Beauty's Beast (25 page)

It started at midmorning, a dull ache low in her back, gradually escalating, until she knew it wasn't just another pain, but the onset of labor.

She rang for Leyla and Lilia, who smiled and patted her hands, then went to gather fresh linens.

Edith and Caddaric came to sit with her, but it was Erik she wanted. Erik she needed. Wolf or man, he was her husband and she needed him beside her.

“I want Erik.” She clasped Edith's hands in hers. “Please, I want Erik.”

Edith sent the two silent women from the room. “Bring him,” she told her husband. “If it will ease her mind to have him here, then bring him.”

Caddaric shook his head. “How can you suggest I bring him here? We know not how he will react to her cries, or to the scent of blood.”

But as the hours passed and Kristine's labor grew more intense, when she writhed helplessly on the bed, crying Erik's name, screaming Erik's name, the wizard relented. A wave of his hand brought the wolf to Kristine's bedside.

Erik rested his head on the edge of the mattress, eyes closed as Kristine's hand moved restlessly over his head, clutched the fur at his neck as another contraction ripped through her. It grieved him to see her in pain, to hear her soft cries. He damned Charmion for the hideous curse she had placed on him, railed at the fate that had transformed him into a beast, making it impossible for him to hold his wife's hand, to speak words of assurance and comfort to her, to promise her that all would be well.

Mute, he stared at her, at the perspiration that dampened her brow, at the lines of stress and pain around her eyes and mouth, and wished he could endure the pain in her place.

Fear engulfed him as he recalled the last time he had watched a woman labor to bring forth his child. Kristine's whimpering tore at his heart, reminding him of Dominique's last, heart-wrenching cries.

Lifting his head, he howled his frustration, felt Kristine's hand stroke his head.

“It will be all right,” she said. “I will not leave you as she did.”

Whining low in his throat, he licked her hand, howled again as she cried out in pain.

After another half a dozen contractions that he was sure would rip Kristine in two, the child was born.

The scent of the blood, the afterbirth, filled his nostrils and he backed away from the bed, watching as Edith bathed the child, then wrapped it in a soft blanket and laid the babe in its mother's arms.

He growled, drawing the wizard's attention.

“'Tis a healthy girl,” the mage said.

A girl. As Charmion had predicted. Erik padded toward the bed and placed one paw on the edge of the mattress.

Kristine blinked back her tears as she lifted the child so Erik could see his daughter. “I shall call her Erika, after her father.”

Erika. She was tiny and perfect, with dark blue eyes and thick black hair. Rising on his haunches, his forelegs resting on the mattress, he breathed in the child's scent, then gently licked one tiny dimpled hand.

“She is beautiful, isn't she?” Kristine murmured.

“You should rest now, daughter,” Edith said.

Kristine nodded. “Erik . . .”

“I'll look after him,” Caddaric said.

“Let him stay.”

“Kristine, he'll be safer back in the dungeon.”

“No. He doesn't like being locked up.”

“It's for the best.”

“No.”

Caddaric took a deep breath, prepared to argue as long as necessary, when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” Edith called. “What is it?”

“A message,” Nan replied. “From Lady Charmion.”

A low growl rumbled in Erik's throat at the mention of the witch's name.

“What is the message?” Caddaric asked.

“She wishes to see the child.”

“Where is she?”

“She is without the gates, awaiting your reply.”

Caddaric blew out a sigh of relief. If she was outside the castle, then the wards he had put in place were holding. “Did she say anything else?”

“No, my lord.”

“She wasted no time in getting here,” Caddaric muttered.

“What will we do now?” Edith asked.

Caddaric shook his head. “Kristine, are you sure you want to do this?”

Tears spilled down Kristine's cheeks as she brushed a kiss across her daughter's brow. Of course she didn't want to do this, she thought, but what other choice did she have? She looked at Erik. Hackles raised, teeth bared, he paced the length of the room, back and forth, back and forth.

“Kristine?”

“Yes,” she said. “I'm sure. Tell her . . . tell her we will meet her tomorrow night, in the chapel.”

The wolf shook his head, a growl rising from deep within his throat. Padding toward the door, he barked, then scratched the wood, obviously wanting to be let out.

“Perhaps you had better send him back to the dungeon,” Kristine said.

Caddaric nodded. “I think that would be for the best,” he said. A wave of his hand, and the wolf vanished from sight. “And I think tomorrow morning might be better for our purposes. Evil is not so strong in the light of a new day.”

“Very well,” Kristine said. “Nan, tell Lady Charmion we will meet her in the chapel at ten tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“After you have delivered the message to Lady Charmion,” Edith said, “please send Leyla and Lilia up with clean bedding and a cup of hot tea laced with chamomile.”

“Yes, my lady,” Nan replied.

“The chapel at Hawksbridge Cross,” Edith remarked after the maid left the room. “It was one of Dominique's favorite places. She often went there to meditate.” Edith glanced out the window. “I can feel the witch's presence,” she said, shivering. “It hangs over the castle like thick black smoke.”

Caddaric nodded. “Aye. It is her evil magic you feel. She is testing the wards, searching for a weakness. Pray she finds none.”

 

 

Erik paced the floor of the dungeon. Occasionally, he threw his weight against the iron door. The civilized part of his mind told him it was futile, a waste of time and energy. But another part—the savage part that yearned to run wild and free through the woods, the part that compelled wolves to gnaw off a foot rather than remain in a trap—that part compelled him to try.

A low whine rose in his throat as he hurled his body against the door. He wanted to be with Kristine. He wanted to be able to hold his daughter. He wanted to sink his teeth into Charmion's throat.

The man he had been warred with the beast he had become.

He howled and howled again, the feral cry filled with rage and frustration, his anger and his helplessness rising, growing stronger.

The mournful cry rang off the walls and echoed through the stone passageway.

Kristine . . .

Kristine held her daughter all through the night, memorizing the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, wondering if her eyes would stay blue, or turn green, like her own.

“You will never know how much I love you,” Kristine murmured. “Never know how wonderful your father is. Charmion will tell you lies, but I hope you won't believe them. I hope you will know that I would never have sent you away if I'd had any other choice, but I must do it, my darling child. It is the only way to save your father from Charmion's curse.” Tears burned Kristine's eyes. “And I love him so much. Too much to leave him as he is. I hope that someday, when you are older, you will understand and forgive me.”

As I must forgive my own mother.

Slowly, the hours of night turned to day.

Leyla and Lilia brought her a tray, but she had no appetite.

Edith came in to see if there was aught she could do.

Kristine refused help with Erika. She bathed her daughter, dressed her in a clean gown. Conscious of the minutes quickly ticking away, she kissed each tiny finger and toe, caressed her daughter's cheeks, stroked the fine silk of her hair.

Too soon, the clock chimed the quarter hour and it was time to go meet the witch.

Kristine wrapped her daughter in a blanket and then, with Caddaric and Edith following her, she made her way to the dungeon.

Erik howled when he saw her. The feral cry tore at her heart. As clearly as if he had spoken, she heard his words in her mind:
No, Kristine. You must not do this.
But it was the only way to save him.

Caddaric unlocked the cell and they all stepped inside, closing the door so Erik could not get out. Caddaric slipped a collar over Erik's head and attached a thick rope, and then they formed a circle around Erik. Caddaric glanced at each of them, then lifted his arms and began to chant.

Darkness surrounded Kristine. She clutched Erika close to her breast, her senses reeling.

When she came to herself again, she was standing in front of the altar in the chapel. Edith and Caddaric stood beside her.

Kristine glanced around, then looked at Caddaric. “Where is Erik?”

“In the cellar.”

A moment later, the priest entered the chapel.

Kristine hugged her daughter and then, blinking back her tears, she handed the child to the priest. No sooner had she done so than she felt a dark sense of foreboding.

Between one thought and the next, Charmion stood before them. Her dark gaze swept over the child in the priest's arms. “Give her to me.”

“Not until Erik stands here before me as a man,” Kristine said.

“The child first.”

“No,” Kristine said. “Caddaric, take us home. We waste our time here.”

Charmion glared at Kristine, her gaze malevolent. “Where is the beast?”

“Erik is in the cellar.”

“Summon him.”

Caddaric waved his hand and Erik stood before them, teeth bared, hackles raised. He crouched, a growl rising in his throat. Caddaric quickly grabbed the rope affixed to the wolf's collar to keep him from lunging at the witch.

“Change him,” Kristine demanded.

“I cannot,” Charmion said. Evil laughter filled the air as she plucked the child from the arms of the priest and quickly murmured a spell that bound them together. “Try to harm me,” she said to Caddaric, “and you harm the child.”

Kristine looked at Caddaric. “What is she saying? You said her magic would be of no effect in a sacred place!”

“I am sorry, Kristine. This is something I did not foresee.”

“What are you saying?”

“Her evil is of no effect, but the spell she has cast is not evil. It is a spell of protection and she has used it to bind the child to her. Any harm that befalls her now befalls the child as well.”

“No.” Kristine shook her head. “No!”

The wolf strained against the leash. It took all Caddaric's strength to hold him in check.

“A wolf you are,” Charmion said, cackling. “A wolf you will ever remain.”

“No!” Kristine's anguished cry filled the chapel. “No!”

Charmion nodded, her eyes dark with evil delight. And then, slowly, her eyes widened and she took a step backward. “No,” she gasped. “No, it cannot be.” The color drained from her face, and she shook her head back and forth in violent denial. “No. No. No!”

As one, Kristine, Caddaric, and Edith turned to see what was causing the witch such anguish.

Charmion's cries turned into a dull moaning as she clutched the child to her breast.

Kristine stared at the vision floating in the air above her, unable to believe her eyes. A beautiful young woman clad in a long white gown hovered near the altar. The light from a dozen candles shimmered from two candelabras, but the candlelight paled in comparison to the ethereal glow that shone all around the woman. Rich, dark hair framed a pale oval face. Her eyes were bluer than the sea, filled now with silent condemnation as she gazed at the witch.

The wolf whined low in its throat.

“Dominique.” The name was a tortured whisper on Charmion's lips.

Kristine drew a deep breath. Erik's first wife.

The wolf tugged against the rope in Caddaric's

hand and the wizard let him go.

“Erik.” The woman hovering near the altar held out her hand and the wolf went to her, rubbing its head against her thigh. She ran her hand over his head, her eyes filled with unbearable sorrow, and then she fixed her gaze on her mother's face. “What have you done?”

“No.” Charmion shook her head. “It cannot be. It cannot be.”

Dominique smiled at the wolf, her expression one of such tender love and devotion, it brought tears to Kristine's eyes.

“Erik. My husband. I know you never loved me as I loved you. I thought you incapable of such a tender emotion.” She glanced at Erik's daughter. “Yet even though you never loved me, I see that you love this child, as you would have loved our own.” A single tear slid down her cheek. “I forgive you for not loving me, my husband. I forgive you with my whole heart and soul. I loved you in life. I love you now. I will love you . . . forever.”

Dominique's gaze settled on her mother's face again. “But you . . .” She shook her head, her eyes filled with reproach. “Unless you return the child to her father, I will never forgive you for what you have done. Not in this life. Not in the next.”

Her image faded, her voice grew distant, and she was gone.

Kristine stared at Erik, her eyes wide, her breath trapped in her throat as the wolf transformed, his body stretching, changing, until he stood naked before them, tall and strong and perfect. And human.

Erik's gaze moved over all of them. And then, without a word, he went to stand before Charmion. She stared up at him a moment, her face as pale as death, and then she placed the child in his arms.

A wave of her hand, and the witch was gone.

“Erika.” He murmured his daughter's name aloud for the first time. “Erika.”