Beauty’s Beast(60)
Author: Amanda Ashley

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.