Natural light. And perhaps this was why he was in such a hurry to show her the room before the sun set.
She had misjudged him.
“Oh, thank you.” Her voice caught at his kindness. “It is beautiful.”
He seemed pleased at her words, and bowed low. “The light is fading and I must go. Ask for a hot bath, dinner, whatever you wish.” He backed out of the room.
Surprised, she lifted a hand in goodbye. But the way he hunched, a small furtiveness in his eyes, made her check the farewell, her hand half-raised. Then he closed the door. Closed her in.
Unsure, Astrid took a tentative step toward the pale wooden door and then another. Lifted her hand to the handle and pulled.
Locked.
He had locked her in.
And for the first time she saw, while she had natural light from her skylights, it was the only light she did have. There was no fireplace here, or wall sconces. Within a few minutes, she’d be in darkness.
“I want a hot bath. And towels. And a beautiful white nightdress. And dinner fit for a king,” she called out, fear and anger mingling at being tricked, at being imprisoned. She closed her mouth abruptly as the things appeared. The bath in one corner, the nightdress and towels hanging from a wooden stand next to it. The dinner laid out on a table with a white linen cloth.
“Oh.” She breathed the word out, sniffed the tantalizing smell of roast lamb with mint and rosemary. The rose scent of bath oil.
A solution to her problem occurred to her and she grinned suddenly. “I want a candle,” she called.
Nothing appeared.
“A fire.”
Still nothing.
“A torch.”
Nothing moved in the room except the perfumed steam from her bath and the fragrant steam of her meal, drifting upwards, swirling in the fading beams of light from her ceiling.
Cool air flowed in from the sky lights and Astrid shivered. Hugged herself. “Why do you want me in the dark, bear?” she whispered.
As if she wasn’t in the dark enough already.
Chapter Eight
He never made it to his chamber. He wasn’t sure afterward why he thought he needed to. As it was, halfway there pain struck him like a bolt of lightning and ripped him to the core, like a tree split and charred in a thunderstorm.
He slammed against the wall and slid to the floor, sure somehow Norga had not honored the deal. That he was dying.
He lay there, flaying like a fish out of water, and for a moment, as the pain increased beyond the imaginable, beyond what he could take, he knew he was dead.
Astrid was imprisoned in her room and she’d be stuck there, while his body rotted in the passageway outside, was all he could think. Until he couldn’t think anymore. Of anything. Except the stabbing, slashing knives of pain.
As he curled up, almost gave up, the pain just stopped.
It was as shocking as running into a door.
He shuddered, reeling at the absence of pain where once pain was all he had.
He looked down at his paws . . . hands.
He was free.
Until the sun rose, he was free.
He lay shaking for a minute more, unable to move, unable to trust it wasn’t a terrible joke.
But nothing happened and he pushed up on his knees, held his arms in front of him, twisting them this way and that. He stuck out a leg, wriggled his toes. Then used the wall to pull himself to a stand.
Elation expanded his chest. He would give every miserable second of the last eleven months three times over for this. Every soul-destroying, happiness-leeching day had been worth it to find Astrid, without whom he could never have set foot inside these walls again.
He glanced back the way he’d come, to her chamber at the far end of the corridor. Looked toward his own rooms.
He needed to get used to himself again. And the thought of a bath, of food like stew and bread after too long on raw fish and berries, decided him.
He used the wall to steady himself as he moved toward his wing of the palace, but when he reached his door, he couldn’t help a last look down the passage.
He would walk this corridor again before the sun rose.
* * *
The snick of the stone shutters closing over the skylights jerked her out of her doze. Astrid held her breath, her heart thundering.
She’d closed those shutters herself earlier, then, frightened by the absolute darkness they created, opened them again. She preferred to pull down the velvet drapes of her bed to cut off the cool air from the outside than entomb herself in her chamber.
Another shutter clicked closed. Someone was in the room.
Now she was aware of it, she heard footsteps, bare feet padding across the granite floor.
A man. Not Bear.
He blundered into the table she’d wished up earlier, clean of dishes and leftovers, and she heard a curse.
“Who is there?” she called out, sitting straight up and looking wildly around for a weapon. What could she use . . . of course! “I want an ax,” she whispered to the room, and one suddenly weighed in her hand.
She could have asked for any number of sharp objects, but she knew how to handle an ax.
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” a voice called, a deep voice, a bit like Bear would sound if he were human.
“Well, you have.” Astrid scrambled to her knees on the bed and held the ax double-handed. “I am armed, do not come any closer.”
She wished she could draw back the velvet drapes, although with the shutters closed, she’d be just as blind as she was now, the starlight shut off.
“Armed?” He sounded amused.
“With an ax.”
“Astrid, where would you have gotten an ax?” The way he said it made her cock her head to one side.
“Is that you, Bear?”
“It is me. But not in the shape you’re used to.”
She was silent a moment, remembering the sound of feet, his voice. “You are a man now?”
“I am.”
She lowered the ax slightly, then gripped it again as she felt the sudden rush of cool air on her face as the curtains were pulled aside.
“Don’t come any closer.” She could not see anything. Even the ax which she’d brought up in front of her face was just another piece of darkness.
“I want only to lie with you, make you truly mine as you agreed.”
“I did not agree to be yours. I agreed to go with you.” Astrid shuffled back on her knees, shaking, the ax still raised high.
“Yes, but you knew I wanted you as my woman. That coming with me would mean being my wife in all but name. Why, even your parents asked me about marriage. You could not have misunderstood.” He spoke softly, calmly.
She wanted to say she had misunderstood, but he was right. “I thought, with you being a bear . . .”
“You hoped my enchantment would save you from my bed?”
“Yes.” She whispered the admission.
“It would have anywhere else. But in terms of the agreement with my enchanter, I am able to return to my human form in my own castle from sunset to sunrise.”
“Why won’t you give me a light in this room? I can’t see you.”
“Exactly.” The satisfaction in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“What is this enchantment all about?” She had to know, she couldn’t remain caught up in this without knowing the stakes.
“I cannot tell you.”
She shook her head at that, although she knew he could not see her. What did he fear she would do if she knew the truth? Was it that terrible?
She drew a deep breath. Perhaps it was.
“What is your name, then?”
He laughed, short and sharp. “What else but Bjorn? My enchanter did not choose my form at random. It amused her to turn me into my namesake.”
She felt the mattress give way at the foot.
“I still have the ax ready,” she warned.
“Then set it down, As
trid.” He spoke as a mother speaks to a recalcitrant child, or a man speaks to his dog, making her want to draw blood.
“No. I have some oaths I would have you swear first.”
Bjorn chuckled, a deep sound from his throat. “You are very good at making me swear oaths, my beautiful one. What would you have of me this time?”
“A promise that you will not take me until I say I am ready. I will not give myself to a stranger. I wish to know you first.”
There was silence from the end of the bed.
Ha, he was speechless for once. She smiled in triumph.
“I will admit I do not want to swear an oath like that.” His voice was dangerously low and her smile faded.
“I am not yours and you do need to swear that oath if you have no wish to be felled by an ax.” She spoke sharp as the edge of the blade in her hands. “But even if I could not protect myself, would you not rather I went gladly to your arms? I agreed to come with you but had no idea what awaited me, and I have known you only three days.” She paused, swallowed. “I am afraid.”
Again there was silence, and then a sigh.
“I cannot find fault in what you say.” He paused. “It is only that I have been waiting for this moment a long time. I have been alone so long . . .”
Stricken by the pain in his voice, Astrid lowered the ax, set it down on the floor to lean against the bed.
“Come then.” She was used to sleeping in the same bed as Bets and Freja. It would be the same as that. “Lie with me as we did in the forest on our way here.”
The cool draft cut off abruptly as the drape was dropped back into place, and she felt him crawl across the bed toward her.
Fingers reached out, touched her face, and then lifted back the blankets for them both.
Astrid began to lower herself down, and an arm snaked under her and pulled her close. His hard body was warm and naked. Tense. His skin smelled clean, with a hint of forest pine, and she breathed his scent in with delight.
Their movements caused the ax to slip down and clatter to the floor and Bjorn stilled beside her.
“What was that?”
“My ax.”
“You really had one?” He sounded astounded.
“Of course. I asked the room for one when I heard you bump into the table.”
Bjorn’s laugh rumbled loud in her ear. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”
“I will.” She held herself back from him, unsure once again, like the first night with him in the forest.
“Come closer.” He spoke mildly, but she could hear the strain beneath and at last, once again like before, she lay her head on his shoulder, giving up the attempt to see his face.
And as she drifted off to sleep, she realized this was nothing like sharing with Bets and Freja.
Chapter Nine
He could stay no longer.
He breathed in the sweet smell of roses and crisp cotton that clung to Astrid and willed himself to get up.
Dawn was coming, and no matter how good it felt to lie beside her, curved warmly against him in deep, trusting sleep, the time to change was almost upon him.
He had to be far from her when it came.
The thought of the return of the pain he’d experienced last night filled him with dread. If it was to be a twice-daily ordeal, he would need to be stronger than he’d ever been before.
Astrid sighed quietly in her sleep, and the sound centered him. There were benefits to taking his human form. Going through the fires of hell to enjoy them every day would only make them sweeter.
He slipped from the bed, let the curtain fall back behind him and opened one of the four shutters, so Astrid would have light when she woke.
As he closed the door behind him, and heard the lock click into place, he was already making plans for his day. Astrid was all that stood between Norga and her goal, and she would never be safe until this year was over. From the moment he’d placed his paw on the mountain’s stone door and declared his quest part-way fulfilled, Norga would have known he’d found his lady.
Which was why Astrid could not set one foot out of this mountain.
He, though, would be out today and every day for the next year, keeping the mountain free of Norga and her minions, whatever it took.
The tired, beaten down bear Norga had taunted in the mountains was gone.
In his place was a killer.
* * *
She woke soon after dawn. A chink in the drapes of her bed let a beam of light straight onto her face, and she squinted and looked to her side.
Bjorn was gone, and she thought of him with a strange flutter in her stomach.
She’d managed to calm the beast but she did not fool herself that it would last long. She shivered. Remembered the feel and smell of him. The way he held her close and still kept his word.
So different from the smelly, lusty-eyed boys of the market who leered at her and her sisters and called out to them.
Freja had someone who courted her when she came to market, but neither of them had a chance of marrying unless they found a way to build a house of their own. Both their family homes were filled to bursting and they would have no life with either of their parents.
Well, perhaps that had changed. Two bags of gold were now at Freja’s disposal.
For the first time, Astrid saw the reason for some of Freja’s desperation. She put her complicated thoughts of her family aside and slipped out of bed, opening all the shutters and letting in the light.
Who was Bjorn to live in such a place, and have such powerful enemies? He seemed so powerful himself, she hardly dared think who or what had bested him, enchanted him and restricted him.
If he would not tell her, she would find out.
Decided on her goal, she wished up hot water, clothes and breakfast.
As she pulled the soft blue wool dress over her head she caught sight of her ax, and nudged it under the bed with her foot. It wouldn’t hurt to have it handy for the future. For who knew what that future would bring?
When she was ready, in a dress and boots fit for a queen, she tried the door, and to her relief it swung open. She was free for the day.
She reached the top of the stairs and could see the main hall was deserted. There was an emptiness to the place that made her sure Bjorn was not here.
Her chance to explore. Get to know these rooms.
And find a way out.
* * *
He’d wanted to be back inside long before dusk. But the sun had already begun to dip below the horizon and he was only now reaching the stone cliff.
Meeting up with old friends and allies had taken longer than he’d thought. He’d had to tread warily. Any one of them could now be in league with Norga, some a more obvious choice for her than others.
All paid him homage, had given thanks for his sacrifices, but it was impossible as yet to tell who meant it and who said it for a chance to get to Astrid.
They were wasting their time, though. He would trust no one with Astrid.
At least meeting up with some of the old guard had reminded him what this was all for. Why he’d never given up.
As he called the mountain door to open, he wondered uneasily where Astrid was within. He had been beyond foolish to risk returning so late.
As soon as the stone rolled closed behind him he ran up the stairs and toward her bedroom, slowing with relief as he heard the splashes of water from within.
He imagined her in her bath, soapy and naked, and his dread of the transformation to come eased. Until this was over, his man’s body could never see her in her bath, but he could touch her skin, learn her inch by inch in the dark.
He reached her door the moment the sun set and rose up on his hind legs to take the pain he knew was coming, to face it head on.
It hit him like the vicious swipe of a bear’s claw, felling him with a single blow. He’d thought knowing what was to come would make it easier, but it did not. He curled up tight. He would surely, surely die this time—
“Bear . . . Bjorn? Are you out there? Are you all right?” Astrid’s fingers scrabbled on the wooden door, and it creaked as she leant against it.
As suddenly as it had come, once again the pain lifted, leaving him shuddering in shock.
He lay still a moment, listening to Astrid’s bath water drip off her onto the golden stone floor.
“Bear,” she whispered, and he could tell she’d knelt down and pressed her cheek to the ground, trying to see below the door.
“Go back to your bath,” he managed to croak. “I . . . there is nothing to fear. I will come to you soon.”
She did not reply, didn’t move either, the only sound the drip, drip, drip of scented water.
Eventually, he heard her get to her feet and walk back to her bath. Heard the soft splash as she sank down into it. He straightened slowly, like an old man, his body still reeling from the memory of pain.
A small trickle of water had leaked from under her door into the passage. Bending, Bjorn trailed his fingers in it and lifted them to his nose.
Roses.
He breathed deeply.
He needed a hot bath of his own, to ease his muscles, help them forget. He needed to eat after the long, physically punishing day.
And he needed to go to Astrid.
Tonight his seduction would begin.
* * *
Astrid stood on a warm rug in her bare feet and nightgown, and looked straight up through the skylights at the night sky.
She needed to find a way out. The clues to Bjorn’s enchantment lay outside this mountain’s walls, not within them.
There was nothing in this place but beautiful furniture and empty rooms, their golden floors and silver walls oppressive in the flickering torch light. Silent and dark as a tomb.
She needed to breathe the fresh air, and the wind . . . she needed the wind on her face, whispering in her ear. She would die in this luxurious cave.
Just thinking of the wind brought tears, and as they stung her eyes she remembered all the times its fingers caressed her like a mother quietening her child, murmured sweet nothings after a hiding from Father, or a meal missed for punishment.
“Oh, wind,” she whispered, and lifted her hands up as if to catch a star.
Mistress of the Wind Page 4
