The Beauty's Beast

by E. D. Walker

  Garwaf whined stubbornly, but eventually the king convinced him of the wisdom in leaving. The last thing the wolf wanted was to harm Kathryn’s reputation by some act of his own. So, after repeated assurances on Llewellyn’s part that Kathryn would be fine, Garwaf agreed to leave.

  Kathryn’s father, on the other hand, refused to depart from the convent until Kathryn became well enough to order him away. Since they had secured his promise to stay quiet and let the king deal with the “bandits” who had injured his daughter, Stephen was given countenance to stay. King Thomas and Llewellyn didn’t need Lord Stephen back at the castle to make their story plausible anyway.

  ***

  Garwaf peeked inside Kathryn’s room, his ears perked forward. She beckoned him in and smiled when he bounded happily to her side. He gingerly jumped on the bed and rested his head in her lap.

  Kathryn tweaked his ears. She didn’t remember much from the previous day as yet, but she still understood what she must do. Fragile in her heart and body, she still had strength enough, bravery enough now, to start the discussion she had been dreading since the feast. Her haphazard flight had been an attempt to avoid this moment, but with the wolf at her bedside she had to speak. “Garwaf.”

  He looked up at once and crept closer, slipping against her side so she didn’t have to speak too loudly. His scent filtered up to Kathryn, and she smiled. He always smelled strangely nice. Of leather and manly works, also meadows and roses, sharp and strong but tender and sweet as well.

  She bestirred herself. She would never get to her point if she let her thoughts continue in that vein. “I don’t want you to have any sense of obligation toward me.” She scratched his ears and touched the wound on his shoulder, which had started to scar over. “I think you’ve more than discharged any debt you might believe you owe me. Go with King Thomas, return to your real life, and forget the wolf’s bookish little friend.”

  Her words tumbled out in a rush. Like tearing the dressing from a wound, she hoped to get her ordeal over with quickly. “You still love your wife and—” Her throat threatened to close up with the knot that was forming, but she would get this out. “When you return to her—”

  The wolf growled.

  Kathryn startled at the noise. She blinked, confused by the disgusted look on his face. “Do you want to return to your wife?”

  A belligerent and violent head shake. No.

  “But Reynard said—” Realizing how stupid the rest of the sentence forming in her head really was, Kathryn cursed her own folly fluently in two languages. Reynard, scoundrel that he was, had still seen through her and plucked just the right chords inside her soul to send her dancing to his tune. “Well, thank Kind Fate, no serious harm has been done.”

  The wolf snorted and nudged her side.

  She gave a small, pained laugh. “Right.” Being of a very pragmatic nature, Kathryn had conveniently forgotten the arrow in her shoulder. “Well, then. That’s good. That we have an understanding.” Her heart clenched with hope. She gazed into Garwaf’s eyes and saw the human heart shining out of them. He gazed back adoringly.

  Kathryn, the more practical of the two, was the first to shake out of her reverie. “Well, you great ass, the sooner you make off with the king and Llewellyn, the sooner we can be about the business of life.” She made an impatient shooing motion. “Out, you great silly beast. Get thee gone. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back, yes?”

  The wolf started to go, then whirled back, jumped up, and licked her face before galloping out of the sickroom in search of his king. She laughed and wiped her wet cheek.

  A shadow fell over her heart after he’d left. The soulful eyes gazing out of a wolf’s head were one thing, but she found herself wondering what she would do if she ever saw those same eyes shining out of a human face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alisoun had always been cunning and careful. Originally naught but a poor steward’s daughter, through guile, good looks, and rather a bit of luck, she had managed to snag one of the best catches in the kingdom. Gabriel, the king’s nephew and heir, the Duke of Dorré, had chosen her.

  Then, when her first husband, after nearly a year of marriage, had shown himself to have rather an inconvenient problem, she managed affairs to dispose of him accordingly. After, she’d replaced Gabriel with a much more malleable tool in Reynard, and one willing to use the power she secured for him.

  Closeted away in her chambers, she reclined on her bed while her lady’s maid read a romance verse aloud to her. Hooves clattered on the cobbles of the court below. Someone was arriving at Dorré.

  The maid dropped her book with a resounding thud, her soft slippers shushing across the floor toward the window. “Lord Reynard has returned.” The serving girl stammered as she said his name.

  Alisoun laughed to herself. If Reynard had not already bedded her maidservant, then his failure wasn’t for lack of trying. Alisoun had never met a hornier old goat than Reynard of Troumper in all her life.

  “I suppose my husband will come to pay his respects as soon as he may.” Alisoun motioned for the maid to resume her reading but no longer attended to the ballad herself. Rumors had reached her of the king’s new pet. An uncanny black wolf, unnaturally large and well trained for a beast so lately plucked from the wild. Alisoun was curious indeed to hear Reynard’s impressions of this wolf.

  Not that the wolf’s sudden appearance meant anything. Pure coincidence merely. It had to be.

  When Reynard arrived at her chambers with unaccustomed promptness, a sense of foreboding pricked at the clever Lady Alisoun. When her husband peremptorily dismissed her maid from the room, he gained Alisoun’s full attention.

  “I bought you some scented gloves, my love.” Reynard sneered the endearment, mocking her as he tossed the parcel onto her bed to hit her legs. Alisoun made no move to pick up her present.

  “How was the feast?” she asked him.

  Reynard scratched at his beard, a sharp rasp of skin on stubble in the quiet of her chambers. “Alisoun, we have a problem.” He then proceeded to pour out to her all the disastrous occurrences of the past week, up to the preceding night’s happenings with the injured girl.

  When Reynard had finished, Alisoun smoothed her skirts, hissed in a deep breath, and proceeded to give him the tongue-lashing of his life. “The wolf attacked you, and you let it live? You bloody fool. What better excuse did you need for killing the beast? And if the wolf is him, all the better. That loose end has long haunted me. It would be a comfort to know he’s been dealt with.”

  “Quite the loving wife, aren’t you, my darling?”

  Alisoun snatched at the package he had given her and threw the parcel at his head.

  “You missed, my lamb.”

  Alisoun curled her lip in distaste. Her husband had old scars from Alisoun’s other fits of pique. She had a habit of throwing breakables and smashing furniture when someone flouted her will. A pity that her aim had deteriorated of late.

  Reynard held his tongue for now. He never fought her back anymore. He was probably scared of killing her accidentally. At least over the tedious, dark time of their marriage he had learned to value her cleverness. Her husband was a great fool, but he still knew he needed her cleverness to see him through this crisis.

  Once the wolf was gone, things might change, but Alisoun would plan carefully for that as well.

  What a shame it was that Beatrice had been away from court for the feast. A singularly stupid girl, Reynard’s sister yet had her uses in keeping her brother from costly blunders. Ah well, the damage is done. Now, how to repair matters? “I will unravel this knot you have tied,” Alisoun snapped. “Never fear, dear heart. Now leave.”

  Reynard left with haste, boot heels ringing, and slammed her door on his way out.

  She gave a small laugh. My dear husband is not overly fond of my society these days. Well, the feeling was mutual.

  ***

  King Thomas arrived in his castle in time to sit with his k
nights for the noonday meal and catch them up with a fictionalized account of the past night’s adventures. Garwaf came in for some lighthearted scolding and passed the deception off well enough.

  Queen Aliénor, since Kathryn was her dear friend, would be put in possession of the truth. The king didn’t relish the task but went at once after his meal to break the news to his lady. King Thomas made plans to meet Llewellyn in his workshop as soon as possible afterward to discuss their next steps.

  Garwaf, listless and unequal to enduring the rowdy knights, went to the alcove of roses. He sat there for some time, turning things over in his mind. Surrounded by the scent of roses, awash in memories of his happy days with Kathryn, he reached a decision. Sliding off the rose bench, he ran in search of King Thomas.

  Garwaf found the king closeted in Llewellyn’s workshop, a plan of a siege tower spread out between them. He gazed at the plans with mild interest before puffing out an unimpressed snort.

  The king laughed. “Yes, we found them highly impractical as well.” He patted the wolf’s shoulder and proceeded to roll up the plans. He turned away, and Garwaf looked at Llewellyn.

  The magician frowned and touched the king’s shoulder. They both looked to Garwaf.

  The wolf scratched with his paw in the dirt outside Llewellyn’s hut. Gabriel had learned his letters as a boy and, though not a great reader, he had been able to pen a letter or two if the need presented itself. No one had yet, however, seen him display any such talents in wolf form. Indeed, he labored hard at his task, blinking, his tongue lolling out. At last, his effort completed, he stepped back from his great work so the other two could read his message.

  HELP ME was all Garwaf had spelled out, but the two words had the desired effect.

  King Thomas and Llewellyn traded looks and nodded. The king stepped forward, kneeling to bring himself eye to eye with Garwaf. “I thought we both might enjoy a little hunting.” He grinned. “Near Dorré.”

  ***

  The king set out from his castle the next morning with the wolf, Llewellyn, and a significant number of men-at-arms. He said he fancied a spot of hunting after all the trials of the feast. If some of his courtiers wondered what he was about going with so many soldiers, well, as king he could be excused his odd little indulgences.

  ***

  Word of the king’s movements came to Lady Alisoun a few days after her husband’s return from court. These tidings were as unwelcome as they were surprising. Alisoun’s estimable wits had been thrown into a complete disorder. She was flustered. She, the triumphant Duchess of Dorré and Countess of Troumper, was panicking. She could not think of a suitable strategy. Her cool intellect and her steady calmness had abandoned her.

  Finally, she realized there was nothing to do but go to Sûr, where the king quartered himself, and meet the king’s wolf. To so expose herself was a terrible gamble, but she didn’t trust Reynard to go alone. He would undoubtedly bungle everything. Again.

  Her maid laid out all Alisoun’s very best finery. She had to be flawless tomorrow to allay any and all suspicions. She had to look perfect. The ideal of womanhood.

  Perhaps she did not take such a very great risk. She would go for only a short while, just to take the measure of this wolf everyone spoke of. Perhaps, that being done, she might settle on an appropriate course of action. And then she would be able to calm some of the dread that consumed her every moment.

  ***

  Robert of Sûr was a simple creature, a good landlord, and a kind man. On the king’s arrival to stay as his guest, Robert cast doubtful looks at the wolf. Still, the creature traveled with King Thomas and, as such, under Lord Robert’s fundamental code of conduct, the beast was to be welcomed as a guest and treated with all courtesy.

  When the beast demonstrated he could be quite the prettiest-behaved vassal in the lot, Robert was impressed and gave the wolf the good bedchamber adjoined to the king’s.

  Garwaf glanced in concern at the slighted Llewellyn. The magician grinned. “Ah, lad, I don’t mind being bumped down to lesser apartments.” He laughed. “I’m used to it, after all. From the old days, remember? I always got the worst chambers when I traveled with you two.”

  Garwaf whined, unconvinced.

  Llewellyn tweaked his ears, not hard enough to hurt, and smiled broadly. “Believe me when I say that I dearly missed being a second-class houseguest these past two years.”

  Garwaf snorted and let the subject drop but returned to his own plush apartments free of guilt.

  By the second morning of their stay with Sûr, word had predictably spread throughout the surrounding areas that King Thomas had come to call. All his vassals, who had by now returned home from the feast, hastily made their reverences to their lord. Again.

  The king sat at the opposite end of the great hall of Sûr on a raised dais in the finest chair the Baron of Sûr could offer him. Garwaf, like some mythical beast of old, sat at the king’s side like a figure carved of black marble, noble and aloof. Barons, castellans, and knights all made homage to King Thomas while Garwaf remained as removed from the proceedings as if the courtiers were ants scurrying for his scraps.

  There was only one face he wished to see, only one person in all the throng massed about the hall that he wanted to step forward and make her obeisance. His fur stood all on end as he smelled her at last. Never could he forget that spicy floral scent.

  The smell was tinged now with some other scent, an odd pungency almost sickly in nature. The scent reminded him somehow of the goats he used to hunt for meals around the forest. He shook that thought off. She was here, and he would bide his time until she revealed herself. Then…well, then matters rested in Fate’s hands, for Garwaf couldn’t guess what he would do when he saw Alisoun.

  One lowly knight scooted to the side, and she was revealed. The Lady Alisoun, Duchess of Dorré through her marriage to the duke, Gabriel. Countess of Troumper now she was Reynard’s wife. A lithe, glowing vision, she stood before them, the early-morning radiance pouring in through the Baron of Sûr’s leaded windows creating a coronet of sunlight on her head.

  Clad all in white, Alisoun wore a graceful gown of silk fixed with delicate seed pearls at the hems and the cuffs of her long sleeves. She wore elegant gloves, embroidered with silver leaves and delicate buds of flowers over her hands.

  The sight of a tight wimple modestly covering her golden hair startled Garwaf. Before she had displayed her hair with lamentable vanity whenever an opportunity had presented itself to do so.

  Her second husband walked with her, and she delicately rested her hand on his wrist as they shuffled forward in the receiving line. She limped now. She had forever been riding like a madwoman across their lands, and Garwaf would not have been surprised if, at last, Alisoun had suffered an injury for her recklessness. A long, plain white veil covered Alisoun’s face. Her resemblance to an innocent maiden made rage boil over in his gut.

  The sight of her was too much. Nothing could have strangled the wolf in him in that moment. There he was, humbled beyond all measure, imprisoned in a body not his own, tortured, conflicted, and in peril of his soul, and this betraying witch had the gall to play at being the devoted wife. All modesty, chastity, and humble duty to her lord. How dare she?

  The wolf took over, and he pounced from his place by the king and knocked her to the ground. The wolf in him might have ripped her limb from limb, but Llewellyn leapt into the fray to drag him back. The magician whispered a few of his rusty magic spells to calm and hold Garwaf in his place.

  Men closed in on the wolf from all around and tore him from Llewellyn’s protective embrace. Someone knocked Garwaf a resounding blow to the head, and he crumpled unconscious to the great hall’s floor.

  ***

  The nobles might have torn the beast apart right there and then. For what honest man would stand back and let a defenseless woman be savaged right in front of him and not move to act?

  Llewellyn staggered to his feet, throwing himself over the wolf. “Listen
to me. My lords, you will listen to me.” His voice rose in the highest tones of command, echoing with supernatural force throughout the hall. His command froze them where they stood. “Many of you know this beast. There is not a one of you who has not watched him, marked his noble bearing and gentleness. Never before this has he shown violence to any human creature save this woman.” He pointed to Alisoun, who had not moved one inch from where she lay on the floor. “And her husband.” He leveled a finger at Reynard, who sheepishly stepped back from the wolf he’d been about to kick in the ribs.

  Reynard immediately assumed a none-too-convincing air of outraged innocence.

  Clenching his hands, Llewellyn raised them high, his voice tight with the fervor of his words. “By my troth, I swear our wolf has some cause to hold such a bitter grudge against Lady Alisoun and her husband, Lord Reynard.”

  Reynard steadily edged his way out of the hall.

  “You all knew the other Duke of Dorré, our dear Gabriel.” Llewellyn placed his palm over his heart, dropping his gaze to look at the wolf. “Can any man among you tell me the truth of what became of him?”

  The crowd eyed the unconscious wolf in wonder and confusion.

  Llewellyn had hit his stride by then—he had the crowd in his thrall. “I say we question Lady Alisoun to see what she knows about this wolf. And her first husband’s disappearance. Let us discover the truth of why the wolf hates her so. Make her tell what she knows of his curse.”

  At this time, Reynard made a rather pronounced bid for freedom, knocking people down as he ran for the doors. Very quickly, the crowd apprehended the knight, and some of the king’s men-at-arms dragged him back.

  King Thomas went to Lady Alisoun. She still breathed, but she had not stirred on the ground. He touched her shoulder. “What have you to say, my lady?”