Claymore Castle stood in solitary silence. Vivian had taken to wandering the halls, wondering at the history of the silent castle. When Lochlan had been there, the castle was full of sounds and smells. But now, now when he was gone on business, the castle staff seemed as dull and sorrowful as their Master. Vivian thought of it as a huge façade, as if the servants where cheerful when the Master was there, to try to bring cheer to the castle and lighten Lochlan's mood. But while He was gone, there was no point in trying. Trying for what? Vivian did not know. What she did know, was that the history of the castle, and its inhabitants, was something no one wished to speak of, but everyone knew…everyone but her.

Bathilde attended to her every need along with whatever maid was present. She never lacked for food, nor for companionship. Henry was always there to lend a hand, or to speak too. She was happy, so to speak, but she missed her family, missed her home, and missed familiarity.

It had been just over a week since Lochlan had left. Bathilde wouldn't say to where he had gone, only that he went North on the King's business. A business that no one would know how long it would take, so when the great doors flew open, and servants came running through the corridors, shouting orders left and right, Vivian smiled. Rushing through the hall ways, she gave no heed to the maids running back and forth.

Stopping herself on the grand staircase, she smiled. Lochlan stood like an immovable pillar in the center of the hubbub. Suddenly, as if he could feel her gaze, he looked up. A grin split his weary face. Then Bathilde said something to him and he dragged his attention away from her.

With the absence of his gaze, Vivian felt her confidence leave. Before she he had left, he had promised that his departure was on business and had nothing to do with her. But now, watching the maids ready a bath for his Lordship, watching Henry drag logs up for a fire, and watching Bathilde speaking with him, she doubted his assurance. Why would he have left so suddenly if it wasn't anger at her? Rubbing her hand, the one he had kissed, she turned and fled to her room, fearful of the fear she felt. For in truth, she shouldn't care, she told herself. Why would she care what he thought of her? Why indeed?

Lochlan's body felt bruised all over as he rode up to the castle. When he opened the door, he had to smile at the familiar hustle and bustle of his return. Water was being heated, wood brought up, reports given, everything as it had always been. As the servants performed a dance of duties around him, he felt a prickle of awareness, someone was watching him. Glancing up, his face split into a grin. Vivian's eyes connected with his. He fancied that she looked pleased to see him. Her stance above the great stairway made him feel as if he were gazing into the eyes of an angel.

"Lochlan, are you listening to me?" He glanced down from the vision before him, to look at his housekeeper, who was obviously put out at having to call to him more than once.

"Aye, I am listening now." He said smiling.

"Good." She smiled before proceeding to give an account of the workings of the Castle while he was gone. He noticed however, that she spoke nothing of Vivian.

The hall was empty by the time she finished. "And what of Vivian? How did she fare?"

"She seems to have taken a sudden interest in the painting gallery, sir."

"The paintings?"

"Aye, she wonders at the history of Claymore, your history, sire." She said, wringing her hands together. "Henry made sure she ate though. She 'as also been sleeping later, and staying farther up into the night pouring over some of the medical texts you have in your library."

"I see. Is there anything else I should know about?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, fully aware that her nervousness was betrayed through her hand actions.

Bathilde swallowed, "I am aware that you put her in the room you put her in for a reason. However, she has asked to be allowed to change rooms. She wants something smaller, something "more suited to reality," is what she said. I said that she would have to bring it up with you, sir, but I don't know if she will. For she still fears that she insulted you in some way."

Lochlan felt his brow crease with frustration, "How could she believe that when I told her different myself?"

Clearing her throat, Bathilde interrupted, "If I may, sir?"

"Go on then…enlighten me." He growled.

"First of all, I believe that before you confront her, you bathe yourself and shave. Secondly, she is not to blame for her fears. You can be truly terrifying when you wish, and even when you don't wish. When you stalked out of that library the day before you left, you scared the daylights out of me with that expression you were wearing. She told me herself that you had been in conversation with her only moments before you stormed from the room. Vivian is not used to your manners yet, so of course she believed she was to blame."

"But I told her she was not to blame! I told her this before I left!" he ground out.

"Lochlan Chael, that girl has had her heart broken more times than you or I know. She is insecure about herself; that much is evident. When I went to her in the library she was in tears! She doesn't trust you or any man. I have read what she puts in her journal."

"You are reading her private things?" Lochlan stormed.

"No, sir! That is not what I meant. I was helping her to bed, and she knocked over her journal. I bent to pick it up, nothing more. I accidentally read a few sentences."

Lochlan stopped, and her comments sank in. "She doesn't trust me? Or any man?"

"No," she shook her head, "In the sentences that I read, she said how both her father and she were sure that Morven was going to propose to her, and how in the end, when it mattered, her trust was unfounded. Then she wrote about how she felt betrayed that her father would give her up so easily, how he would not even linger until he was well…"

"And the last lines you read?" he asked in a broken whisper.

"The last lines were about you, sir. About how you championed her, and how she was fearful to be in the hands of so powerful a man. She fears your purpose in bringing her here. Putting this with the way you acted before you left, I believe that she fears what you will do with her."

Lochlan rubbed his temple, "I would never hurt her."

"I know sir, but she doesn't."

"Thank you Bathilde. I am not to be disturbed until dinner." He ordered, walking away. Then he stopped, "Does she still eat at the same time? In the same place?"

"Yes, sir."

Wearily taking the stairs, he stopped where Vivian had stood. Placing his hand on the banister, he smiled. Even if she was not at home, he hoped she knew how loyal his servants were to her, how they would always be her friend, through hell or high water. Slowly he resumed the progress to his room. Henry was waiting, with the bath and a razor.

"Sir, you look slightly out of sorts."

"Henry, what does Vivian think of me?" he asked as he stripped.

"Sir, am I answering as a friend or a servant?"

Lochlan slipped into the warm water, feeling his muscles relax. "Will it make a difference?"

"Perhaps."

"Then as a friend."

"I think she has the potential to love you. If you play your cards right, allow her into your life and be honest with her, she may come to look at you as more than a captor. For that is what you are to her at the moment. You were her rescuer, but now you are holding her here. Trapping her in this snowbound castle, away from everything familiar, is not the way to win her heart. You must control your temper, and your moods. You can't rush off the day before an order from the King and then leave for a week. You must be there, be a pillar she can come to for support."

"And what would you say to me as my servant? Tell me this Henry."

"I would say that she is terrified of making a wrong step around you. I would also say that you have succeeded in your intimidation. She will not cross your path on purpose, sir."

"I see." He said, a moment before he submerged himself in the water, face and all.

A knock on his door, broke Lochlan from his musings. "Enter!" he ordered, lifting his head from his hands, and rubbing his legs where his elbows had been resting for the past two hours. A maid entered, carrying a pitcher of warm water.

"Bathilde asked me to bring this up to you so you could wash for dinner, Your Grace." She put it down on the wash stand, and left.

Standing, he groaned. Hours of nonstop travel had battered his body. He had wanted to come and go as quickly as his job allowed. Now he dreaded the very thing he had looked forward to, speaking with Vivian. It had been her face he had seen in the chilling snow while he had rode, the fire burning in her eyes was the ultimate goal, to get back to the warmth. But now, now he feared her reception of him.

Using a cloth, he cursed himself for being a sentimental fool. Henry had said himself that Vivian would not seek to cross his path again, and he was not ready to be open with her, with anyone, with the full extent of his curse. Some hapless woman somewhere would undoubtedly carry his heir before he died, but it would not be Vivian. He would not curse Vivian with that knowledge, that any child born to her would be a monster, that her husband would owe more allegiance to the moon that to her.

He felt self-hatred boiling in his blood. His wife, whoever she was, would have to deal with the same thing his mother had, the fact that she had married a monster, and gave birth to its heir also. He vowed to himself, then and there, that Vivian would never have to know of that grief, even if it meant giving up all hope of winning her.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he hated the man he saw, the monster. Driving his fist through it, he shattered the offending piece of glass into thousands of shards. Then, carefully, he dipped his hand in the warm water, hissing at the pain. Cautiously he took the glass from his hands, placing it on the towel. Then, taking a piece of his shirt, he ripped a strip long enough to wrap around the bleeding knuckles. Changing his shirt, he left the room and made his way to the breakfast parlor.

Vivian had hid the rest of the day in her room. Tempted not to come out for the evening meal, she had forced herself to dress nicely and to pull her hair up. However, when she entered the parlor, she stopped in the doorway; Lochlan was nowhere to be seen. Breathing a sigh of relief, she choked on the next breath.

"If you would kindly enter the room, I am sure the servants have prepared an excellent dinner for us tonight." Vivian shivered. His breath on the back of her neck toyed with the light hairs at her nape.

Scrambling to enter, and move out of the way, she exclaimed, "Of course, sir, forgive me!"

"You are forever apologizing for things you needn't." he grumbled. Walking to her chair, he waved away a servant, pulling it out himself.

Vivian watched as he pulled her chair for her, something he had never done, rather he had let his servants do it. She slapped herself mentally. He means nothing by it. Only that he is never here on time to do so. She told herself. Hesitantly she walked forward, and sat on the offered chair.

Only after he sat did she see the makeshift bandage on his hand. Her gasp brought his head up instantly. "What is it?"

"Your hand! What did you do to it?" She stretched her hand across the table, wishing to see his hand. But rather than give it to her, he tucked it beneath the table.

"I punched something." He mumbled, ashamed at his lack of self control.

"Is it broken?" she asked, retracting her hand.

"I don't believe so. Only the flesh seems to be hurt." He looked up then, towards the door then. Their conversation stopped as food was brought in and served.

She smiled at Henry as he put, once again, a serving larger than she could ever eat on her plate. "Thank you Henry."

"My pleasure, Miss Vivian. And may I suggest, if you are still hungry, that you take seconds from His Lordships plate?"

Lochlan's attention snapped back to the two of them, and Vivian felt herself blush. Then looking to Henry she hissed, "You know very well that would be improper, not to mention that I doubt I could eat all this in two meals, let alone one!"

"You never know."

Lochlan turned to look at Vivian and Henry. The comment about his plate was a veiled comment, meant to do something. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out what, and when Vivian blushed a bright shade of pink, and coyly hid her eyes, his heart thumped.

The girl was a temptress. Her enchanting green eyes beckoned to him with hidden secrets. Her black hair was coiled in a beautiful coif, showing off the graceful curve of her neck.

Henry stood straight once more, winked at him, and left. What that meant, he had no clue. He only knew that when he looked back at Vivian, his appetite for food vanished. She was looking up at him through her long, black eye lashes, biting her lip. Clearing his throat, he forced his gaze to his food. Picking up a fork, he searched for a conversational topic.

"Bathilde says that you would like to change your room, or rather the location of your room. May I ask for what reason this is wanted?"

"No, no. They are very pleasant, only they are too big. I feel as if I am drowning in such a large space."

"So it is not the accommodations, but rather the space." Tapping his fork on his top lip, he thought. "There are one or two smaller rooms throughout the castle…I could take you to look at them. That is if you aren't opposed to spending a few moments with me, after dinner of course."

With that comment, Vivian looked at him strangely. "After dinner? But don't you usually sleep with the sun?"

"I can make an exception; truly, it wouldn't be a problem, but rather an honor."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, I assure you."

Lochlan reveled in the feel of Vivian's hand on his arm as he escorted her. The sun had fallen below the horizon around an hour ago, and he could already feel the pull of the moon becoming stronger. However, he had one more room to show Vivian, one more then he could leave. But until that one was over, he could revel in her touch.

"This is the last one I would like to show you." What he didn't tell her, what that his room, was just two doors down. This had been the room meant for his wife. The room between this and his was simply a waiting room. If she liked this room, he would have the connecting doors locked, and then the key given to her. If she wanted this room, it would be hers.

Opening the door, he allowed her to precede him. Her gasp of surprised awe warmed him. Unwilling to admit the reasons for it, he was glad that he had ordered this room prepared along with the one Vivian was currently in. He watched her with a smile on his face as she waltzed around the room, looking over every corner of the room. "It's beautiful!"

The room was simple. Lochlan grinned; it was simple because it was meant only to house a temporary occupant. A wife was expected to spend more time with her husband than without. Suddenly he sobered. He had promised himself he would not subject her to such horrors. She would not be his wife, for she would loathe him for what he was.

Suddenly he startled. Vivian's hand had run across his brow, "What worries you Lochlan? Why do you frown?"

He didn't know why he felt the way he did, but he knew that if he were to kiss her now, she would not resist. Reason fought with judgment, both warring in his mind, warring in his eyes.

"What is it Lochlan? What troubles you?" She asked once more, cupping his jaw in her hand.

Grabbing her hand away from his face, he leaned down. His lips met with hers, and after a moment of startled resistance, she kissed him back. His mind spun with pleasure and shock; pleasure at knowing her kiss, and shock at her seemingly willing acceptance. Reason finally won out. Breaking from her, he shook his head. "Forgive me; I should not have done that." Breaking from her completely, he fled from the room, his thoughts in complete chaos.

Darkness shadowed the room as Vivian collapsed on the bed. Staring into the darkened depths, she placed her fingers on her lips, still stunned. She sat for a minute, forcing her heart to beat a regular rhythm. As it slowed to a steady thump, she looked at her own hand, questioning. Why had she touched him in such a familiar way? Perhaps it was the look of lost desolation that she had seen, warring with some other emotion in his eyes. Perhaps it was her own wish to be comforted from the loss of her home and family.

Whatever it was, she took sinful pleasure in knowing his kiss. It would have been a blind woman indeed who would not have been attracted to a man as powerful as him. His black hair and glittering ice blue eyes gave him a sense of cold, secretive power. The scar above his eye helped enforce this image, along with his incredible bulk and height.

She had no doubt that his massive arms were not from eating too many sweet foods, for she had been carried in his arms when she had fainted. She had also seen the mastery of his weaponry, had watched him best each and every opponent to save her.

She also knew that Lochlan was wary. Deducting this from the way he sat, even when at ease, she knew he was of military training. His eyes took everything in…everything. When he sat, his eyes would dart over every exit. He always sat ready, as if he expected conflict with every blink of his eye. His hands never strayed far from his belt where he kept at least two daggers.

Yes, she admitted to herself. She had enjoyed the brief kiss, even if she would never admit it to another living soul. Dropping her head into her hands, she allowed a tear to leak through. Heartbreak washed through her like a wave on the shore. Morven had forsaken her, and he would have left her to the wolves. But he had never held her allegiance, or admiration. No, what washed through her was despair. Despair at knowing that Lochlan, or any man such as him, could never love her. That she would never have the love of a man as great as the Duke of Chael.

She had never sought power, but only comfort. Thinking that she had found it in Morven, both she and her father had thought that he would propose. However, it seemed that the charge of witchcraft could change whatever he had felt in whatever heart he possessed.

Wiping her tears from her face, she stood. Moving for the door, she stopped, Lochlan's words resounding through her head, "Merely that he had what I wanted, and he took part of my land from me when the king became disillusioned with my service. I have no reason to hate him, other than he put a woman on trial for witchcraft when he should have been the first to defend her. That he levies heavy taxes on his people, abuses his servants, and degrades the name of Morovia, no I do not hate him, for it is too mild a word for what I feel of him. I loathe him."

Breaking into tears once more, she thought of how cruel the world was. She thought of what Lochlan must have gone through, to earn the scar above his eye, and to become the King's right hand man, the First Commander of the King's Army. The man's eyes spoke of years of weathering, years of harsh treatment.

But what she saw most in his eyes, if she had not been mistaken, threatened her peace of mind. Throwing the door open, she ran for her room, blindly floundering through the castle, tears inhibiting her vision.