The Beauty's Beast

by E. D. Walker

  Later, the abbess came by and told Beatrice with the utmost delicacy that her brother, Reynard, and his wife were dead, the one having succumbed to her illness, the other killed in a duel by the newly reinstated Duke of Dorré, one Gabriel fitz Michael, nephew to the king. The abbess was respectful and gentle when breaking the news, but Beatrice could tell this was not ill news to the abbess.

  Beatrice cried a little over her brother that afternoon in the solitude of her own room. Not so much for her brother himself—he’d always been vile to her—but perhaps for the idea of him. Certainly she cried for the loss of her security. She was quite alone in the world now.

  His wife, Lady Alisoun, mattered not at all. She was a stone-cold bitch in life, and now she was just stone cold. That news mattered little to Beatrice.

  The spiritual life was swiftly becoming Beatrice’s only option.

  ***

  By the end of that week, Beatrice still had no idea who or what lay in the secret bedroom. The invalid’s identity was probably not all that important, but at heart Beatrice remained an irredeemable gossip. It pained her that scandal and intrigue brewed around her, yet nothing she was able to do could unravel the truth. She went to bed every evening with her fists clenched on the covers and woke the next morning with the same acute burning of dissatisfaction in her gut.

  After Beatrice broke her fast the next morning, the subprioress came to speak to her. “Lady Beatrice, a young maiden arrived last night to stay as a guest. She also is contemplating a monastic life. I thought the two of you might be good company for each other while you each sort out what is best to be done with your futures. If you would be so kind, she is helping Sister Ursula in the vegetable patch.”

  “Of course, sister.” Beatrice nodded demurely. Rubbing her hands in expectation, she went to see this “new arrival,” which, Beatrice had no doubt, was the invalid who had actually been secreted away within the convent these two weeks past.

  “Her name is Kathryn,” the subprioress called after Beatrice.

  Beatrice all but ran to the dingy little vegetable patch.

  Kathryn wore a plain brown gown, given to her by the sisters. It had probably been one of the gifts to the poor from a novice entering the order. She perched on her knees next to a fresh-faced young nun, and the two of them were up to their elbows in dirt, happily digging away in the garden.

  “The subprioress recommended me to find you, m’dear,” Beatrice said sweetly. “She thought you might like a companion. Someone to show you the ropes on your first day at Bourlonge.”

  The little witch, Kathryn, flinched and, hands shaking, looked up at Beatrice.

  Beatrice couldn’t help the exclamation that burst from her. “What happened to you?”

  Kathryn flushed. Fading bruises and healing cuts covered the girl’s face, and her eye particularly showed signs of an old bruise just turning yellow at the edges.

  Beatrice sat on a nearby bench. She smiled at the confused Sister Ursula. “We are friends of old, dear sister. Will you leave us in solitude to reminisce?”

  Darting a glance at Kathryn, who nodded reluctantly, the nun wiped her hands on her apron and wandered off.

  Beatrice clasped her hands. “Well? What happened?”

  Kathryn glared at Beatrice. “Men are allowed to do what they will to women. Your brother believes so, anyway.”

  “Yes, he does.” Beatrice swallowed, an unaccustomed burst of sympathy tugging at her heart. She clenched her jaw and pushed it away, forcing her voice to go honey sweet. “Well, Little Kathryn, here all alone, are you?”

  Face set, Kathryn sat back on her heels. “What do you want?”

  “Retribution for what you did to me.”

  “I did not do anything to you.” Kathryn turned back to her vegetable patch. “I did not force you to trade your body in exchange for social consequence. Nor did I make you tell wretched lies to the queen. Nor did I have anything to do with the king and queen’s decision to banish you from the court. I did nothing to you.”

  Beatrice snorted. “I could have triumphed over that she-devil, Aliénor. King Thomas would have been forced to help me to a good husband if nothing else. But you came and wrecked everything.”

  “What do you want me to do? I can’t cleanse your besmirched character nor make any decent man want you now. I say you had better take your vows today and cut your losses.”

  “Why, you little—” Beatrice advanced on her.

  Kathryn held her off with a small spade. “Watch yourself, Beatrice. Lay a hand on me within the enclave, and there’s nowhere on earth that will take you.”

  Beatrice sat back on her rump and scowled.

  Kathryn’s brows pinched together, her eyes soft and sad. “You’ve made your own fate, Beatrice. Now live with it.”

  Beatrice glowered at the girl and stomped off to the rectory to brood.

  ***

  Kathryn’s time at the convent had been painful and inconvenient, but she found much comfort in Abbess Marie. As soon as Kathryn felt up to it, she had poured out all of her story to the abbess’s sympathetic ears. Marie did remark as she left the room that the story would make quite the fairy tale.

  Reflecting on this, Kathryn had to agree, but she would never write such a tale. Not now.

  The abbess, Kathryn’s jailer and nursemaid in one, allowed her to go about the convent now her shoulder was doing better and her appalling bruises were healing. Unfortunate that her first day out and about the place she had had a scene with Beatrice forced on her, but this hardly troubled Kathryn. Beatrice, after all, could do nothing within the rectory, and Kathryn had been enjoying herself all morning despite the unpleasantness. She could almost forget her worries and her sorrow in the joy of being out in the world again. Almost.

  The wolf had been gone two weeks, and Kathryn had received no word but what the abbess could tell her—of the disease and death of Lady Alisoun, of the wolf’s return to humanity, his speech to his vassals, the duel, Reynard’s death, and the duke’s reputed injuries. That these wounds had been extensive enough to keep him abed for a while, Kathryn understood. And yet…

  Garwaf had found his clothes again. He’d changed back. He was the Duke of Dorré once more, Gabriel fitz Michael, heir to the throne until the queen was delivered of an heir—which the abbess had confided to Kathryn would be soon enough now. The midwife had confirmed the news only yesterday, and Aliénor had wanted word sent to Marie and Kathryn.

  Garwaf, or Lord Gabriel rather, though he would soon only be second in succession to the throne, had become a very important person again. His lack of communication with Kathryn also made the fact apparent that he was someone who no longer had any time for her. Not now that he was human.

  Their last meeting remained vivid in her head. She thought they had come to an understanding. She remembered the speaking look in his eyes, so full of promise. Yet as the weeks passed without any word from him, it became easier to believe the promise his eyes had held was no more than a delusion of her pain-fevered mind.

  Aliénor’s latest letter said King Thomas and his retinue were expected to return to the castle from Dorré any day. Frankly, Kathryn couldn’t wait for that happy event. Surely they would send some word to her, and then she could resign herself completely to a life among the sisters of Bourlonge. Kathryn had decided that to lead a quiet life of scholarship and hermitage here in this lovely haven, while it was not quite what she had dreamed of, would not be so awful. She would never take vows, of course. How could she pledge her heart to Fate when it belonged to someone else? But seclusion from the world seemed a desirable thing to her these days.

  She would have reconciled herself to a monastic life already if not for Queen Aliénor. Aliénor, perhaps sensing Kathryn’s disappointment, had written that she believed Duke Gabriel was rough-riding through the country to storm into the convent, sweep Kathryn in his arms, and carry her off to be his bride.

  Had this been his plan, though, such an event should’ve happened a
lready. Kathryn had written back to Aliénor and had, at least, gotten the queen to agree that if Gabriel didn’t return with the king, then Kathryn had royal permission to submerge herself in life at the convent.

  Over the next couple of days, Kathryn often found herself, irritatingly enough, remembering what the human Garwaf looked like from that portrait in the queen’s chambers. In her most unguarded moments, Kathryn even embroidered on the vision the queen had conjured for her.

  Once Kathryn realized she was doing this, however, she scolded herself soundly and recited in her mind the most gruesome tales of gore she could remember to distract herself. The strategy even worked sometimes. Sometimes she did manage to turn her thoughts away from the wolf she had lost forever and the man she would never know now.

  ***

  Queen Aliénor, true to her promise, rode out in company with her ladies-in-waiting and several men-at-arms to visit the convent of Bourlonge to reclaim her horse and see Kathryn. The queen stayed the day with Kathryn, and they laughed together like times of old. Aliénor showed great restraint in asking Kathryn to return with her to court only once.

  Kathryn bit her lip. “My queen, I can’t.”

  Perhaps noticing Kathryn’s fragile state, the queen shifted topics. “The midwife says I’m nearly two months along.”

  Kathryn touched the queen’s thickening belly with a grin. “I’m not surprised.”

  Aliénor beamed. Kathryn smiled back, a little sad but happy for her friend. The queen clasped Kathryn’s hand. “My king hasn’t even returned yet. He’s the most abominable correspondent—only writing to tell me Gabriel is wounded and he cannot leave his nephew’s side yet. When Gabriel is well, King Thomas will return. They both will.”

  Kathryn nodded but quickly changed the subject to something less painful.

  The queen departed the next morning, taking with her Gaenor, the sweet mare she had lent Kathryn all those weeks ago.

  As she watched Aliénor and the others ride away, Kathryn sighed. An oppressive tide of loneliness swept over her from head to foot. The day after the queen’s visit, she couldn’t bear company. She hid in the vegetable garden with one of the novices as her chaperone and rooted and weeded and got filthy trying to take her mind off things.

  ***

  Gabriel’s wounds had not been severe, but he had lost far too much blood for comfort. For nearly a week, he remained in a dreadful fever, half out of his wits most of the time. The only signs of lucidity he showed were when he spoke of Kathryn.

  Eventually the fever broke, and Gabriel began to mend.

  “Well, my lad,” Llewellyn said at the end of the second week, “your wound is healing just fine. Your fever’s gone. You’ve managed to sort out the most immediate needs of the estate while bedridden. You may be fit to travel.” Gabriel tried to leap from bed at once, but Llewellyn held him down with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow.” Taking no chances, the magician dosed his patient with poppy juice to keep Gabriel still for the night.

  Nothing would do next morning, though, but for Gabriel to mount up as soon as the sky had lightened. His uncle hastily made preparations and rode off with his retinue straggling behind as he tried to keep up with Gabriel’s eager pace.

  The cavalcade arrived at the convent of Bourlonge on the second day of their journey. Gabriel rode in at the gate, warily casting his gaze about to see whether she was there. She was not waiting, and he staggered almost from a physical blow. His eyes, his arms, his heart ached for Kathryn.

  The abbess stood ready to greet him. As soon as he had dismounted, she hugged him tight to her chest, weeping a little. He smiled kindly as he held her away from him. “Where is she, Aunt?”

  The abbess smiled in understanding, eyes still watery. “The vegetable patch. Sister Ursula will guide you.”

  When the king and Llewellyn started to follow him, Gabriel waved them away. “May I go alone?”

  Abashed, the two went to take refreshment with the abbess and wait.

  ***

  Kathryn knelt in the garden, covered in dirt and very hot. She wiped a hand across her sweat-dampened brow, smearing a long mark of dirt across her face. Uncaring, she sat back on her heels to think about Garwaf. She missed him so very much.

  In acknowledging that she missed him, she surrendered at last and allowed herself to be lost in memories of him: Llewellyn’s workshop, shopping at the market together, the quiet of the rose garden, chasing each other and laughing in the king’s orchard…

  ***

  Gabriel and his holy guide turned a corner, and all he saw was a young novice bent over her work. He turned to the sister who had escorted him there, his throat clogging with fear. “She’s not a novice, surely. Lady Kathryn, I mean, she hasn’t—”

  Sister Ursula shook her head, an amused gleam in her eye. “That is one of our novices. Lady Kathryn is just there.” She pointed.

  He whipped his head around, and at last he saw that same lithe silhouette, still wearing a plain brown gown of the secular world and not the habit of a nun. Reluctantly he tore his gaze from her back and looked to his monastic escort. “With your leave, I’ll continue alone.”

  Sister Ursula hesitated, but then, with a quick nod, she left.

  ***

  Kathryn swatted a gnat off her face, no doubt leaving yet another daub of dirt on her cheek. She whistled under her breath, content with sunshine and fond recollections of her lost love, which she would always have to comfort her in her solitude.

  “Excuse me…Lady Kathryn?”

  She whirled, startled by the soft male voice behind her. As Kathryn stared at the visitor, aghast, her breath strangled in her throat.

  She gazed with dazzled eyes at the dark young man who stood above her. Dusty from the road, he carried his traveling jerkin clutched in one hand. He was tall and well muscled, and his deep black hair fell in beautiful waves to frame his face. His jaw and fine cheekbones were dark shadowed with a normally well-kept beard, now spotted in places by a few patches of errant stubble. His lips were wide and shapely, and his nose would have been noble and aquiline but for the crook in the middle where it had been broken. He had a few long scratches on his cheek, and some yellowing bruises, but other than that, he was most obviously a young man glowing with happiness and in the prime of his life.

  The white scar on his face looked familiar but oddly out of place where it puckered over a human eye and cheek. The wind whipped up and pulled back his shirt from his shoulder to show the thin white lines of a wound newly healed and scarred over.

  Kathryn pinched her eyes closed. The dog bite. She snapped her eyes open again, and the golden pendant caught the light in its rosy petals, dangling on the same chain as a heavy cross of Fate.

  She steeled herself and gulped in a breath. Without even looking, without any of these outward signs, she would have known this man. With her eyes closed, blinded forever, deaf, dumb, or dead, still she would have known him. Something inside her simply couldn’t help but thrum and sing out in his presence—wolf, man, or otherwise. For all that, there remained one thing more. One last test she had to try before she could let her heart break. She clenched her jaw and looked into his eyes.

  As his dark gaze held her in its thrall, caressing her, cradling her, promising everything—even though it was impossible—her own eyes prickled with tears.

  She wanted to look away, to break the contact and run from him. Instead, she found herself all but falling toward him, her arms reaching out, her feet tangling in her skirts as she rushed forward.

  He lifted his hands, long hands calloused with a lifetime of work, battle, and running unshod through forests, but still shapely and gentle. He caught her arms, and she felt a shiver pass through him. “Kathryn.”

  She swallowed, the lump in her throat all but choking her, and eased back to get another look at him. Kathryn had realized she felt rather more strongly for the wolf than she had wanted to believe. Now, to find herself head over heels in love with a werewolf was somethin
g quite different. Still, no denying it. She loved him, beast or no, werewolf that he was, and she would love him in any shape, any color, any form the world might choose to make him. “Gabriel.” She gave him a watery smile.

  He voiced a small groan and held his arms wide to embrace her. She stepped happily into the circle of his embrace as if she had done so all her life. She wanted to tangle her fingers in his silky dark hair but then, remembering the garden dirt on her hands, she clenched her fingers tight so as not to soil his shirt. Even as she twined her arms more tightly around his neck, she kept her hands curled into fists.

  Gabriel clasped her to him and gulped in a deep breath, his gaze intent on her mouth. Her heart fluttered in her chest. They both held their breaths, easing toward each other. Over the protesting gasp of the novice chaperone, Gabriel touched his lips to Kathryn’s.

  He kissed her rather thoroughly, and for quite a long time too, making her all warm and tingly inside, and totally insensible to the rest of the world. For her part, she threw her arms around him, pressing her body tight to her garwaf, her duke, her one true love.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Eventually Gabriel and Kathryn were persuaded by the offended novice to break apart. Only then did Kathryn take herself off to the washbasin to clean her hands, laughing all the while. When she came back, Gabriel held one hand out to her and, with wonder in her eyes, for the first time but certainly not the last, she shyly curled her fingers around his.

  The novice escorted them to the receiving room to reunite with King Thomas and Llewellyn, but those worthies had already stepped out. Gabriel ordered the young novice to go find them at once, and the flustered girl ran out of the room to obey.

  Kathryn started to scold her duke for such high-handed behavior but, on realizing they were quite alone for the moment, she subsided, her cheeks flushing. The first thing they did, of course, was kiss each other again. Kathryn found this activity quite enjoyable and thought she was rather getting the hang of kissing.