by E J Kitchens
Mid-morning, he had walked peacefully through familiar woods. Now he was ready to escort her through the forest to the outskirts of the village, to see her safely off there.
“You know that if your father’s not returning for some time,” Lyndon said as he stood with her at the front door a few minutes later, “you’re welcome to return. Please do.”
“I know,” Belinda said as she savored his fatherly embrace. The mirror had shown her father still traveling, but he’d have sent a message ahead to tell her when to expect him. Within a few days, she hoped.
Lyndon released her and tapped her valise, with its copy of the castle’s travel schedule, and, she suspected, traveling money. “Any time. And meet us back in the forest six weeks from now, so we can check on you.”
She expressed her thanks with a kiss on his cheek. “Goodbye, Lyndon.”
She handed her valise to Beast and took his arm, the velvet of his jacket soft under her fingers. No fur coat as a disguise this time.
They strolled through the forest, its limbs gray and bare compared to her last flight through it. Soon, the trees and rocks grew familiar and reminded Belinda of their first day together. They were hunted strangers then, but now? She smiled wryly. They were about the same … She glanced up at Beast, her fingers tightening over his bicep as he looked down at her as he spoke, sharing a story with her. Not quite the same. Not yet, anyway. Soon enough, they’d be strangers again.
As if familiar with the forest himself, Beast stopped beside the old tree with a hollow hidden behind evergreen shrubs, an appropriate place for Beast to disappear from her life.
Belinda swallowed the lump in her throat and considered her letter as she accepted her valise from Beast.
“I’ll wait here,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the husk of the tree. “You can come back and let me know about your father.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Belinda nodded and quickened her steps toward the village.
It was a market town really, fair-sized, even boasting a mostly intact donjon at its center. The ancient stone keep towered above the houses and served as a reminder not to misbehave, lest one find oneself in its damp tower. It didn’t deter many of the shopkeepers below it, however, from “small” sins like dishonest scales. Gaspard’s butcher shop crouched in the tower’s shadow, undeterred.
Though they had no reason to be intimidated by the tower, Belinda and her father’s half-timber home was on the village’s outskirts. She half expected to see Gaspard stalking about the place, leaving the work of his shop to his apprentice, as usual.
But the house and yard were empty. No Gaspard. No poultry and goats either. Belinda shook her head. The animals hadn’t been taken care of so much as removed. So much for Lady Violetta’s “taking care of everything.”
Belinda unlocked the front door, then stepped back. The house was empty … save for the odor of the vegetables and bread she’d left out thinking she’d be returning much earlier to use them. Wrinkling her nose as she made her way inside, she picked up the letters pushed under the door and set them on the kitchen table as she passed by. One letter had a familiar, masculine script, but she left it and hastily cleared away the evidence of her six weeks’ neglect.
That done and the windows opened, she gathered her bright shawl to help drive away any threatening gray, and picked up her father’s note. Her heart beat, her heart thumped in contradictory rhythms as she slid her fingernail under the seal, opened the letter, and read.
Three weeks. She had another three weeks. Why not one or five?
Belinda sank into a chair. She could stay and risk Gaspard for three weeks, or she could return to the castle for another six and leave her father a similar note: Unavoidably detained but doing well. Three weeks until I’m home. Love.
Her heart leapt. She had six more weeks with—
She sank further into her seat. She’d failed as a curse breaker, and there was no other reason to return. Not really. She tugged at the fringe of her shawl. She could deal with Gaspard herself. She was strong enough for that now, though she’d honestly rather not have to.
But was dealing with him worth it, if she didn’t have to? Maybe she could still do something about that curse breaking.
A knock on the front door sent her into the air, and it was only the recognition of the feminine lightness to the sound that brought her gaze from the back door, with its offer of escape, to the front.
“Heavens, Belinda.” The pastor’s wife bustled in as Belinda opened the door. “You could have told us you were going away before we’d worried ourselves sick for three weeks, and even then you only sent a letter! We assumed you went to your aunt’s, but then we remembered you said she was away herself, and we didn’t know what had happened to you. The constable checked the house and saw the food left out—but wouldn’t let us stay to clean it up—we’ve been so worried.” Holding a cloth-covered basket aside, Lettie Banks wrapped Belinda in a fierce hug, and Belinda remembered something she often forgot in the gray: she wasn’t completely without friends here, even if they weren’t her age or the sisters she wanted to love her.
Lettie released her and stepped back to take in Belinda’s appearance and overall look of health. She finished her inspection with a satisfied nod, then handed off the basket to her. The aroma of freshly baked bread soothed Belinda’s soul. “I thought you might like something fresh until you have time to settle in.”
“I—” Belinda glanced from the basket to the valise. “Thank you.” She opened her mouth as if to say something else, then shut it.
With a curious glance at her, Lettie took the basket back and led the way to the kitchen, Belinda following. Taking over as hostess, Lettie saw to the teapot while Belinda served them bread and jam.
“You just rest yourself there and talk now, young miss,” Lettie said after Belinda finally settled at the table, bread and jam spread out before her. “Who is this Lady Violetta that your letter mentioned you’ve been working for? And why did your father’s note to us not mention your disappearance? We wrote to him as soon as we realized you were missing. He could have at least told us you were safe, even if you didn’t.”
Belinda bit down on her piece of bread harder than intended, partly in shame and partly in irritation. Meddling enchantress. Lady Violetta had fixed things with her father not getting word about her disappearance but not fixed her disappearance by leaving a note on her door for Lettie and Winthrop to find. Too sensible a solution for her, apparently.
Well, at least her father hadn’t worried.
How would he feel about a longer separation?
When she looked up at the tea kettle’s whistle, she found Lettie watching her with that curious expression again. Lettie saw to the stove, then brought the kettle over.
“My father’s gone for another three weeks. I’m thinking of going back,” Belinda blurted, looking more at her hands than at Lettie. “Either way, I need to let Be—my escort know my decision. He’s waiting in the forest.”
A knowing expression overtook the curiosity in Lettie’s gaze as she settled into the chair across from Belinda. Her eyes twinkled with motherly affection and mischief. “And is this escort nice, my dear?”
Belinda’s cheeks flamed. “Yes. Very, but—”
Switching to motherly mentor, Lettie narrowed her eyes. “Thoroughly respectable? Honorable? Kind? A man of faith? A man of integrity?”
“Yes to all,” Belinda couldn’t help but answer with pride, “but—”
Lettie leaned back in her chair. “Then let him wait. See how he takes it, just to be sure.”
A laugh escaped Belinda. “But what would that say about me?”
Lettie shrugged, her eyes twinkling as she snagged a piece of bread. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”
Belinda grinned, despite the war in her mind. “What news while I was away?”
“Well, my dear,” Lettie answered in a conspirator’s whisper as she leaned forward, “I’m afraid you missed all the drama—all who
got sick got well again, all who were engaged got married.” She shook her head in mock disappointment.
“What a pity,” Belinda said, biting back a smile.
“Yes, isn’t it? And then—” She and Belinda both groaned at a pounding on the front door.
“Lindie pie! I know you’re home,” Gaspard shouted loud enough to reach the far reaches of the house at the end of the lane.
“He’s been off hunting a great deal lately,” Lettie said with a sympathetic look at Belinda, “leaving the shop to his apprentice. I was hoping for your sake he’d be gone for a while longer. I’d suggest reasoning with him, but we both know how useful that is.” She rose and brushed off her skirt. “I can give you five minutes—if you promise to let me know you’re safe and tell me more about this exceptional young man.”
Belinda glanced between Lettie, the direction of the rattling front door, and her hand clinging to her yellow shawl, then leapt up and embraced her friend. “I’ll write.” She grabbed her valise and darted out the back door as Lettie opened the front.
Belinda crept through the yard, but began to run as soon as she left the village. Not far into the forest, she collapsed against a gnarled mulberry to catch her breath. After reminding herself to get more exercise while at the castle, she switched the valise from one hand to the other and marched on.
Her mouth, she soon discovered, was determined to curve, either in a smile or a frown, but mostly satisfying itself with a smile.
It was still smiling as she approached the tree with the hollow.
“Beast, my father’s not returning for three weeks. I’ve—”
There was no Beast in sight, and he was too large for the hollow. She stifled the gray thought that he’d returned to the castle without her and trudged on. He was probably walking around to stretch his legs after waiting for so long.
“Beast?” she called, peering through the bushes and trees to her left.
The prick of a dagger against her spine drew her attention back to the path. Belinda slowly raised her hands, praying Beast had the good sense to stay well away.
“Really, Gaspard, this isn’t—”
“Is Beast running from you too now, Miss Lambton?” asked a saccharine voice. “How tragic.” The blade slid along Belinda’s ribcage as Lucrezia moved to her side, in view.
“Never from me,” Belinda shot, struggling to stifle both a start and a tremor of fear. What did the woman think she could accomplish by waylaying and threatening her?
The blade dug a little deeper, but Belinda refused to squirm. She was no shrinking violet, and the sooner Lucrezia realized it, the better. Surprisingly, that smile threatened to curve her lips again. She knew a few disarming tricks. She might get to bloody Lucrezia’s nose after all. And even Beast couldn’t say it wasn’t justified.
“Stop it, Lucrezia.” Robert and a half-dozen soldiers wearing the Duke of Marblue’s livery stepped from the forest, from behind bushes and trees that shouldn’t have hidden them so well.
Her heart, like her hopes, dropped to the trampled leaves. When this was over, she was going to suggest—very strongly—on an investigation of the Guild of Practicing Enchanters. Someone was helping Lucrezia, and it wasn’t, any longer, Lady Violetta. Even she wasn’t so foolish or malicious.
“Ordering me around is bad enough. Leave the girl alone.”
“She’s not worth your concern, Robert.” With a contemptuous huff, Lucrezia sheathed the dagger as Robert took his stand beside Belinda.
Belinda gave him a commiserating look as she crossed her arms in front of her and gave Lucrezia a defiant smile.
He touched her lightly on the arm, then turned to the duke’s daughter, a dangerous fire in his eyes. “This has gone too far. I’m going to tell my uncle—”
“Go into the woods until I call for you, Robert.” Lucrezia waved dismissively to the trees on her right, her other hand rubbing her golden locket as if in thoughtless habit.
Robert choked on his words, and tugged his ear. Gritting his teeth, he dragged his arm to his side. “Lucrezia—”
“Go, Robert. Quietly.”
Hatred simmering in his eyes, hand tugging his ear, Robert walked to the forest, stiffly, like a puppet on a string.
“What do you want?” Belinda balled her fists, never wishing so strongly in her life that daggers really could be shot from eyes. She knew the perfect target.
“Playing dumb comes naturally to you, doesn’t it?”
Belinda smiled sweetly and widened her eyes. “Whatever do you mean, Lucrezia dear?”
Lucrezia tapped her jeweled fingers on her arm, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She had a ring for every finger and occasion, except for a marriage, Belinda noted with great satisfaction.
“Where’s Beast?” Lucrezia’s short tone was reminiscent of a cannon whose fuse was not overlong.
Belinda made a show of glancing around. “Not where I left him.”
She felt the imprint of those rings on her cheek.
“Tie her up,” Lucrezia ordered. She wiped her hand on her handkerchief as she backed away.
The soldiers complied with an adeptness indicating no mean amount of experience. Belinda would also report that.
After she found a way to unbind her hands and feet, of course. But at least the gag choking her kept the leaves and dirt from the hard ground out of her mouth. How considerate of Lucrezia. She’d have to repay the favor sometime.
Belinda’s heart stilled. What if the next time she saw her, the woman was wife to an unwilling Beast? Such a gray fate for him. And all because of her. A stab of a different kind pierced her chest. Belinda bit back an angry cry and focused on her defiance, the red and the blue, the yellow—a righteous anger with a touch of vengeance, the color of something very valuable, and hope. They could fight the pale gray of defeat and the thunderous gray of fear.
Lucrezia drew a thin wooden whistle from inside her cloak and trilled a bird-like call that impressed Belinda despite herself. Even villains had talents other than pure villainy, she conceded. After putting away the whistle, Lucrezia called Robert back.
He sputtered in anger after nearly tripping over Belinda as he marched toward Lucrezia. He jumped back, hollering, “What the blazes are you thinking, tying her up?” Quickly regaining his footing and some of his composure, he began to kneel beside Belinda, but the guards blocked him.
“That’s not a girl, Robert.”
“But it is,” he insisted, pushing one guard aside. The soldier stood down at a flick of Lucrezia’s wrist.
“It’s not a girl, Robert.”
“Then what the blazes is it?” he roared. He tugged at his ear, helplessly. His eyes begged Belinda for something, but what could she do for him? She tried stretching her legs out to kick Lucrezia, but was reminded of the length of rope connecting her bound hands to her bound feet. “But it’s got to be …” he said more quietly.
Sighing, Lucrezia waved at Belinda. “If an enchantress can turn your cousin into a beast, cannot one turn an animal into a dumb human? It’s another of her tricks to keep us from un-cursing him. You must trust me, Robert. I want him uncursed as much as you do, for the kingdom.”
He opened his mouth, but tugged his ear. “Then what is it really?” He watched Belinda, his alert expression fading in and out to glassy.
“A skunk,” Lucrezia said drily.
Belinda mouthed her name as she focused on Robert’s blue eyes. Fight it, Robert. Fight it.
Face tight, as if some battle were going on inside, Robert finally shook his head. “I still say it’s Miss Lambton, and you shouldn’t treat her like that.”
Lucrezia’s chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “Robert, you try my patience. I can’t believe that idiot enchantress’s spell gave me you instead of—” She stopped and eyed Belinda, a knowing smile on her face. “At least you’re finally going to be useful to me.” She drew a slender knife from the sheath hanging from her belt and then took a black vial from her handbag. “I hadn’t wanted
to do this, but I don’t have much time. Uncover her mouth.”
The guard roughly uncovered Belinda’s mouth as Robert stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt.
“I won’t let you harm her.”
Lucrezia tipped the vial, letting a single, blood-red drop spatter onto the blade and run down the metal to the silver guard. She turned to him, her voice as saccharine as her smile. “Oh, Robert, this isn’t for her.” Her skirts brushed Belinda’s feet as she swept forward and buried the blade in Robert’s side.
“No!” Belinda screamed. Two guards pinned her to the ground as she struggled to get her feet underneath her. “Robert!”
He lurched back, lips bound against a cry. Lucrezia slid the blade out and drew back again.
“Stop it! Please!”
Robert flinched at Belinda’s scream but no one else paid her any mind. He grabbed Lucrezia’s wrist, stopping the blade just short of his stomach. The soldiers made no move against him, just watched as the daughter of a duke and a king’s guard strained for control of a bloodied knife.
Perhaps because they knew they wouldn’t have to interfere. Robert’s face was deathly pale and slightly green, his soldier’s arm trembling.
“Stop it!” Belinda cried again. The guard’s booted foot pressed against her shoulder, pushing her side into the dirt.
Lucrezia’s lips curved into a smug smile. The stained blade’s tip teased the fabric shielding Robert’s other side. “Say it again, Belinda,” she said sweetly. “Beg for him.”
His jaw clenched, Robert locked gazes with Belinda and shook his head, only able to risk that distraction, that divergence of his strength.
“Please, stop,” Belinda said softly. She wouldn’t not cower if it helped him. “Let him be.”
“Scream it.” The blade pricked Robert’s stomach.
Not caring about pride or dignity, and saving all her loathing for another time, Belinda filled her lungs and opened her mouth. But the scream caught in her throat.
Beast was near enough to hear her. Robert knew it. That’s why he wouldn’t scream for himself or have her scream for him.
Belinda went cold, her throat closing up on its own. What had she done? She locked gazes with Lucrezia, and Lucrezia smiled.
