Taming the Beast (12 page)

You were
, a small voice reminded him.
Who had a care for
your
childhood? Not your father. Not Harliss. Not your poor, young-dead mother
. But he shut the voice behind the heavy, black door beyond which it lived.

If Michaela Fortune had been so heartbroken by Alan Tornfield, and if she was as impossible and headstrong as Hugh related, Roderick did not see her returning to his cousin anytime soon. And besides, Miss Fortune need learn that no one commanded the Cherbon Devil. Not now, and not ever again.

The morrow's noon would find her waiting.

It was a strange feeling, sitting in the great hall at the lord's table all alone. The room was beginning to look much improved already since Michaela's arrival, ten days past: the stacks of tables and benches and armchairs at the far end were no more, the furniture now pulled out, polished and orderly before her. Candelabras shone from the center of each table, only waiting for a flame, along with small pots of lavender and rosemary each to either side. The floor was not only cleanly swept, but had been recently washed, and the room smelled a little like a wet cave—the scent was not unpleasant, but made Michaela shiver all the same, as if remembering some old nightmare.

The fire in the massive, square open hearth in the floor crackled at an acceptable level, built so that it could be grown at a moment's notice. She had ordered new draperies for the walls to adorn the whitewashing between the plaster murals, but they would not be ready for several weeks. She was content enough though, not having to look upon sweeping cobwebs, macabre swags of dead vines, and the black smudges of old soot.

So the great hall was well on its way to being restored to what Michaela suspected was its former glory—it was clean, orderly, and smelled pleasant. But it was obnoxiously empty.

It was noon, at least, she guessed. Likely much later than noon, were she to be honest with herself. Michaela had been sitting at the table for the better part of an hour, waiting for the appearance of Roderick Cherbon, with no luck at all. He had sent no reply to her message, either yea or nay, and so she had gathered up her optimism and waited. She must speak to him, about her duties, their future, Sir Hugh, Leo…everything. She was more than a little proud of herself for outlasting by far any other woman who had come to Cherbon, and she felt it was now past the time of initiation, when she should be granted the privilege of an audience with the lord of the demesne. Not an unreasonable request, and one that she thought she was owed after the hell Cherbon's other residents had put her through.

And still she sat alone, facing the doorway she expected him from, as the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into another long, tense hour. Servants passed through the hall on swift, busied feet, and a pair of them had even inquired of her needs—a great improvement from ten days past. Still, Michaela was beginning to feel quite foolish the longer she sat alone, with no obvious purpose in the room, and no task to busy her hands.

What would she do if he simply did not come? If he cared so little that he would ignore her request? What would she do? Leave Cherbon? And what? Return to the Fortune hold until the family was thrown out?

Would she go back to Tornfield? To Alan, to sweet, lovely Elizabeth? How she missed them all, here in this dark, hopelessly grand castle, full of shadowy past.

Then the sound of hinges squeaking drew her attention, but not to the corridor she faced. The main entrance door to the hall opened behind her and she turned in her seat, wondering at the change in Roderick Cherbon's habits, to be out and about the keep grounds before dark. Michaela felt a queer mixture of dread and relief that she was at last to meet her intended.

But contrary to the twisted monster of her imagination that rumors had led Michaela to expect, it was a quite able-bodied man who entered Cherbon's hall. A blond, mustachioed man, sweeping aside his rain-dampened cloak as he strode swiftly down the main aisle of tables toward her. A handsome man, with his jaw set, his eyes pinned to her.

It was Alan Tornfield.

“You will gather your belongings immediately,” he said to her before he had even come to stand before the table, his voice surprisingly angry and unlike anything she had ever heard from him. “If you hurry, we can be returned to Tornfield before nightfall.”

Michaela sat staring dumbly at him for a moment, at once not believing he stood in Cherbon's hall and at the same time so very happy to see him. “What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.

“Don't be ridiculous, Michaela—I've come to fetch you home. Now, do please hurry.” He then walked around the table and reached down to seize her hand in his warm, strong fingers, and tugged her. His eyes darted to the far corners of the room. “Come—where is your chamber? I shall help you.”

And then the memory of when she'd last seen Alan Tornfield crashed back upon her, and she snatched her hand away, leaving Alan to walk a pair of steps before realizing he no longer had hold of her.

“I will do no such thing! You have assumed too much, my lord, if you think me to accompany you anywhere, especially to Tornfield to reside alongside
your new wife!
”

Alan threw his hands up in the air. “So that
is
why you've run away!”

Michaela gaped at him. “Was there ever any question in your mind, the reason why? And I did not run away, I simply left! After the humiliating blow you dealt me before all the land, can you fault me?”

“No, you
ran away
, not giving me the chance to explain or the courtesy of a farewell!”

“Oh!” Michaela shrieked and shot to her feet. “You would speak to me of courtesy? Truly? Were you courteous when you decided to marry that wretched woman and bring her into
our home
without so much as a hint to me or your daughter?”

Alan stormed back toward her, his eyes afire. “I did what I did for us—for
you!
” he insisted, slamming his knuckles down on the tabletop before her. “Yes, Lady Juliette convinced me of the scheme, I admit—her own funds were aught that would save Tornfield! If I had taken you for my wife, Michaela, and Roderick had married, how would our dues be paid, hmm? That lucky ring you wear 'round your neck, mayhap? Is it made of gold? Is it silvered?”

Michaela was so furious and hurt, she could not gather a sufficient response before Alan continued.

“No. No, it's not. And then Roderick would have demanded his due, as is his right, and where would that have left us, Michaela? Tossed out of Tornfield Manor, that's where. Penniless. Who would care for us, support us, then? Who would care for your parents? My Elizabeth?

“But now, we can be free, without poverty's shadow haunting us ever again! All you have to do is come home. Come home with me, Michaela.”

“I can not—I
will not
—love another woman's husband.”

“You prefer Roderick over me, then? Is that it? A malformed beast of a man who would take you as his wife only out of desperation?”

“Is that not why you married Juliette? Out of desperation? Or are you in love with her?”

“It is not the same.”

“It is.”

Alan shook his head. “It isn't,” he said quietly. “I know you, Michaela. Unlike any other who walks this earth do I know you. I know your mind, your dreams—”

“Stop it!”

“—your heart. Roderick can never care for you the way I do, not if given a hundred lifetimes to try. I know that, as well.”

“You are right. He will never care for me the way you claim to because he will make me his
wife!
You don't know what it's like, Alan, to live your entire life on the edge of acceptance, never being invited in or wanted despite who or what you are. Yes, Roderick Cherbon would likely have taken any of the other women who came to this keep had they stayed. But they did not stay, and
I
am here now, and I believe there is a reason for that. That is all that matters to me.”

“What of Elizabeth? Would you see her punished for my sins? An innocent girl who loves you like she has loved no other woman save her own mother?”

“Get out.”

“What do I tell her, Michaela? That you care so little for either of us that you'd choose the Cherbon Devil over us?”

“Get out!”

“She loves you. And I know you love me—I can see it in your eyes.” To her surprise, Alan dropped suddenly to his knees before her, and took one of her hands in both of his. “Please, Michaela. Please. I beg you—come back to Tornfield with me.”

Michaela stared down at the handsome face she'd grown so accustomed to, his features blurred by the tears in her eyes. Wasn't this what she'd always wanted from Alan? A confession of love, a helpless plea for her to return to Tornfield?

“You only want me now because I am here, Alan,” she whispered, and each word pained her for its truthfulness. “It's not about how you or Elizabeth feel about me really—it's about Cherbon. It's always been Cherbon.”

His brows lowered and he opened his mouth, but before Alan could speak, a rude bark of laughter from beyond him caused Michaela to jump and raise her eyes, spilling tears down her cheeks.

 

Sir Hugh Gilbert rocked on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. “How touching. He's skipped the gifts and minstrels and went straight on to barging into your home himself, Rick. I believe I do stand corrected.”

At Hugh's side stood a massive, crooked figure in a long black cloak and hood, like a giant Grim Reaper, shadowed and frightening and dangerous. All that was missing was a gleaming scythe and glowing red eyes.

Michaela realized she was seeing Roderick Cherbon for the first time, and her breath caught in her chest like a barbed hook.

He had not ignored her after all.

Roderick ignored Hugh's sardonic words, too caught up with the sight of his physically perfect cousin—his rival for Cherbon and now, very obviously, Michaela Fortune—kneeling before the woman in his own hall.

She was in the same gown she'd worn the day she'd arrived, her hand still gripped by a surprised and foolish-looking Alan Tornfield. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and each streak slashed outrageous fury in Roderick.

Speak, you fool!
he told himself.

But the sniveling man on the floor beat him to it, as he rose and turned toward Roderick, and the shock on his face as his eyes blatantly roamed Roderick's costume was humiliatingly apparent. He dropped his eyes to the side and bowed stiffly.

“Lord Cherbon, forgive me this intrusion.”

“I will not,” Roderick managed to growl at last, and he was dismayed at the gravelly, choked sound of his words. His voice belonged to a monster. “What business have you at Cherbon?”

Hugh swept a hand between the two men. “Why, he's obviously come to pay the dues he owes, Rick! Why else would a man, so deeply in debt to his overlord, dare come within a stone's throw of his sire's keep? He'd be daft!”

Roderick knew this was not the case, and he knew Hugh recognized it as well. But for once, Roderick felt inclined to go along with Hugh's childish goading.

“Leave your coin and go then,” Roderick invited. “I do not hold court this day.”

To Roderick's delight, Tornfield looked instantly uneasy. “I have no coin to leave you as of yet, my lord.”

Hugh laughed. “Forgotten your purse, have you?”

Tornfield's eyes flicked hatefully at Hugh before coming back to Roderick. The sop managed to pull his spine straight. “I've come for Lady Michaela.”

Roderick put his walking stick to use and drag-stepped the ten or so feet separating him from Tornfield, the woman still standing at the table behind Roderick's cousin, as if shielded by him.

That suited Roderick's purpose perfectly.

“You've come for Lady Michaela?” he reiterated quietly, still keeping the damaged side of his face turned into his hood.

Tornfield's throat convulsed and Roderick wanted to chuckle at the large gulp that came from the man. “Y-yes. That's…that's right!” He tried to stand up even taller, but although Roderick leaned on his cane, Tornfield was still the shorter by a generous two inches. “She belongs to Tornfield Manor, and I would that she accompany me there this day.”

“Huh,” Roderick huffed. Then he did chuckle low, and leaned closer to Tornfield's face, so that his quietest words would be spoken directly to the blond man.

“Lady Michaela…is my betrothed.” Roderick barely breathed the words. “And therefore…she belongs…
to me
.” He paused. “Would you steal from me…
cousin?
”

“O-of course not, my lord,” Tornfield stuttered, and seemed to want to step back a pace but remembered the woman standing behind him. “But surely you understand that Cherbon is no place for a woman such as Michaela—she is…” Tornfield broke off, swallowed again. “I have a young daughter, Elizabeth, who misses her terribly, and—”

“I, too, have a child, who has grown close to Lady Michaela,” Roderick said easily. “A son.
Cherbon's heir
.” He let the statement dangle pointedly.

“Is that so?” Tornfield squeaked.

Roderick nodded slowly.

“Well, ah…” Tornfield cleared his throat. He seemed to gather himself and attempt to puff out his chest. “Well, I'm very sorry to tell you, my lord, but Lady Michaela is in love with
me
. She came here only to punish me over a quarrel we've had, but she doesn't wish to be here any longer. I do apologize if this is an inconvenience.”