Beauty's Beast (22 page)

Erik slipped his shirt over his head and quickly secured his mask in place before turning to face Caddaric. “You can do that?”

“Yes. I regret that, since you are already under her power, I can do nothing for you.”

“My life no longer concerns me. It is Kristine and the babe who must be protected now.”

“Then we are in agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I believe we should leave on the morrow, early.”

“We'll be ready.”

“Kristine tells me she has never seen you as you were. Is this true?”

Erik nodded.

“I do not wish to offend you but, if you like, I can conjure a temporary spell that will enable you to be as you once were for a brief period of time.”

“I am not offended.” Erik looked at his left hand, felt excitement stir within him at the thought of being as he had been before the curse, of holding Kristine in his arms, of touching her and having her touch him in return.

“This evening, then?” Caddaric asked.

“Yes. How long will it last?”

“It is a difficult spell to maintain, but I believe I can assure you of an hour, say, two hours before midnight?”

 

 

Kristine looked up at Erik and shook her head. “How can he do that?”

“I don't know. Does the thought displease you?”

“Of course not. But how does it work?”

“He didn't say, only that it is a difficult spell to maintain for long.”

“What time is it now?”

“Near ten.”

She stared up at him, her heart pounding. To see him as he had been, to be able to touch him . . .

“Erik.”

“I know.”

He gazed into her eyes, hardly aware that the lights in the room had dimmed. Soft music filtered through the air. A fire sprang to life in the hearth. He heard a soft whisper, like the rustle of silk, as Kristine's dress was magically transformed into a long white sleeping gown.

He knew the moment his own transformation took place, felt it in every fiber of his being, saw it in the wonder that spread over her face, felt it in the tremor of her hand as she removed his mask and stroked his cheek. His left cheek.

“Erik,” she murmured. “You're beautiful.”

“Am I?”

“And I can touch you, can't I?”

He nodded, hardly daring to breathe as she lifted his shirt over his head and flung it aside, then slid her hands over his chest, his shoulders. His reaction to her touch was immediate and evident.

“Erik, oh Erik.”

He heard the wanting in her voice. Not trusting himself to speak, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. Lowering her to the mattress, he stretched out beside her, raining kisses on her brow, the curve of her cheek, her nose, her lips—ah, but she tasted sweet, so sweet.

And her hands. There was no hesitation in her touch, no holding back. She ran her fingertips over him, and there was no mistaking the delight she found in caressing him.

He groaned with pleasure, gasped with aching need as she removed his trousers, then shed her gown.

For a long moment, Kristine let her gaze move over him, admiring his broad shoulders and chest, his flat belly and long, muscular legs. And then she was touching him again. His skin was smooth and warm and firm. Looking at him, caressing him, made her ache deep down inside. Desire unfurled within her when she saw the visible evidence of his need, and then she was stroking him again, her hands trembling in her eagerness to touch, to explore the depth of his navel, the fine curly hair on his chest. She traced the line of hair that arrowed toward his manhood, held him in her hand.

“Kristine . . .”

She heard the urgency in his voice as he swept her into his arms and positioned her beneath him.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight, her hands moving restlessly over his back and shoulders. Never before had she been able to caress him, to see his face as their bodies merged into one flesh. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away, afraid he would not understand why she wept, afraid she would not be able to explain that they were tears of joy and gratitude for this moment, of regret for the years that they might have shared, years that had been stolen away by a vindictive witch.

He claimed her lips in a long, passionate kiss as his flesh melded with hers. It had been too long since he had made love to her, too long since he had held her like this. The fire's glow cast warm golden highlights over her skin and he knew she had never been more beautiful than she was now, her eyes filled with love, her belly swollen with his child.

He wanted to savor each moment, to make it last and last, but his body betrayed him. Unable to restrain himself, he convulsed within her. Her arms tightened around him, holding him closer, closer.

When he would have rolled away, she clung to him. “Not yet.”

He rested on his elbows to spare her the burden of his weight, ashamed of his lack of self-control. He had not meant to take her so quickly, had intended to caress and arouse her, but holding back had been impossible. Her touch had inflamed him and he had taken her like a boy discovering the act for the first time.

He felt her hands stroke his hair, glide over his back, slide down his thighs and over his buttocks. Still embedded within her, he felt himself harden and knew he was ready for her again.

“Kristine?”

She moved beneath him, hips lifting in silent invitation. He made love to her slowly this time, savoring each sensation, holding back until she was clinging to him, her fevered body trembling. Together, they plunged over the abyss into ecstasy.

“Kristine!” Her name was a sob, a prayer. And then he whispered the words he had held back for so long.

“Kristine, my Kristine. You will never know how much I love you.”

 

 

She sat by the window, staring into the darkness as she relived every moment of the past hour, remembering the sheer pleasure of lying in her husband's arms. Nothing could be more wonderful than being wrapped in his embrace, feeling his heated skin next to hers, being able to touch and taste him with wild abandon, to explore every inch of his body. She had never dreamed a man could be beautiful, but Erik was. Or had been.

With a sigh, she turned her gaze to the man sleeping across the way. It seemed like a dream now, the hour they had spent in each other's arms, an hour she would cherish for the rest of her life. And yet, she could almost wish it had never happened, for it only made what she had lost that much harder to bear.

She felt the baby stir in her womb and she placed her hand over her belly, grateful now more than ever for the child growing within her.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I shall tell you of my love every day of my life, and of your father's love as well. I shall tell you what a handsome man he was. I shall tell you how fiercely he battled an evil witch so you will know how brave and strong he was.”

“And will you also tell her how much I loved her mother?”

Kristine looked up, smiling through her tears. “I don't think I will ever find words enough for that.”

“Kristine . . .”

Needing to hold him, to be held by him, she crossed the floor and climbed into bed. He stiffened as she snuggled against his side. His left side.

“Erik, don't. It doesn't matter.”

“How can you bear to look at me, touch me?”

“I love you. From now on, whenever I look at you, I will see you as the man you were.”

“And when the transformation is complete, what then?”

“I shall still love you.”

“I want you to marry again. Hoxford, perhaps.”

“No!”

“Kristine, you are a young woman. You cannot live the rest of your life alone. Promise me you will marry again, if not for yourself, then for our child.”

“No, no, don't ask that of me. Please.”

“I am asking. Wait a year, two if you must. But promise me you won't shut yourself up at Hawksbridge. Promise me that you will find a good man to be a father to our child. Promise me you will try. Please, Kristine, I cannot bear the thought of your being alone.”

He could not bear the thought of her being with another man, either, could not abide the idea of another holding her in his arms, caressing her, possessing her. Only the certainty that she needed a man to watch over and protect her, and the knowledge that he would not be there to see it, made it bearable.

“All right, I promise. And now you must promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise you will stay at Hawksbridge when we return.”

“I cannot.” How had she known he intended to leave as soon as he saw her safely back home?

“Yes, you can. At least until . . .” She choked back a sob. “Until the transformation is complete. Please, let us spend every moment we have left together.”

“Very well, Kristine, I shall stay.”

She flung her arms around him then, her face pressed against his shoulder as she fought her tears.

“Kristine, ah my Kristine,” he murmured. “Please don't cry.”

The sound of his voice, the pain and regret he could not disguise, were her undoing. She wept bitter tears, crying for his pain and her heartache, for the separation that grew closer with each passing hour, cried until she fell asleep.

He held her close, watching as the stars slowly faded from the sky, winking out like tiny candles, felt the sting of tears in his own eyes as he accepted the fact that he would never hold her like this again.

Fidella roused them at dawn with the news that Caddaric had ascertained that the signs were favorable. It was time to leave.

“Please hurry,” she said. “He is most anxious to be away.”

“We will, thank you,” Kristine said. She smiled at the woman, then closed the door. Home. She was eager to go back to Hawksbridge, yet a little fearful of leaving the protection of the wizard's castle.

“Our breakfast has arrived,” Erik remarked.

“What? Oh.” Kristine shook her head as she saw the silver tray on the table. It was most disconcerting, having meals that appeared out of nowhere, fires that started with no visible means, lights that dimmed at the wave of an unseen hand.

Crossing the floor, she sat down at the table, which had also appeared by magic. She stared up at Erik, who was standing near the window, looking out. “Will you not eat, my lord husband?”

He shook his head. He had no appetite for food this morning, could think of nothing but the journey home. His mother would be waiting there. Kristine would not be alone.

He had much to do when he returned to Hawksbridge, and only a short time in which to do it. He would have to summon his solicitor. There were arrangements to be made in regard to Kristine and his mother and the child to ensure their welfare, papers to be signed while his hand could still hold a pen.

A knock at the door drew his attention. “Enter,” he said.

Caddaric opened the door and stepped into the room. He wore a long black cloak over his black robe. “It is time.” He glanced at Kristine. “Are you ready, my dear?”

Kristine nodded.

“Good. Come, take my hand. You, too, Erik.”

“I thought we were leaving.”

“We are.” He smiled benignly. “Did you think we would go by horse or carriage?” He shook his head. “Mortal travel is far too slow and too tiresome for these old bones.”

“I can't leave Misty,” Kristine said.

“No need to worry. Your mare and the stallion are already at Hawksbridge.” He extended his arms. “Come, we must away.”

“Have you done this before?” Kristine asked as she placed her hand in the wizard's.

“Many times.”

The wizard grasped their hands in his. “Now, you two must also join hands.”

Kristine's gaze met Erik's as their fingers entwined. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I you.”

“Ready?” Caddaric asked.

Kristine nodded, her hand tightening on Erik's as she felt the wizard's power flow into the room like the breath of a warm summer wind. There was a rushing sound, like the beating of mighty wings, an eerie sensation of being caught up in the middle of a storm. Breathless, she closed her eyes, her heart thundering in her breast, certain they were heading for destruction.

There was a whooshing sound, followed by a sudden calm, and when she opened her eyes again, they were in Erik's chamber.

“Oh, my,” Kristine murmured. “Oh, my.”

“Kristine?” Erik placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes worried as he studied her face. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I guess so.”

“That's my girl. Why don't you go tell my mother we've returned. And ask Mrs. Grainger to prepare a room for Caddaric.”

“Aren't you coming down?”

“No.”

“Erik . . .”

“Not now, Kristine. Caddaric, is there anything you need?”

“No. Will there be a problem if I wander around the estate?”

“No. Please, make my home yours.”

With a nod, Caddaric took his leave.

“Erik, why won't you come downstairs with me? I know your mother is anxious to see you.”

He shook his head. “I shall see her later. I have no wish to see anyone else. When you see Mrs. Grainger, tell her to send Chilton for my solicitor.”

“Your solicitor?”

“Please, Kristine, just do as I ask.”

It was rising between them again, that invisible wall that he hid behind when he wanted to distance himself from her.

“You remember your promise, Erik?”

“I remember.”

“Please don't shut me out of your life. Please let us spend whatever time we have left together.”

“It is not my intention to shut you out, Kristine, but . . .” He took a deep breath. How could he explain it to her, this need to withdraw, to pull away from those he loved most in hopes that, when the time came, it would be easier to bid them good-bye? “Please, go and do as I asked.”

She stared up at him for a long moment; then, with a sigh, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Is there anything you need?”

“No.”

“Very well.” She smiled at him, trying to pretend that everything was all right, and then she hurried out of the room before he could see her tears.

 

 

Caddaric walked through the castle. Starting from the lowest dungeon, he made his way upward, until he reached the upper rooms. It was a vast place, Hawksbridge Castle, filled with ancient memories and old ghosts. Battles had been fought here. Children had been born within these walls, some had died. An unfaithful wife had been murdered. Prisoners had died in the cold bowels of the dungeon. A servant had plunged to his death from a tower room.

The spirits of those who had perished within these walls brushed over his skin, clinging like cobwebs. Life and death, fealty and treachery, love and hatred, joy and sorrow, courage and cowardice, all the threads of life were here, woven into a tapestry as old as time itself.

He listened to the voices, to the cries of the dead, as he walked from room to room, casting a protective spell over the castle and all those who dwelled within its walls. Only Erik was beyond his protection. Erik, who was enthralled to Charmion's evil witchery.

Charmion. She would soon discover their absence from his holdings. He could well imagine her rage, knew she would pursue them, but to no avail. Unless she found a way to breach his protective wards, she could do no harm to those who resided within the walls of Hawksbridge Castle.

He sighed, weariness overtaking him as he put the last ward in place, wondering, even as he did so, if his magic was strong enough to repel Charmion's power.

In need of nourishment, he made his way down the long, winding stairway that led from the tower to the castle's first floor.

A delicious aroma drew him toward the back of the house, into a large dining room occupied by an elderly woman clad in a severe black gown. She looked up, startled, when he entered the room.

Caddaric bowed in her direction. “Good afternoon, madam,” he said. “I am Caddaric Delapre.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “Your reputation precedes you, sir.” She offered him her hand. “I am Edith Trevayne, Erik's mother. Please, join me. I have never met a wizard before.”

Caddaric sat down in the chair to her right, his hands folded in his lap.

“Would you care for something to eat?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

She rang a tiny silver bell; a moment later, a tall, thin woman entered the room. “Yes, my lady?”

“Judith, please bring Lord Caddaric some of that excellent roast beef we had for supper last evening, and a glass of wine.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Judith is a wonderful cook,” Edith remarked. “She's been with the family for years. I don't know what we would do without her.” She was babbling, she thought, talking of foolish, unimportant things because she lacked the courage to ask the question uppermost in her mind.

But he knew her thoughts. Gently, he took her hand in his. “My lady, I fear I can do nothing to help your son.”

“Nothing?”

Caddaric shook his head. “I'm sorry. Charmion's curse is all-encompassing. There is no way for me to reverse it or break it.”

“You're sure?”

Caddaric nodded. “Charmion is a most clever witch. Though it may be small consolation to you now, rest assured that I have done all in my power to seal your home against her dark magic.”

He squeezed her hand as tears welled in her eyes. Rarely had he felt so helpless or wished so fervently that he could ease the pain in another's heart. Never had he felt such a need to offer comfort.

Impulsively, he rose to his feet and drew her out of her chair and into his arms. “Weep if you must,” he murmured. “Often it is the only thing that helps.”

She shuddered in his embrace and then, as if his words had unleashed the floodgates of sorrow, she began to cry.

And he held her close, one hand lightly patting her back as he murmured inane words of comfort.

A discreet cough at the doorway warned him they were no longer alone.

“Forgive me, sir,” the cook said, her eyes wide. “I didn't mean to . . . I . . . that is . . . oh, my.” Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she dropped the tray she was carrying on the table and hurried out of the room.

“She has gone,” Caddaric said quietly.

“Whatever will she think?”

“Does it matter?”

Edith shook her head, suddenly embarrassed to find herself in a strange man's arms in the dining room in the middle of the day. But he didn't seem like a stranger; indeed, she felt as if she had been waiting for him all her life, as if everything that had gone before was simply a prelude to this moment.

“Edith.”

She looked up at him and wished she were younger, prettier.

Caddaric smiled down at her. “Are you by chance a witch yourself?”

She blinked the last of her tears from her eyes. “Me? A witch?”

“I fear you have cast a spell of your own.”

“You feel it, too?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

“I would have to be dead not to.”

She stared up at him. His was an arresting face, but it was his eyes that held her gaze, mild blue eyes that looked at her with tenderness and a touch of bewilderment. “How can this be? I'm an old woman. Too old to feel like this.”

Caddaric placed a finger beneath her chin. “But your heart is still young, my lady,” he murmured, and then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her.

Heat spread through her, warm as sunshine, and she knew she had, indeed, been waiting for this man her whole life.

Shaken to the very depths of his soul, Caddaric loosed a deep sigh as he broke the kiss. His brief affair with Charmion had soured him on the fair sex. Grateful to have survived that liaison with a whole skin, he had immersed himself in his magic, resigned to going through life alone, never knowing the love of a good woman. But this woman, with her clear gray eyes and heartbreakingly sad smile, ah, this fragile bit of femininity tempted him sorely.

“I think, madam, that when the time is right, you and I will have much to discuss.”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “When the time is right.”

And though neither spoke, they both feared the time would not be right until Charmion's curse had been fulfilled.