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A MAGICAL ENCOUNTER
By
Meagan Hatfield
©February 2008, Meagan Hatfield
Cover art by Alex DeShanks 2008
ISBN: 978-1-60394-054-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events are merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Once darkness overtook the keep, its lord slipped out of his chamber. Clutching the fur collar about his neck, the duke edged along the corridors, deliberately keeping to the shadows.
When he reached the second level hall, he extended trembling arms to the handles, forcing his palms to turn them. The double panels creaked as the timeworn tendons spun in their mortises and the doors swiveled wide. Swallowing hard, he poked his head inside the extensive chamber. Though the hall sat in near darkness, illuminated only by an eerie flicker from the low burning hearth across the room, his aged eyes had no trouble finding the stranger he’d come to meet.
The cloaked man sat upon the dais, reclining against one arm of the duke’s chair. Both of his booted legs indolently draped over the other. His casual indifference made it painfully obvious to the duke whose fate was in question this night.
“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our council this eve, your Grace.”
The man’s baritone voice ricocheted through the hollow room, sending a shiver down the duke’s spine.
“I only sought to rest assure the steward, and especially my daughter, would not disturb us,” he said, securing the door and stepping toward him.
“Ah, the reason for our little get-together,” the man muttered as he leisurely uncrossed his ankles and stood. “That comely, untried daughter of yours. She still is a true maiden, is she not?”
“Humph.” The duke sank into the cushioned seat the stranger left vacant. “That one’s head’s too far up in the clouds to see a man that’s on the ground before her.”
“Good. Have you mulled over my proposal then?” he asked, hoisting his booted foot on a bench beside the duke. Leaning an elbow upon his knee, he rested his chin in his hand, allowing a thumb and forefinger to twist the dark hairs of his short beard.
“Aye. Yet, I will have you know ‘twould be my last resort. The chit may be deemed cheeky by most, but I shall try to the end to have her wed proper.”
The man’s fingers stilled. An air of impatience grew about him. The king could feel it. Could feel his opportunity slipping away.
“Well, the end draws ever upon your steps I daresay,” he replied, yanking his foot from its perch, and pivoting toward the door.
“Wait.” With a huff of defeat, the duke silently cursed his insolent daughter for having ever been born. Yet again, without her, he would ought be like a dead man already. “Tell me your terms again,” he resigned, rubbing upon his gray temples as if there was hope of it easing his mind. A glance up showed his appeal had the desired effect, for the man ceased his hasty retreat.
“Gladly, your Grace,” the man said, striding back toward the dais. “I wish to have my men bring only her to me. No maids or chaperones are to attend her. Upon her arrival, I shall send you a partial payment—quite ample enough to settle your arrears. If your daughter is proven true as you declare, I shall forward the remainder of chinks to your castle. If not, I shall send back her lying tongue. Either way, the girl will be my property to do with what I wish.”
The Duke’s blood simmered with pride-fueled anger, even through his fear. He hated being told what to do. It stung even more so while sitting in his chair of authority, in the core of his own keep. However, he was running out of options and time ... and this stranger somehow knew it.
“I shall concur to your terms, but only if this last suitor denies her.”
“Oh, he shall. When is he due to arrive?”
“A sennight from the morrow. I shall have her ready for conveyance by that eve, if she again fails to secure a husband.”
The man shrugged his massive shoulders. “If that is the best you can do with my rather generous offer, then I shall require that garnet ring of yours for surety against your debts.”
At that, the duke fisted his hands and rose to his feet. “You should be thrown upon the rack for this irreverence.”
The cloaked man did not flounder or balk, only inched himself closer until he stood towering over him.
“Threatening me will only assure your demise and you know it. The ring,” he ordered, placing his hand palm up.
“I will not hand over my ancestors stone to you. ‘Tis enough you bade for my daughter, but now you seek what little I have left as well.”
“If you have a discord with these conditions perchance you should agree to my terms hence, and let me take the girl now,” he said, folding his outstretched palm into a fist by his side. “You know fair well this next suitor shall deny her. Men of our station require biddable and dutiful brides. That progeny of yours is neither.”
“Then why are you after her?”
“I love a challenge,” he drawled out as he reached over, easily yanking the stone-set ring from the duke’s feeble hand. “And your inveterate gaming has left you with no choice.”
After an inspective look, he flipped the precious bauble in the air. The duke’s breath hitched as the man caught it and held it before him, the ring teasingly positioned in the center of his outstretched palm.
“That is unless you’d rather get your brother-in-law the King of Rowanthall involved. Perchance you would prefer it if he were to bail you out?”
At the threat, his eyes slid to the floor. His aged body fell into the chair behind him.
“I thought not,” the man said, turning and marching for the door. The clapping of his booted footfalls stopped. The duke glanced up to see him paused at the entryway. The hem of his dark cloak spun in a wide arc about his ankles when he spun back around.
“You have a week. My men will be ready to collect whichever, your lovely daughter, the funds due, or your head. I bid you good eve, your Grace,” he said with a cordial bow. “Sleep well.”
The hall door closed, bathing the duke in quiet darkness. Exhaling, he massaged his temples and sunk lower into his chair.
That daughter of his better get her head out of the clouds with this next suitor before the coming sennight, lest he would finally be relieved of the pain it had been to rear her.
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