by E J Kitchens
“Yes, by one king’s grandson or the other, I’ll get my crown. I’ll have a son who’ll be king. And you’ve just helped me.”
Robert swayed as tremors swept over him. Lucrezia stepped back. He collapsed, unconscious, to the blood-splattered ground.
The rustling of leaves and limbs, the trampling of many feet sounded from deeper in the forest. A hound bayed. A whoosh of air warned of a dart or arrow. A heavy thump brought it all to silence.
A second thin rush of air preceded a sharp pain in Belinda’s back and darkness.
Chapter 15
Belinda woke with a squint and a flinch, and the realization that water was dripping down her face while a rag was clumsily wiping it off. She risked opening one eye and found Gaspard’s face too close for comfort. Though uncertain why he was waking her up when Beast almost invariably did that after she dreamed, she instinctively tried to lean back, and found she couldn’t. Why not? She’d always woken mobile before. She had just been dreaming, right? Lucrezia had been there and—
She gasped, horror twisting her already nauseated stomach. A few mental shakes of her head and her mind cleared enough for her to remember Lucrezia and Robert and Beast, and to realize her hands were tied in front of her and she was sitting propped up against a tree deep in the forest. Gaspard’s pack of hounds lounged a few feet away, judging by the pungent odor of sweaty dog and the trampling of leaves. Ready to catch her should she try to run?
Everything went gray and red.
“You’ll never get away with this, you know.”
Her heart lurched at the familiar voice. He didn’t belong in this mess!
Gaspard turned to scowl at Winthrop Banks, her pastor, her friend, who sounded more annoyed than fearful. Belinda envied him. The rag left her face. Without the pressure of Gaspard’s hand to hold it up, Belinda’s head lolled to the side, letting her steal a glimpse of the tall, trim Winthrop. He was standing a half-dozen feet away, his bound hands in front of him, clasping a Bible. He matched Gaspard’s glower. Tucked against his side more by habit than by intimidation, Lettie held a stationery kit in her bound hands. A few paces behind them, sitting sleepily in the back of a cart, with blankets bunched around them, were Gaspard’s great-aunt and great-uncle. With the temperaments of cats, sometimes sweet and sometimes snappish, the wizened couple hadn’t known what was going on for the past three years.
“I should say not,” Lettie agreed. She caught Belinda’s eye, spied that she was awake, and winked at her. Belinda’s heart knotted at the gesture meant to encourage her. Knowing Lettie, the woman probably assumed Belinda’s “escort” would come along any minute to save them. Or that Gaspard wouldn’t truly hurt them.
Refusing to consider the futility of hoping for the former, Belinda absorbed some of the woman’s spirit and tried to infuse it into her weak muscles.
Her thoughts strayed to worry over Beast and Robert, but she quickly roped them into something useful and narrowed her eyes at the back of Gaspard’s head. What she wouldn’t give for a poisoned dagger of her own. Two of them.
Or three of them.
Three of what? Belinda blinked and struggled to retain that momentary focus. She hated sleeping darts.
Gaspard grunted as he turned back to Belinda. “I’ll get away with it. She’ll see that I do. Her ladyship’s word would slaughter yours afore the magistrates.” He tossed the rag away as he noted Belinda’s open eyes.
“Remind me to pray for the reformation of court proceedings, my dear,” Winthrop said sardonically. “They sound rather more violent than I supposed them to be.”
“This will go to the king,” Belinda ground out, using the lingering feel of cotton in her mouth to round up her stray thoughts and focus that slight spinning of the world.
Standing her up, Gaspard rolled his eyes. “A wife can’t testify against her husband.”
“I’m not—”
“You will be!” Gaspard’s shout cleared away the lingering effects of the sleeping dart, though she still needed his hand on her shoulder to stay upright.
Her skin burning under his touch, she let herself fall back against the tree as support. “What did you do to Beast?”
Gaspard bared his teeth in a feral grin that sickened her. What had become of her one-time friend? “Only sent him where he belongs: to the tower to rot for attempted murder and kidnapping.”
“What!”
After a smirk at her, Gaspard called over his shoulder, “Ready to start the wedding, Banks?” He turned back to Belinda and leaned close. “Congratulate me, bride,” he whispered. “I helped the daughter of the king’s greatest ally capture the cursed blackguard who’d tried to assassinate the king and the prince three years ago. And was paid handsomely for it.”
Sick and stunned beyond words, Belinda could only stare at him and turn her face away as he leaned in to kiss her. He brushed her cheek with a kiss, then spun around to the pastor.
Winthrop’s gaze threatened hellfire as his knuckles whitened around his Bible.
“The wedding, Banks?” Gaspard’s pistol turned the question into an order. By accident or design, he kept it aimed in Lettie’s direction.
With a look around, at the hounds and the woods and Lettie, Winthrop rolled his shoulders, as if dropping his fury to cool his mind, and then began, very, very slowly.
Beast imprisoned. Robert stabbed and poisoned. Gaspard threatening her friends to force a marriage, even dragging his frail great-aunt and great-uncle into the woods to act as witnesses. It was too much. Belinda’s focus threatened to sink within herself, to pretend this wasn’t happening, that nothing she remembered of the day had happened.
But that was the gray, and she had to fight it. Beast and Robert depended on it. She would help them. She latched onto Winthrop’s proud, calm voice, wanting to steal that calmness to disperse the gray and cool the red into something useful.
As her husband spoke, Lettie looked everywhere but at Belinda. At Gaspard, she aimed a warrior’s fierceness. To the forest surrounding them, she applied the lookout’s trade, expectation in her face, but no light of discovery. Did she expect someone?
Winthrop paused, his sharp gaze leaping from Belinda to his wife to the forest and back. He gave Lettie a curious glance, and she gave him a shrug.
“Go on,” Gaspard prodded, reinforcing the command with the motion of his pistol.
With the glare he generally reserved for the editorials, Winthrop directed his gaze and words to Gaspard. “By the power vested in me, I declare you man and woman.”
Tightening his grip on her shoulder, Gaspard leaned down while pulling Belinda toward him. She steeled herself to bite him, and likely get slapped for it.
“Wait!” Winthrop ordered. “It’s not time for that yet.”
“Yes, it is,” Gaspard protested, but he straightened. “I’ve been to a wedding before.”
Belinda let out her breath and relaxed against the tree. He’d free her hands eventually, and then she’d be ready for him.
“Doubtless, you have, and, doubtless,” Winthrop said, drawing himself up and continuing with a snooty tone, “it wasn’t so rushed as this. You need to sign the certificate first.” He flipped open the Bible’s cover and awkwardly withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He held it out.
Sighing like a martyr, Gaspard holstered his pistol and took the sheet from Winthrop. He reached for the Bible as a solid surface to sign on, but Winthrop drew it back.
Holding the book above his head, Winthrop said, petulantly, “Sign it on the tree. I don’t want the ink bleeding onto my Bible. This is the one I use for ceremonies.”
Gaspard rolled his eyes but took the quill from Lettie and waited as Winthrop gently prodded Belinda from the support of the tree trunk to one of its low limbs. With a discreet wink, he scooted between her and the trunk. Lettie stood across from her. He waved Gaspard toward the makeshift writing desk.
While Belinda swayed and struggled to convince her muscles that they wanted to keep her upright, Gaspard
rolled his eyes again as he betook himself and the paper to the indicated spot and leaned against the tree. “Just here?” he mockingly asked Winthrop as he rested the paper against the bark.
“Perfect.”
Muttering something under his breath, Gaspard turned back to the paper and began to sign his name.
Winthrop’s lips quirked into a smile just before his Bible rammed into the back of Gaspard’s head, cracking Gaspard’s forehead against the hard white oak. Lettie snagged Gaspard’s pistol with her bound hands and rapped him on the head with it for good measure as her husband yanked him down to her level.
Gaspard went limp, and Winthrop caught him under one arm as Lettie tossed the pistol into the leaves, then grabbed Gaspard’s other arm.
“Lettie, my dear, you truly are a companion for all times.”
Huffing under Gaspard’s weight, Lettie grinned over his head to her husband. “For better or for worse, my love.”
He nodded in agreement, then gave Belinda a sideways glance as they lowered the unconscious Gaspard to the ground. “Yes, and remind me to include ‘in matchmaking and in mayhem’ should we ever renew our vows.” He huffed as he released Gaspard’s arm. “That man is all muscle.” He huffed again, then straightened his shoulders, his tone turning formal as he began pilfering through Gaspard’s pockets for a knife. “If any know of an impediment to the union of this man and this woman, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Belinda opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. “Yes, I personally can think of several, not the least of which is kidnapping the intended bride—and the pastor’s wife.”
When he ended his narrow-eyed glare at Gaspard, his brown eyes lit on Belinda and his attempt at mock solemnness gave way to a twinkle. He sat back on his heels, a knife in his hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Lambton, but there will be no wedding today.”
“After I spent so much on the dress and flowers and food!” she said, the words rough in her dry throat. “And invited so many people. It’s humiliating. Please, don’t reconsider.”
He chuckled and carefully freed Lettie’s wrists, then gave her the knife to use against their bonds. Lettie cut Belinda’s, then his.
“I’m disappointed in this young man Lettie assured me would rescue us all,” he said as Lettie gave him back the knife. He eyed Gaspard, then tucked the knife away in his own pocket before sifting through the bushes for the pistol and doing likewise with it. “I’m afraid I had to take the honor from him. What do you think became of him?”
“Gaspard, a sleeping dart, and the daughter of the Duke of Marblue,” Belinda growled as she rubbed her free wrists. Shaking off the red and gray, she dared a step and found her legs bending but not giving completely. “I can’t explain right now. I have to get help. I think he’s been imprisoned in the tower.”
Lettie blanched. “There was a commotion in the town going toward the old keep before Gaspard forced us out here. I thought at the time it’d have to be the king or a real prisoner to cause such a racket. But if the Duke of Marblue is involved—”
Wincing at Lettie’s choice of comparison, Belinda laid a hand on Lettie’s arm and stood on tiptoe to kiss Winthrop’s cheek. “Then nothing good will come of it. Thanks, you two. I’m going to get help. Whatever you hear about a beast or a cursed man in the dungeon, he’s innocent. Remember that.”
“The warden’s not exactly a loyal flock member, but I can try talking to him and at least make sure the prisoner is well taken care of,” Winthrop offered, catching her hand as she turned away.
“Please do, but be careful if you see any of the Duke of Marblue’s men.”
“What—”
Tugging her hand free, Belinda prayed the way to the castle would still be open to her. The day was dimming already. “I have to go! I love you both!”
“What help will she find in the forest?” Winthrop asked as Belinda darted away.
Chapter 16
The darkening clouds swirled under the glass floor of the Observation Room as Lyndon paced and Belinda sat at the desk, clasping the mirror, watching Beast sleep chained to a stone wall.
“We’re the only two who can leave the castle grounds,” Lyndon protested. “I have to go to the tower and you must ride for the king. I bear his livery. They’ll listen to me, at least until you can get King Patrick there.”
Once again, Belinda shook her head and called out, “Lady Violetta! Come! Please, come!” She looked up through the glass roof, as if the enchantress lived in the sky rather than some fashionable house in town. But looking up reminded her to pray as well.
Only Lyndon’s exasperated huff came in reply. Did the enchantress only answer when Belinda was in front of her mirror holding a hairbrush?
Refusing to let her shoulders droop, Belinda turned back to Lyndon. “The Duke of Marblue’s men won’t respect you. At the very least they’ll lock you up as an accomplice.”
Lyndon’s hand cut through the air in a gesture of exasperation. “I hope the king hangs them for this. As to me being in danger, Lucrezia knows both of us. You won’t be safe either. We need to go anyway—me to the tower and you to the king—and we must leave now.” He scooped up the mirror and tucked his hand under Belinda’s elbow to help her up. “Please, Belinda.” The desperation in his eyes tore at her already fragile heart.
“Please, wait just a moment more,” she pleaded, rising anyway. “We’d be too slow going for the king without—” A burst of rainbow-colored light in the center of the room reflected off the glass walls with blinding brilliance before coalescing into a violet cloud floating beyond the desk. The cloud sank to the floor, slowly unveiling Lady Violetta. She shifted ever so slightly as she stood, letting the light sparkle off a shimmering violet gown. The fabric and jewel creation was tame by Lady Violetta’s standards, but still wide enough to fill a carriage by itself.
She nodded regally at Lyndon and smiled at Belinda. “I really hope you have good news, my dear. Not to scold,” she said in a mildly censoring tone, the kind one would use on a favorite pooch who just destroyed a favorite wand, “but I was in the middle of a most engaging dinner party, and leaving guests is so rude. I was getting their opinion on my new creation—I whipped it up with you in mind in case, you know—What a brilliant room! Did I do this?” Clapping her hands in glee, Lady Violetta began strolling the length of the glass thorn-shaped room.
Snatching the mirror from the stunned Lyndon, Belinda snagged Lady Violetta’s voluminous skirt before she could get too far away. “You’ve got to help! She’s caught him and imprisoned him.”
Lady Violetta froze mid-tweak of her gown and glanced at the mirror Belinda held in front of her. Her violet eyes went pale before darkening to a deep, dangerous amethyst. “Oh no, she doesn’t.” Drawing herself up, she snapped her fingers. Black mist swirled about her feet, and her wand lengthened to a scepter. Her hair lost its shimmer but gained a tiara of black diamonds. Her gown slimmed to an austere robe of black with a silver belt of diamonds and blood red rubies. Eyes flashing, she tapped the scepter against the floor. The swirling black mist vanished. “No one’s spoiling my curse.”
Mouth agape, Belinda stepped back, very carefully. Had she called forth some sort of mistress of evil?
Brushing past Belinda to the desk, Lady Violetta pushed up her sleeves and sat. She pulled a piece of stationery from the desk to her, and a violet-feathered quill drawn from somewhere in the ether appeared. She looked up at Belinda, quill poised, eyes intent. “Now, what are we going to do?”
Belinda’s knees gave way. She grabbed the edge of the desk as Lyndon caught her by the arm. “Um …”
“Um …” Lady Violetta repeated, leaning over the paper as she began to write. “Um … Umbrage?” She glanced up at Belinda. “Yes, I take great offense at this matter too, as will the king.”
“Um … that’s not … I meant …”
“Umbrella!” Lady Violetta supplied cheerfully. “Though I’m not sure how useful it would be. It’s not raining at the
moment, though”—she looked through the floor—“it might be soon. Such forethought you have. And I could put a spell on it! That would be useful.”
“No … I …” Movement in the mirror caught Belinda’s attention. Beast shifted in his sleep, wincing as if in pain. It twisted something inside her, tugging all her stray thoughts and fears and plans back into place. She pressed her hand to her heart, as if doing so could somehow hold all those things there, as if they could hold her heart together long enough to rescue Beast. “I need you to send Lyndon to King Patrick, then both to the tower in my village,” she blurted. “Preferably with a unit of guards.”
Lady Violetta blinked, then set down her quill in a suddenly appearing gold inkwell. She exhaled a delicate sigh. “My job would be so much easier if everyone knew the rules and limitations of magic. I can’t, I’m afraid, magically vaporize, transport, and un-vaporize more than one person to one place. No moving of armies, for certain.” She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “Rules. Not to mention that maintaining this curse for three years has been draining.” She paused, seemingly seeking sympathy, then added before Belinda or Lyndon could speak, “And I should probably mention that I can’t do anything directly. Nothing to prevent Lucrezia from forcing him to propose.”
A bolt of gray went through Belinda’s heart. Blast gray! “Then send Lyndon. That would cut half the time to get the king to the tower. If you could help me get in to Beast”—Lady Violetta’s nodding and retrieval of her quill encouraged Belinda to continue with what seemed hopeless—“maybe we can sneak him out as a … flower in my hair or something.”
The quill drooped. “I’m afraid you can’t do a second transformation spell on someone. Only one spell at a time. The spells might get mixed up and who knows what the end result would be.”
Belinda blanched. “Oh.”
“Yes, but back to”—the quill began writing on its own as Lady Violetta spoke—“get Belinda into the cell with Beast idea. I like that one. Very promising.” Her smile was decidedly sly, but Belinda didn’t have time to consider it.
