Beauty’s Beast(59)
Author: Amanda Ashley

He listened to the voices, to the cries of the dead, as he walked from room to room, casting a protective spell over the castle and all those who dwelled within its walls. Only Erik was beyond his protection. Erik, who was enthralled to Charmion’s evil witchery.

Charmion. She would soon discover their absence from his holdings. He could well imagine her rage, knew she would pursue them, but to no avail. Unless she found a way to breach his protective wards, she could do no harm to those who resided within the walls of Hawksbridge Castle.

He sighed, weariness overtaking him as he put the last ward in place, wondering, even as he did so, if his magic was strong enough to repel Charmion’s power.

In need of nourishment, he made his way down the long, winding stairway that led from the tower to the castle’s first floor.

A delicious aroma drew him toward the back of the house, into a large dining room occupied by an elderly woman clad in a severe black gown. She looked up, startled, when he entered the room.

Caddaric bowed in her direction. “Good afternoon, madam,” he said. “I am Caddaric Delapre.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “Your reputation precedes you, sir.” She offered him her hand. “I am Edith Trevayne, Erik’s mother. Please, join me. I have never met a wizard before.”

Caddaric sat down in the chair to her right, his hands folded in his lap.

“Would you care for something to eat?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

She rang a tiny silver bell; a moment later, a tall, thin woman entered the room. “Yes, my lady?”

“Judith, please bring Lord Caddaric some of that excellent roast beef we had for supper last evening, and a glass of wine.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Judith is a wonderful cook,” Edith remarked. “She’s been with the family for years. I don’t know what we would do without her.” She was babbling, she thought, talking of foolish, unimportant things because she lacked the courage to ask the question uppermost in her mind.

But he knew her thoughts. Gently, he took her hand in his. “My lady, I fear I can do nothing to help your son.”

“Nothing?”

Caddaric shook his head. “I’m sorry. Charmion’s curse is all-encompassing. There is no way for me to reverse it or break it.”

“You’re sure?”

Caddaric nodded. “Charmion is a most clever witch. Though it may be small consolation to you now, rest assured that I have done all in my power to seal your home against her dark magic.”

He squeezed her hand as tears welled in her eyes. Rarely had he felt so helpless or wished so fervently that he could ease the pain in another’s heart. Never had he felt such a need to offer comfort.

Impulsively, he rose to his feet and drew her out of her chair and into his arms. “Weep if you must,” he murmured. “Often it is the only thing that helps.”

She shuddered in his embrace and then, as if his words had unleashed the floodgates of sorrow, she began to cry.

And he held her close, one hand lightly patting her back as he murmured inane words of comfort.

A discreet cough at the doorway warned him they were no longer alone.

“Forgive me, sir,” the cook said, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to . . . I . . . that is . . . oh, my.” Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she dropped the tray she was carrying on the table and hurried out of the room.

“She has gone,” Caddaric said quietly.

“Whatever will she think?”

“Does it matter?”

Edith shook her head, suddenly embarrassed to find herself in a strange man’s arms in the dining room in the middle of the day. But he didn’t seem like a stranger; indeed, she felt as if she had been waiting for him all her life, as if everything that had gone before was simply a prelude to this moment.

“Edith.”

She looked up at him and wished she were younger, prettier.

Caddaric smiled down at her. “Are you by chance a witch yourself?”

She blinked the last of her tears from her eyes. “Me? A witch?”

“I fear you have cast a spell of your own.”

“You feel it, too?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

“I would have to be dead not to.”

She stared up at him. His was an arresting face, but it was his eyes that held her gaze, mild blue eyes that looked at her with tenderness and a touch of bewilderment. “How can this be? I’m an old woman. Too old to feel like this.”

Caddaric placed a finger beneath her chin. “But your heart is still young, my lady,” he murmured, and then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her.

Heat spread through her, warm as sunshine, and she knew she had, indeed, been waiting for this man her whole life.

Shaken to the very depths of his soul, Caddaric loosed a deep sigh as he broke the kiss. His brief affair with Charmion had soured him on the fair sex. Grateful to have survived that liaison with a whole skin, he had immersed himself in his magic, resigned to going through life alone, never knowing the love of a good woman. But this woman, with her clear gray eyes and heartbreakingly sad smile, ah, this fragile bit of femininity tempted him sorely.

“I think, madam, that when the time is right, you and I will have much to discuss.”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “When the time is right.”

And though neither spoke, they both feared the time would not be right until Charmion’s curse had been fulfilled.

Chapter Twenty-Five

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.