Taming the Beast (9 page)

Her profile mesmerized Roderick—softly rounded cheeks colored with a flush of disconcertment, brow wrinkled delicately, her mouth pinched into a stingy bud. Her ears were like tiny shells, pale and perfect.

Surely she could not be here to answer his call.

“Well?” Hugh demanded. “Are you going to sit or aren't you? If you've already changed your mind then you should run, run, run—your parents are likely over the drawbridge by now. I'm certain it's a long walk to”—he looked in disdain at her simple gown—“wherever it is you're from. Not Tornfield any longer, I reckon.”

The woman stood there a moment longer. “Thank you for your concern, but I think I shall stay.” Closer now to Roderick's ears, her voice sounded like a breeze over a rippling stream—refreshing and light and sweet. She sat.

“Very good.” Hugh took the quill at the ready. “Name? I assume you are not legally called Miss Fortune…are you?”

“Lady Michaela Fortune,” she supplied. “My parents are Walter and Agatha. We are vassal to the Tornfield hold, on the south most edge of the shire.”

Fortune,
Roderick thought to himself.
I know that surname.

“Ah! So you
are
actually Miss Fortune.” Hugh seemed quite pleased with that bit of information as he scribbled. “Age?”

“A score and one, come January.”

“So, one score,
now.
”

Lady Michaela's mouth pinched again. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Have you been or are you now married?”

“No.”

“I daresay I already knew the answer to that one, didn't I? Ha! Children?”

“None.”

“Sickness?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hugh sighed. “The clap, leprosy, weeping sores, lazy eye—are you
ill?
”

“Oh. No. I'm quite healthy.”

“Wanted by the law?”

“I should hope not!” she exclaimed as if horrified.

“I must ask, you understand. You'd be surprised how—any matter.” Hugh lay down the quill and leaned back in the chair to scrutinize Lady Michaela Fortune. “The terms of the agreement, as you likely have already read—you
can
read, I assume?”

Roderick saw one slender eyebrow raise. “A bit, yes.”

“Very good. Ninety
consecutive
—that means all-in-a-row, one-after-the-other—days at Cherbon, while your suitability as a potential bride is determined. During that time, you will assume the duties of lady and evaluate the compatibility between you and Lord Cherbon. If, at the end of ninety days—which I must tell you I doubt highly you will endure—all the criteria have been met and it is agreeable to both you and the lord, you will be wed. Your prize will then be legally recorded and dispensed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I—”

“Good. Any questions?”

“Well, may—?”

“Fine. Sign here.” He shoved the parchment and quill at the young woman who took them and quickly scribbled along the bottom of the page. Then Hugh snatched the items away once more before shooting from his seat and heading toward where Roderick still hid. “Come along, come along—I will show you to your chamber.”

Roderick stepped from the stairs and ducked underneath the cubby behind them just before Hugh and a trotting Lady Fortune entered the corridor and swished above. The air behind the woman smelled like freshly mown hay.

“But my trunk—” the woman was arguing with Hugh's back.

“Yes, yes, I'm sure there are many valuables in it. We'll have it sent up. In the meantime you can make do with what the last one left about the chamber…”

Roderick stood in the darkness, his heart pounding, pounding, while the fresh, green fragrance of Michaela Fortune hung in the shadows around him like a warning.

The chamber was absolutely dreadful. Though sumptuously appointed with expensive fabrics and furnishings, Michaela felt smothered by feelings of despair and fear as soon as she followed Sir Hugh Gilbert through the doorway. She shivered so violently that she stumbled on her feet.

Hugh Gilbert cocked a wry eyebrow at her before continuing in the lecture he'd begun in the hall below. “Meals are taken thrice a day. Lonely affairs, but the food is passable. Necessary rooms are down the hall past your door about three score steps. I'd use the one on the right if I were you. The servants slip into the left-hand one—as if I don't know—and their diet leaves a rather unpleasant atmosphere to follow.”

There was so much to take in, almost as if Michaela had landed in a foreign country and had only an hour to learn the customs of the natives. “Necessary rooms?”

“Oh, you know.” Hugh sighed, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling briefly before leaning forward and saying in a loud whisper, “Where you go to tinkle.”

“Oh. Oh!” Michaela flushed. “When will I receive Lord Cherbon?”

“When will—” Hugh broke off in a rather loud and rude laugh. “You won't receive him at all, poppet. When
he
is ready to assess
you
, you will be summoned. Until that time, simply go about your business.”

“
Assess me?
” This man was grating on Michaela's good graces. “Like a cow, you mean.”

“Oh, no, my lady,” Hugh said, appearing horrified by the suggestion. “More like a horse.”

Michaela wished for a large rock to chuck at the man.

“If there is anything you have need of that the staff cannot accommodate—which would not surprise me as they're hopelessly inept—simply send word. Sir Hugh Gilbert shall scurry-scurry to your side most obediently.” His tone was mocking to the extreme.

“
Sir
Hugh Gilbert?” Michaela asked pointedly, eyeing the man's fine costume. Beyond fine—it was magnificent, with embroidery and deep velvet. Fit more for royalty than a lowly crusading knight. “Is that—”

Sir Hugh's eyes sparkled like deep, icy water and his beautiful lips thinned. “Yes.
Sir
. ‘Lord of Nothing' is hardly impressive, is it?” He gave her a tight smile. “If you'll excuse me, I'll see that your trunk is brought up.” He gave a mocking bow. “Miss Fortune.”

The chamber door closed.

Michaela growled and spun on her heel, looking for any convenient object to hurl. But her loose, worn slipper slid from beneath her heel and tangled in the rug underfoot, wrenching her ankle and sending her to the floor with a cry. As she landed, she heard the odd sound of a musical giggle, like a child would make, and she rose up on her hands, searching the low shadows from floor level.

“Who was that? Who's here? Show yourself!” Michaela held her breath and listened, but heard not another whisper. A feeling of being watched tiptoed between her shoulder blades on icy feet.

Was Cherbon Castle haunted? It would explain the morbid surroundings, but Michaela did not think she could resign herself to sharing a bedchamber with a spirit, no matter how outrageous the prize.

How would she ever get undressed with any modesty?

“Hello?” she called quietly. She swallowed, and the sound was loud in the vast room. “Are you…are you a ghost?”

The giggle sounded again, from behind her. Michaela sat up quickly and turned just in time to see the little boy dash from behind a drapery to the door.

“Wait!” Michaela called, and struggled to gain her feet.

But the dark-haired child wrenched open the door and fled into the corridor on bare feet, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.

Michaela sat on the floor, undecided. Probably the child belonged to some servant of Cherbon, brought to the castle by his parent and warned to stay out of sight—it would explain the hiding. She looked about the dismal room, the despair seeming to seep from the very walls, then to the open doorway and black corridor beyond.

The boy, more familiar with the castle than Michaela, was likely already to the stone keep's heart on his swift feet by now. She'd never catch him.

Go about your business
, Sir Hugh Gilbert had said.

If she was to become Lady of Cherbon, wasn't the manor's children—their whereabouts and unruly behavior—her business? Besides, she must learn the passages of her new home eventually. And finding the boy might lend her some insight as to the strange and unconcerned behavior of the villagers. Perhaps she would even encounter the great and lordly Lord Cherbon in her explorations.

Her stomach did a nervous wiggle.

Michaela gained her feet and marched into the corridor, leaving the door standing open.

 

Roderick limped straightaway to his chamber, confident that Hugh would soon follow, and he was not disappointed. His handsome, dark-haired friend came through the door, chuckling, not long after Roderick had settled into his chair and began the struggle with his boots.

There would be no further need for the damned things until nightfall, when he could move about the keep on his own, now that one applicant had fled and a new one—much to his surprise—had been installed. And this woman was one Roderick wanted nothing to do with at this point.

She was dangerous to him, he could feel it. Dangerous, but also essential to his survival.

Hugh closed the door, and as soon as the action was complete, he doubled over, his hands on his knees, laughing.

“I take it you find the new girl amusing?” Roderick asked. He knew his tone was pissy, but he didn't care. His heart still pounded in a strange and foreign way from seeing Michaela Fortune, and it unsettled him. Roderick told himself it was because the young woman was likely his last hope to win Cherbon, and not at all because of her smell, her voice, her oddly colored hair; how she had seemed bold yet naïve in the way she'd answered Hugh's probing and—Roderick had to admit—rude questions. Perhaps it was simple honesty Roderick had seen in her, but regardless, it was unsettling.

“Oh, good lord, yes!” Hugh gasped. He dragged his feet to the side of Roderick's bed and collapsed on it. “This is just too, too good, Rick—
hoo!
”

“Are you going to tell me the why of it, or just lie there cackling on my bed?”

Hugh took a deep, steadying breath, chuckles still escaping him. At last he seemed to gain control over his mirth. “I know the chit, Rick—I've just seen her, four days past, at the Tornfield feast.”

“She was at Tornfield?” Roderick yanked off his tall, stiff left boot with a “
Gah
—you bastard!” He tossed the boot to the floor. “As a guest?”

“Since she was seated at Tornfield's own table, his daughter between them, a guest of honor was my first assumption.”

“Not so?”

“Not so.” Hugh sat up, leaning on one long arm—his right arm, Roderick couldn't help but notice. Roderick could see the flexion of his elbow through his tight sleeve. “She was in Tornfield's employ as companion to his daughter.”

“She was his servant?”

“Yes, and no,” Hugh said, a chuckle creeping back into his voice, as if the memory tickled him. “Elizabeth Tornfield has been mute since her mother's death some time ago. Miss Fortune managed to coax the girl from some rather antisocial behavior and Tornfield was so thrilled that he offered her a position in the hold in lieu of her parents' dues. It seems the three of them grew rather…
close
. So close in fact, that Miss Fortune
and
the girl were under the assumption that Tornfield would marry
her
.”

“I vow you gossip more than the kitchen maids.”

“Oh-ho, Rick, you disparage me unjustly! I did not come by this knowledge from gossip—Tornfield's daughter stood up in front of all the hall and objected to his marrying the Osprey woman in favor of Miss Fortune, just as the ceremony was to commence! Everyone was completely humiliated!”

Something sharp twisted in Roderick's stomach. “You didn't feel this was aught which I should know?”

“Why would I?” Hugh protested. “I thought she was but a servant with rather ridiculous ambition. It was not more than a humorous anecdote at the time, and I know how little use you have for humor these days. I'd no idea until today that she was of noble blood.”

Roderick grunted.
Fortune, Fortune
…Again, he searched his mind for a reference point for the name. He knew he'd heard it before, in connection with his father, but he could not place it.

“So what now, Rick?” Hugh asked, getting up from the bed and gathering up Roderick's discarded boots. He poured a chalice of wine and placed it in Roderick's hand. “A pair of days, and then you will meet her?”

The suggestion caused Roderick to break out immediately in a cold sweat. “I think not, Hugh,” he tried to say evenly. “The longer we put this one off, the better.”

“Hmm?” Hugh swallowed the mouthful of wine he'd taken from his own cup. “The reason for that being…?”

Roderick stared at the floor, his head on his left hand, swirling the contents of his cup with his right, concentrating on the mastery of his muscles commanding the cup. After a long moment, he explained, although it pained his pride. Who else could he confide in if not faithful Hugh?

“She is my last hope to gain Cherbon,” Roderick said quietly. “My thirtieth birthday is one hundred eighty-eight days from today. Should Michaela Fortune not stay—”

“So you
were
watching!” Hugh said with a grin as he caught that Roderick had remained long enough to find out the girl's full name.

“Should she not stay, should something about me or Cherbon not suit her, Alan Tornfield will gain all.”

“Would that be so very bad?” Hugh asked quietly, all foolishness gone from his tone as he knelt by Roderick's chair. “To let him bloody have it? I hate this place, Rick—you hate this place—”

“I don't hate—”

“Yes, you do!” Hugh said. “I can see it in your eyes—to walk where your father walked, to live in the rooms where your mother died, where you saw serfs and servants beaten and killed, where you yourself were so mistreated—it's eating you alive.”

“It spurs me on,” Roderick argued. “You can't understand, Hugh. It is my life's prize to call Cherbon my own. I must. I must right things—”

“Right things?” Hugh stood. “By engaging in the same tactics your father used?”

“I have not.”

“You have! There is no forgiveness in you, Rick, for the servants, for me, or for yourself.” Hugh spread his arms. “And Leo! God's teeth, he loves you so, and you act as though he doesn't exis—”

“Enough!” Roderick bellowed, and Hugh fell silent. “I will not warn you again, Hugh.”

Hugh stared at Roderick a long time, and Roderick tried to see anger there, but he only saw…pity.

“I do apologize,” Hugh said at last. “Forgive me, Rick. You may meet Miss Fortune when you feel it is the right time, of course. I am here to do your bidding.”

Pity, pity, and more pity. It disgusted Roderick. He disgusted himself.

Roderick dragged himself from the chair and Hugh was immediately at his side as Roderick grabbed for the tall poster at the end of the bed. He waved Hugh away. “I've got it, Hugh—leave me.” Roderick swung his body around with his arm and landed on the bed.

“Very well, Rick. Is there anything you've need of until you emerge this evening?” It was said in a light tone, but Roderick knew his friend was serious—and correct. He wouldn't venture from his chamber until darkness had a firm grip on the land.

Roderick shook his head, but then as Hugh started through the doorway, he called out again. “She's very comely, isn't she, Hugh?”

Hugh froze in place, glanced back over his shoulder.

“Miss Fortune, as you call her,” Roderick clarified. “She's—”

“She's odd-looking,” Hugh said shortly. “If you wish my honest appraisal. Clumsy. Desperate. Likely vengeful.” He paused. “She should fit in well.”

And then Hugh was gone.

Roderick turned over on his right side, but his arm protested and so he flopped onto his back once more. He stared up at the shadowed canopy, and it was not dark enough to suit him, so he covered his eyes with his forearm.

And he waited for night.

 

Michaela turned right outside the chamber door and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction from which Sir Hugh had led her, supposedly toward the rooms where “you go to tinkle.” Michaela had taken advantage of the garderobe at Tornfield Manor, and she was pleased that Cherbon boasted not one, but two of the convenient rooms. Since becoming used to living at Tornfield, Michaela now considered the appointments absolutely necessary, and she took a moment to duck her head in the doorways of both, almost to see if there were actually two.