Beauty's Beast (23 page)

Caddaric settled comfortably into life at Hawksbridge Castle. To Kristine, it seemed as if the wizard had always been part of the household. He told them amusing tales at meals, entertained them with stories of his travels to the far corners of the world in his never-ending quest for knowledge.

Kristine did not miss the way Lady Trevayne's eyes lit up whenever Caddaric was in the room, or the way the wizard always managed to find an excuse to touch Lady Trevayne's arm, or her hand, or her shoulder. On more than one occasion, she had come upon the two of them in the library or the solar, sometimes deep in conversation, sometimes just sitting side by side in companionable silence. She envied them the closeness they shared.

She wondered what Erik thought about the romance blossoming between his mother and the wizard. Wondered if he had even noticed. He never left his room now, except late at night when the household was asleep. He refused to join them at meals or sit in the parlor with them in the evenings. It grieved her that he no longer came to her bed at night. She missed being held in his arms, missed falling asleep with him beside her. But what disturbed her most was that he had taken to locking the door that connected her room to his.

With a sigh, she glanced at Caddaric and Lady Trevayne. They sat facing each other over a small table, a chessboard between them. Feeling as though she were intruding on their privacy, she turned her attention back to the book in her lap, but the words made no sense. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't think of anything but Erik, alone in his room upstairs, denying himself the company of those who loved him. No one had seen him outside his room since they returned to Hawksbridge. He had spent an hour with his mother the night they returned to the castle. The next day, he had spent the entire afternoon with his solicitor.

Kristine closed the book and put it aside. Why was she sitting here when she wanted to be with him? Why had she let him shut her out when whatever time remained to them could now be measured in weeks, perhaps days?

Rising, she smiled at Lady Trevayne and Caddaric. “Good night.”

“Going to bed so early?” Lady Trevayne asked.

Kristine nodded.

“Are you all right, child?”

She nodded, blinking back the tears that were ever close to the surface these days.

“Good night, daughter.”

“Rest well, Kristine.”

“Good night,” she murmured, and hurried from the room.

She climbed the stairs carefully. At the top of the landing, she drew a deep breath, one hand pressed against the small of her back. She tired so easily these days. Lady Trevayne insisted she take a nap in the afternoon and another in the evening. Mrs. Grainger made her drink endless glasses of milk.

When her breathing was normal again, she walked down the corridor to Erik's room and knocked on the door. “Erik?” She waited a moment, then knocked again, louder. “Erik, are you awake?”

Still no answer. Concerned, she lifted the latch and peered inside. The room was empty. Frowning, she went to her own room and drew on a hooded cloak. Tiptoeing past the library, she went outside. It had snowed earlier. A smooth blanket of white covered the grounds, sparkling in the moonlight. Erik's footprints were easy to follow.

Lowering her head against the wind, she followed his tracks, lengthening her stride so she could step where he had stepped.

She found him standing near the pool in the center of the rose garden.

He stood with his back toward her, and she noticed he wore neither hat nor cloak nor boots, only a thick wool shirt and loose-fitting trousers.

“Erik?”

“You should not be out here, Kristine.”

“Neither should you. You must be freezing.”

“Freezing?” There was a note of bitter amusement in his voice. “When I have this thick fur coat to keep me warm?”

“Erik . . .”

“Kristine, go back to the house. There is nothing for you out here.”

“Don't say that. You must fight her, Erik, please. You can't just give up.”

He blew out a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his being. “You don't know,” he whispered, his voice gruff. “You cannot imagine how hard it is.”

He stiffened as he felt her hand on his back. Such a small hand, filled with such gentleness, such caring. Such love. He remembered his vow never to surrender to Charmion, never to give up. At the time, he hadn't thought the pain could get any worse, hadn't realized how strong the beast within him would become. His dreams were dark, filled with images of wolves running through the snow, of blood and death. Often, he dreamed of Valaree, only to wake feeling as though he had been unfaithful to Kristine. More and more, he felt the need to be outside, to shed his clothing and run wild through the night.

“Erik?”

Slowly, he turned to face her, and she saw that he wasn't wearing his mask. It was the first time she had known him to leave his room without it.

“Kristine.” His voice had grown deeper in the last few days. “Kristine.”

She looked into his eyes. A world of pain, of fear, of need, was reflected in the dark depths. Smothering a sob, she gathered him into her arms and held him tight.

“Hang on to me, Kristine,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Don't let me go.”

“Never! I'll never let you go.” She held him as tightly as she could, felt the tremors that wracked his body. She tried to imagine what he was feeling, what it must be like for him to know that he was losing a little bit more of himself with each passing day. She wished she could do something, anything, to keep the hideous change from spreading further, wished there was something she could do to ease his pain.

She felt the babe move within her womb. Their child should be born any day now. Nightly, she prayed that the baby would come before the curse reached its conclusion.

Erik drew away and placed his right hand over her belly, his fingers spread wide.

She looked up at him, felt her heart break when she saw the tears in his eyes, knew he, too, was hoping the babe would soon be born.

She shivered as the wind picked up. In the distance, she heard the long, lonely cry of a wolf.

He lifted his head, looking toward the sound. “It's Valaree.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

Kristine reached for his hand and held it tight. “Let's go back to the house. I'm cold.”

With a nod, he lifted her in his arms and carried her swiftly down the path toward the house.

Inside the back door, he paused. Almost as if he was sniffing the air, Kristine thought.

“My mother and Caddaric are in the parlor.” Gently, he placed Kristine on her feet.

When he turned to go back outside, she caught him by the hand yet again. “Don't run away from us, Erik. We love you.”

He lifted a hand to his face, then shook his head. “No.”

“You needn't hide from us. The servants have all gone to bed. There's no one to see you but us. Please. It's not good for you to be so alone.”

For a moment, she thought he would refuse; then, with a sigh, he placed his hand in hers.

Lady Trevayne looked up as they entered the room, her surprise at seeing her son evident in her eyes. “Erik.”

“Mother.”

“I'm so very glad you're here. Come, sit beside me.”

Feeling self-conscious, he padded across the floor and sat down on the damask-covered sofa. Kristine followed him, taking the seat on his other side.

He drew a deep breath and loosed it in a long, slow sigh, aware of their eyes upon him, aware that they were trying not to stare at his feet, his left hand, his face. He was a freak, he thought bitterly, a thing to be stared at, pitied. Anger boiled up inside him, and with it an urge to strike out against them, to rail against the fate that had brought him to this. And then he saw the tears in his mother's eyes, felt Kristine's gentle touch on his arm, and the anger drained out of him.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he looked at the wizard. “How long will you be staying?”

Caddaric glanced at Edith before answering. “I'm not sure. Do you wish me to leave?”

“No. If it would not be an imposition, I should very much like for you to stay until . . . until I can no longer take care of my own affairs. When that time comes, I would consider it a great favor if you would make certain that my wishes are carried out as planned.”

“You needn't worry,” Caddaric said. “I shall stay as long as necessary.”

“My thanks.”

“I only wish I could do more for you.”

“Nothing can be done for me. My only worry now is for my family.”

Caddaric looked over at Edith again. She met his gaze, a faint smile curving her lips, and then she nodded.

“You need have no fear. I have asked your mother to be my wife,” the wizard said. “And she has accepted.”

“Oh, but that's wonderful,” Kristine exclaimed softly, and then she looked at Erik, wondering how he would take the news.

“I hope we can have your blessing,” Caddaric said.

“You have it,” Erik replied. He took his mother's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I hope the two of you will be happy.”

“Thank you,” Edith replied. “We had thought to wait until . . . to wait, but now, if you have no objection, we should like to be wed tomorrow afternoon.”

“On Christmas Day,” Erik murmured. He felt a rush of guilt at having denied Kristine and the household the chance to celebrate, but he'd been so caught up in his own misery, he'd given no thought to the holiday.

Edith nodded. “And I should very much like for you to give the bride away.”

“I would be honored to do so.” Erik lifted his mother's hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I hope you will be happy this time.”

“I shall take good care of her,” Caddaric promised.

Erik nodded. “I know you will.” He gave his mother a hug, then stood up and crossed the floor to shake the wizard's hand. “It will be easier for me, knowing they have someone to look after them,” he said, his voice gruff, and then, without another word, he left the room.

Edith stared after him, tears running down her cheeks. Kristine blinked back tears of her own when Caddaric knelt beside Edith and took her hands in his, and then she hurried after Erik.

She found him in his room, staring out the window. “Are you upset?” she asked. “About the marriage?”

“No, I am glad of it. My mother deserves some happiness in her life.”

“What do you mean?”

“She never loved my father, nor did he love her. It was a marriage arranged by their parents.”

Kristine placed a hand over her belly, grateful for the child she carried, for the love she felt for its father. She understood now why Lady Trevayne's eyes had once held such sadness. She had been wed to a man she didn't love, had seen her oldest son killed in an accident. And now Erik . . . Erik.

She crossed the floor to stand behind him, slid her arms around his waist, and laid her cheek against his back. “I love you.”

He swallowed hard as he placed his right hand over her arm. “And I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone else. More than my life.”

Slowly, he turned and drew her into his arms. “You are a most remarkable woman, Kristine. So lovely, so brave.”

“Brave? Me?” She shook her head. “I'm so afraid of losing you.”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “In spite of everything else that has happened, I am glad of this last year we've shared.”

It had been the worst year of his life, and the best. Before Kristine, he'd had nothing to live for, had been resigned to his fate. And then he had found her, and she had turned his life upside down. The thought of losing her was tearing him apart, and yet he would not have missed the time they had spent together. Because of her, he had known love for the first time in his life. Because of her, he had an heir. Because of her, he would not be forgotten.

“It grows late,” he said at last. “You should get some sleep.”

“In all the time we have been together, you have never stayed the night with me, my lord husband. Do you not think it is time?”

“Past time, perhaps,” he replied, amazed anew that she did not find him repulsive, that she did not turn away from the sight of his face, from the horror that was spreading over his body.

He watched her disrobe, his gaze moving lovingly over her slender form, lingering on the swell of her belly. She was beautiful, so beautiful.

She slid into bed, waiting for him to join her. Crossing the floor, he extinguished the light beside his bed, then slipped out of his shirt and trousers.

She was watching him, waiting for him, her eyes shining with love and acceptance.

He had never thought to hold her close again. With a sigh, he slid into bed beside her and drew her into his arms. She cradled him to her breast as if he were a child, her hand stroking his hair.

There were no bad dreams that night.

Erik sought out Caddaric in the morning. He found the wizard in the tower rooms he had taken for his own.

“We have more comfortable chambers than this,” Erik remarked, glancing around.

Caddaric shrugged. “Surely you must know I can make this as comfortable as I wish.”

Erik nodded. At the moment, the room was furnished with only a large desk made of dark red wood and a matching chair. The white raven perched on the windowsill.

“Have you come to speak of my marriage to your mother?”

“No.”

“It does not displease you, then?”

“I think you will be good for her,” Erik replied. He regarded the wizard a moment. “And that she will be good for you.”

“She told me of her marriage to your father, that it was not a happy one. That he was, on occasion, unkind to her.”

“Unkind? He beat her when he was angry. And when he was young, he was often angry.”

“And yet you vowed to give him an heir.”

“It was his dying wish,” Erik said flatly. “I could not deny him.”

“So, what would you have of me this day?”

“When I am fully a beast, will Charmion still have power over me?”

Caddaric frowned. “I'm not sure I understand your question.”

“You said your magic would not work on me because I was under her power. Will I still be under her power when her spell is accomplished?”

“I cannot say for certain, but I would think that her power would be even stronger once the transformation is complete.”

“Is there nothing you can do to render me invulnerable to her dark magic?”

“Invulnerable?” The wizard stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful. “Why? Do you think she will decide to turn you into a toad?”

“I don't know. I only know that Kristine and my child will not be safe so long as Charmion lives.”

“Ah.” Understanding sparkled in the wizard's eyes. “Do you truly think you can destroy her?”

“I don't know, but I intend to try.”

“It will not be easy. She rarely leaves Cimmerian Crag.”

“I will go to her.”

“And do what?”

“Become her pet, as she intended. I will crawl on my belly, and lick her feet, and do whatever else she asks of me.”

The wizard nodded slowly. “It is a plan so simple, so wise, it may very well work. And yet it is not without risk. Should you fail, her vengeance will most likely be swift and cruel.”

Erik lifted his left hand. “More cruel than this?”

“I shall see if I can conjure a spell that will offer you some measure of protection, but it is doubtful. And even should I find one, there would be no way to prove its effectiveness until you are face-to-face with Charmion, and then it will be too late.”

“It is a risk I am willing to take.”

To the wizard's credit, he did not try to dissuade him. “I shall protect Kristine and your mother with my life. Do not fear for their safety.”

“You will not tell either of them we had this conversation.” It was not a question.

“No.”

With a nod, Erik left the tower room.

Caddaric stared after the lord of Hawksbridge Castle, thinking he had never known a man of such courage.

With a sigh, he went to his desk and sat down. “So, my Fidella,” he said. “We must find a spell that will withstand Charmion's power. But first we must bring a bit of Christmas cheer to this sad household.”

Cawing softly, the white raven flew across the room to perch on the wizard's shoulder.

 

 

Kristine couldn't believe her eyes when she went downstairs late that morning. Christmas had come to Hawksbridge. An enormous tree trimmed with glittering baubles, silver garlands, and tiny candles stood in one corner of the great hall. Smaller trees were scattered around the room. Vases filled with flowers that didn't bloom in the winter added splashes of color to the room. Garlands of holly draped the walls. A fire crackled in the hearth.

After a quick look around, Kristine ran up to Erik's room. “Erik, you must come downstairs, now!”

The door opened a crack. “Is something wrong?”

Reaching through the doorway, she tugged on his arm. “Come! You have to see this!”

Unable to resist the excitement in her voice or his own curiosity, Erik allowed her to lead him downstairs.

For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming. But one look at the broad grin on Caddaric's face and Erik knew the wizard had been hard at work.

His mother, sitting at Caddaric's side, smiled at him. “Merry Christmas, Erik.”

He nodded. “And to you, as well.”

“It's wonderful!” Kristine exclaimed. “Caddaric, did you do this?”

“Of course he did,” Erik muttered. “We have our own Father Christmas.”

“Guilty as charged,” the wizard said. “So, what shall it be first? Breakfast? Or . . .” He waved his hand and several gaily wrapped packages materialized under the tree. “Presents?”

Kristine and Edith looked at each other. “Presents!” they exclaimed.

The gifts were opened quickly—a delicate silk scarf and a pair of gloves for Edith, a pair of warm slippers for Kristine, a robe for Erik, a new cloak for Caddaric.

When Caddaric and Edith went to see about breakfast, Erik reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver box. Handing it to Kristine, he said, “This one is from me.”

“What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

Trembling with excitement, Kristine lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bit of blue velvet, was a silver filigree heart on a slender silver chain. “Oh, Erik,” she breathed. “It's exquisite.” She quickly put it on. “How does it look?”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling brighter than the candles on the tree, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Taking his hand in hers, she pressed it to her breast. “Thank you, Erik. I'll wear it always.”

 

 

Erik felt his throat tighten later that day as he watched his mother become Caddaric's wife. Kristine stood at his side, her hand in his, while silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

Seated behind them in the small chapel, he heard Mrs. Grainger sobbing quietly. Her husband and sons sat around her. Leyla and Lilia sat across the aisle from the Graingers, tears welling in their eyes. The white raven perched on the back of the front pew, amber eyes unblinking as the wizard repeated his wedding vows.

Erik felt Kristine's hand squeeze his, knew she was remembering the day she had become his bride. Did she ever regret it, he wondered as he squeezed her hand in return. He slid a glance at her, thinking, as always, how beautiful she was, how precious she had become to him. The sea-green gown she wore made her eyes glow like emeralds. Her hair gleamed like fine gold in the light of the candles. It was long enough now that he could see how wondrous and thick it had once been. He would have liked to see her hair before it had been cut, to have held her in his arms clad in nothing but the mantle of her hair, to have felt the silky fall of golden tresses slide over his skin when they made love.

He shook the thought aside. It was useless to wish for that which could never be. He closed his eyes as the priest offered a prayer, and added one of his own, giving thanks for the woman beside him, for the love she had given him, for the child she carried beneath her heart. No matter what the future held for him, he knew that, man or beast, he would always carry the memory of Kristine's love.

The priest said the final amen and Erik watched as his mother embraced her new husband. Never had he seen his mother look so happy, so serene. She smiled as she turned toward him.

“Be happy, my mother,” he murmured, and enfolded her in his arms.

“Thank you, Erik.”

He held her close for a long moment, regretting again that he had sent her from him, that he had denied himself the comfort she might have offered him. One more regret, when he already had so many.

He released her so that Kristine could offer her own good wishes, and then they left the chapel to partake of the supper Mrs. Grainger had prepared.

Erik sat at the head of the table, his mask again in place in deference to the priest and the household staff. He declined anything to eat, merely sipped a glass of wine.

He knew, without knowing how he knew, that the curse would be fulfilled before morning, and so he sat there, his gaze on Kristine's face, imprinting her image firmly in his mind, memorizing the sound of her voice, her laughter, knowing he would have only his memories to sustain him in the long, lonely days ahead.

 

 

Kristine woke slowly, smiling as she felt the baby move. Soon, she thought, soon her child would be born. Knowing how Erik loved to feel their baby move, she reached for his hand, only to realize that she was alone in bed.

Where had he gone off to so early, she wondered and then, with a sigh, she closed her eyes, remembering the night past. He had held her tenderly, his dark eyes filled with love. He had caressed her, his hand gentle, not to arouse her, but simply, he had said, for the pleasure of touching her. They had looked at each other and smiled as the baby gave a vigorous kick. Though the curse was much in their thoughts, they had not spoken of it. Instead, they had spun dreams for the future, dreams they had both known would not come true. Later she had fallen asleep in his arms.

Suddenly overcome by the need to see him, she slid out of bed. She was reaching for her robe when she saw the note on her dressing table.

Her name, written in Erik's bold hand, was written across the top. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she picked up the letter.

The words ended in a scrawl and a splash of ink.

She frowned, wondering why the letter ended so abruptly and then, with a cold, clear certainty, she knew. Slowly, feeling as though she were caught in the icy grip of a nightmare, she turned around.

He was lying on the floor at the far side of the bed, his great black head resting on his paws.

The letter fell from her fingers as she wrapped her arms around her belly. A sob rose in her throat as she stared down at him. His eyes, still gray, still
his
eyes, looked up at her.

“Erik, oh Erik.”

He whined low in his throat.

She shook her head, not wanting to believe, praying that she was having a bad dream, that she would awake to find him sleeping beside her.

Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Erik,” she whispered.

He whined again. The sound tore at her heart and she buried her face in his fur. Tears stung her eyes and burned her throat, coming faster and faster, until she thought she might cry into eternity.

He whined again, and then she felt the rough velvet of his tongue on her face, licking her tears.

Slowly, she sat up. “It is you, isn't it?” She shook her head as she stared into the dark gray eyes she knew so well. He was there, inside the wolf's body. “All this time, I knew it was going to happen, and still I hoped it would not.”

How did it feel, she wondered, to be able to think like a man, to know you were a man, and be trapped inside the body of a wolf? She could not imagine the horror of it.

She didn't know how long she sat there, her mind numb, tears running down her cheeks as she stroked the thick fur. She couldn't seem to stop crying. It seemed so impossible that this huge black wolf could be the man she loved.

A knock at the door propelled her to her feet. Dashing the tears from her eyes, she called, “Who is it?”

“Nan. Mrs. Grainger sent me to tell you that breakfast will be ready shortly. She asked me to see if you would be coming down to join Lady Trevayne, I mean Lady Caddaric, and the wizard.”

“No. Please send something up. And Nan, would you ask Mrs. Grainger to send up a good portion of the roast beef we had for dinner last night?”

“Roast beef, ma'am? For breakfast?”

“Just do it, Nan, please.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Feeling numb inside, Kristine took off her sleeping gown and put on a day dress of dark gray silk. She was ever conscious of the wolf—of Erik—lying on the floor, his eyes watching her every move.

How long would he stay here, she wondered. How long before he forgot who he was? Would he seek out Valaree and her family? It pained her to know that he would probably be happier with the werewolf clan than here, with her.

She placed a hand over her belly as she felt the baby's lusty kick.
Poor little babe
, she thought.
Never to know your father. How shall I ever explain it to you?

“Lady Kristine?”

She opened the door to Caddaric. His gaze searched her face. “It's happened, hasn't it?”

She nodded and stepped back so he could enter the room.

Caddaric drew a sharp breath as Erik stood up. “Have you tried talking to him?” the wizard asked. “Does he understand you?”

“I don't know.”

“Erik, bark once if you understand me.”

The wolf barked once, his gray eyes filled with frustration and anger.

“I cannot bear it,” Kristine said softly. “Is there nothing you can do?”