s, and Alastair mentioned that if I left he would join me.”
Dagon sounded none too happy when he replied, “That’s blackmail, Bernard.”
“No, sir, it’s called survival.”
Dagon attempted to negotiate. “There must be someplace that—”
Bernard would have none of it. “No, sir, there is nowhere in the castle where she will not create havoc. And if you insist on her remaining on staff, then I think it is only fair that the havoc she creates be in your own private quarters.”
Dagon shook his head. He could not allow Bernard, Margaret, and Alastair to leave. They had been with him far too long and were like family to him. But he also could not turn Sarina out, at least not yet. Not until he was sure she could survive on her own. He had no choice. He had to allow her to be assigned to his quarters.
His blue eyes settled on the patiently waiting man. “I won’t forget this, Bernard.”
Bernard’s grin bordered on a laugh. “I’m sure you won’t, sir.”
o0o
Sarina woke with a yawn and a lazy stretch. A steady rain tapped at the windows, and a blazing fire cast welcoming warmth into the room. She smiled and snuggled deeper beneath the thick comforter. She was home and it was a lazy rainy day. She would sit before the hearth and tell Lettie, her cat, and Podges, her dog, of her journey and of the special man who rescued her and stole her heart.
She bolted up in bed, her glance quickly sweeping the room. This was not her room, or her home, and she had yet to be rescued and she had yet to lose her heart. Hadn’t she?
She threw herself back against the pillows and moaned. Why couldn’t life be simple like it once was? She had lived many years without any major, earth-shattering problems and now suddenly she was in the throes of a full-fledged catastrophe.
She shook her head and that was when she realized she was in pain. She hadn’t noticed it before when she sat up, but after falling back on the pillows her body protested and loudly. Her shoulders and arms ached badly, and the rest of her felt as if every muscle decided to revolt in unison.
If she were her normal self, she would go to the woods that surrounded her house, plant her bare feet firmly in the soil, and allow the earth’s energy to restore her. But she wasn’t herself. She was at this moment more mortal than witch, a frightening prospect.
Not that she didn’t respect and admire mortals, she did. It was just that their growth was slow and laborious. They fought their own inherent abilities and ignored the obvious, making life more difficult than was necessary. An issue she was experiencing herself and one that was not going as easily as she had expected. She supposed she should think of this dilemma in her life as a lesson. The question was what was the lesson attempting to teach her?
A yawn slipped slowly from her mouth, and she felt the urge to return to sleep and forget her problems, her protesting limbs and muscles, and all lessons. But that would be running away, and she had never run away from difficulties before. She had faced many a problem with strength and courage and managed to emerge victorious, a little battle worn, but still victorious.
But at those moments she had been a witch of tremendous power and wisdom, and there weren’t many who could match her skills. Now she was near to mortal, her only remaining power being her sight, and that didn’t work for her, only for others.
She scolded herself. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Sarina.”
She was on her own with no one to help her. With limited skills she would have to rely on her wit and strength. She may have lost her powers, but she had not lost her intelligence.
Last night Dagon’s words had proved to her that he was the one who could help her break the spell and she needed to concentrate all her efforts on doing just that. His participation could not be forced or contrived. And what she required from him could not be asked for, but must be given freely.
And then there were her own doubts and fears, but she had no choice, she had to take the chance regardless of the consequences. Losing her powers was one thing to contend with; dealing with a broken heart was entirely another.
Sarina forced herself out of bed, her body protesting every move and step she made, but she was determined. She couldn’t lose her position here at the castle. Her destiny was here, and here was where she had to remain.
“Whatever are you doing out of bed?” Margaret asked with concern and hurried over to Sarina, who looked about to topple over.
She stood leaning against the door jam, her white flannel nightgown skimming her bare feet, her face turning pale, and her shiny brown hair uncombed and unkempt.
It had taken most of her strength to make it down the stairs and to the kitchen, and Sarina didn’t think she had enough stamina left to make it to the chair.
“My duties,” she attempted to say, but her labored breath mumbled her words.
Margaret shook her head and slipped a supportive arm around her to help her walk to the chair at the table and sit. “You need time to recover. You have been relieved of your duties for the next few days. At which time you will be assigned new duties.”
“He’s not dismissing me,” Sarina said on a sigh.
“Heavens, no,” Margaret said. “Now let me help you to your bed, and then I’ll fix you breakfast.”
Sarina barely managed to shake her head without a neck muscle cramping. “Please just let me sit here for a few moments and regain my strength.”
“A hot cup of tea should help set you right,” Margaret offered and received a gratifying smile from Sarina. “And another hot bath might ease those aches.”
Sarina thought of her last bath and blushed, her cheeks burning with color.
Margaret attempted to ease her discomfort. “I’ll prepare my tub for your use.”
A nod sent a muscle spasm to Sarina’s neck, and she cried out, her hand going to her painful neck.
“What are you doing out of bed?” came the terse remark and caused Sarina to jump and her muscles to further protest.
Dagon stomped into the kitchen and went directly to Sarina, whose eyes filled with tears from the unexpected jolt of pain.
“You were to remain abed until feeling sufficiently recovered,” Dagon said and brushed her hand aside, his fingers running gently over her strained neck muscles.
She winced and bunched her shoulders when his fingers began to knead her taut neck muscles. His fingers steadily worked at her tight muscle urging it to relax, and it was with relief she felt the tense cramp lessen.
Margaret placed a hot cup of tea in front of her on the table, and Dagon, to her disappointment, slowed his kneading until he stopped completely.
Sarina leaned forward to fix her tea, depositing a teaspoon of sugar in her cup. She slipped her finger through the handle and raised the cup when a muscle in her shoulder locked in a spasm. She held on to the cup but it toppled over and spilled the entire contents on the table.
Margaret immediately took the cup from her hand and threw a dish towel on the hot liquid to sop it up. “It’s bed rest you need.”
“She needs more than that,” Dagon said and pulled her chair away from the table. He reached down, scooped her off the chair, and looked to Margaret. “Bring hot towels to my bedroom when you get the chance along with a breakfast tray for her.”
“I can—”
“Do nothing but obey,” Dagon ordered sternly and marched out of the kitchen with her snug in his arms.
He placed her on his bed and arranged the comforter over her up to her waist. He then removed his sports coat, taking it to hang in his closet. He returned pushing up the sleeves of his black wool sweater.
“I’m going to make sure those muscles relax, and you,” he said, coming to a stop beside the bed and looking down at her intently, “are going to stay in bed until I order otherwise.”
“I have my own bed,” she said, though knowing any disagreement was futile. He was determined, and one did not argue with a determined witch.
“A cramped and confined single bed which will cause you more ills than you need. You will stay right here at least for another full day.”
One day wasn’t so bad. She could manage a day in his big, soft bed, not to mention the cozy fire and the rain that steadily drummed at the windows. And she was already growing sleepy tucked in the welcoming softness of the bed.
“If you insist,” she said on a sigh.
“I insist.” Dagon sat down beside her on the bed. “Turn over,” he ordered.
She looked at him through droopy lids, sleep beginning to invade her weary body.
He pushed the covers down from her waist, and with a tender touch he eased her over. “I’m going to massage your neck and back while we wait for Margaret to bring the hot towels.”
Her reply was mumbled, her face partially buried in the soft down pillow.
Her relaxed repose told him she had no objections to his intentions, and he slipped his hands under either side of her ribs and worked his way up to the ties of her nightgown. His fingers skimmed her breasts and her nipples puckered against his palm, but he ignored their instant response and his own body’s quick betrayal. He intended to see to her care and that was all. He would massage her painful muscles, apply hot compresses, and see to it that she rested.
He was after all in complete control of himself.
He released the ties, removed his hands, and slipped her nightgown down over her shoulders to her waist. He didn’t waste a minute. His hands immediately went to work on her taut muscles, kneading, massaging, and forcing them to surrender.
Sarina thought for certain that his hands possessed magic, for she hadn’t expected anything to work on her warring muscles. She thought herself doomed for days until the muscles finally wore themselves out and surrendered.
She sighed and a yawn followed.
“I assume that means my touch pleases you?”
Her reply was a simple, “Mmmm.”
Margaret soon appeared with the moist, hot towels and informed Dagon she would return shortly with breakfast for Sarina.
“Mmmm,” was again heard when Dagon applied a hot towel to her neck and shoulders.
“Is that all you can say?” he teased, massaging her lower back while the towel worked its magic.
Sarina turned her head slowly so her reply would be clearly heard. “You would make a wonderful mate.”
His question came before thought. “And do you look for one?”
Her response came on a whisper. “A special one.”
He wondered what she considered special. What were the qualities she looked for in a mate? “How special?”
“One special enough to accept who I am and not allow it to trouble him. One special enough to be there for me no matter what the situation, and one special enough to rescue me even from myself.”
“Rescuing you alone would keep him awfully busy,” Dagon said teasingly.
She laughed softly in return. “Yes, he probably would have his hands full, though I would richly compensate him.”
“How?” he asked curiously.
“I will love him with a love that is rare. A love he has never experienced before and even thought to exist, a love born with the dawn of time, encompassing space and the heavens above, a love that fills dreams and creates fantasies, a love that he will feel in my every touch and kiss and a love that will be uniquely ours.”
Dagon sat speechless, his hands stilled at her waist. A rare love. He had often wondered if such love existed and she was right. It was a love born of dreams and fantasies. One forever searched for but rarely found. Was that why in his search for a mate he had not considered love? Did he favor a rare love and believing it impossible to find did he decide on a more practical choice? Was he settling for less because he thought he would not be able to find more?
A rare love.
Was it possible?
Dagon looked down at the bumbling witch asleep in his bed and shook his head. He removed the now cool towel and she shivered. He immediately replaced it with another hot towel, spreading it farther down her back, and she sighed and snuggled her head farther under the pillow.
He peeled the corner of the towel back to check on the abrasions she had suffered. The scratches needed more ointment and should be covered with a bandage. He would see to that after he finished applying the compresses.
He brushed her hair away from her neck and gently massaged the muscles. How had she managed to invade his senses? He still didn’t understand it. Never had a woman infiltrated his emotions so easily. Never had he allowed one to. But Sarina gave him no choice. She charged full speed ahead, and in her chaotic entrance she bridged his defenses and captured his emotions.
He leaned down and kissed along the back of her neck.
“Mmmm,” once again filled the room.
She always responded to him without hesitation, without thought, with complete candor. There was no need for surrender, for she surrendered before they touched or kissed.
Her capitulation was there in her eyes and in all honesty it was he who surrendered to her and with an eagerness that alarmed him.
He kissed her neck once more, and her predictable response filled the room.
Was it possible?
Rare love.
Did it exist?
Rare love.
He wanted to know.