A Bear's Bride: A Retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon (Entwined Tales Book 3)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  My throat goes thick with emotion. No one has ever made me feel before. I blink quickly, hating the way my eyes sting. Softly, I say, “A maid?”

  He lets out a startled laugh, just as I desperately hoped he would, and it makes my world right. It’s a happy sound, loud and joyful. It warms me from the tips of my fingers, all the way to my toes.

  Finally, he turns. I offer him the handkerchief. He takes it, running his hands along the embroidery as if it’s precious.

  “How many tokens do you have?” I ask. Twenty years is a long time.

  “Nearly a hundred.”

  I drop my hand, feeling awkward now that he’s facing me. “Why then is this the first time the fairies have sent someone to help you?”

  “It’s not.” His mouth tilts in a wry smile. “But it’s the first time I couldn’t convince them to leave it alone—though the first fairy was almost as belligerent as Mortimer.”

  We share a smile, and my reaction scares me. This—this is how it’s supposed to be. My heart beats like a hummingbird in my chest, and my stomach flutters. I’m hot and cold, and I feel weightless—like I could float away.

  Why, why, is it that when I’m finally feeling the pull of genuine attraction, the man ends up being a bear?

  “The coach visits the village tomorrow,” Henri says, his eyes warm. “I’ll send you with a satchel of money—however much you think you’ll need to get to Astoria.”

  Wait a moment.

  What did he say? I was so busy cataloging my reaction, I must have missed something vital.

  I blink at him. “Astoria?”

  “To wherever you live. I assumed from your accent you are Astorian.”

  “You’re sending me away?”

  Didn’t we just share a moment? Even a tiny one? Something?

  “You belong with your family, Sophia.” He almost looks reluctant, but that’s probably wishful thinking on my part. “You have to go home.”

  “Or I could stay.”

  He studies me for several long moments. “You would marry me, knowing what I am?”

  Gently, I pull the handkerchief from his hand and hold it between us, making a statement. “I will gladly marry the man who’s earned almost a hundred of these.”

  “You’ll marry a bear?” he presses.

  I gulp. A bear.

  Marry a bear.

  Can I marry…a bear?

  No matter how I phrase it, it doesn’t get any better.

  Mother will faint when she hears the news, and Father—oh, he’ll be livid. I can just see the way his face will turn red, how he’ll rant and rave because I chose this path—my own path—instead of playing the good daughter and becoming a farmer’s wife.

  Then I think of Peter, how he’ll laugh when the news eventually reaches him.

  Will I marry a bear?

  “Yes, Henri. I will.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dark, thick clouds mask the stars, blocking their dim light. Henri makes his way through the forest, his steps nimble for such a large man. We walk side-by-side, close but not touching, and the silence between us is as heavy as the moisture-dense air.

  I open my mouth half a dozen times, trying to think of something to say to break the tension. And half a dozen times, I stop myself.

  At a distance, a bolt of summer lightning cuts a jagged line through the sky. The thunder reaches us several moments later, but the storm is headed our way. It’s only a matter of time before the worst of it is directly overhead.

  “How far to the village?” I finally manage.

  “We’ll reach it soon,” Henri answers just as I trip on a rock in the trail.

  I stumble forward, but before I can regain my balance, Henri catches my arm and pulls me to his side. My breath catches in my chest as I wait for him to release me.

  Instead of setting me free, he keeps me close, guiding me the rest of the way.

  Just as the forest opens, revealing the village in the valley, the wind picks up. It yanks on my cloak and pulls strands of hair from my braid.

  “Where do we go?” I ask Henri, raising my voice to be heard over the storm. Another bolt of lightning lights the sky, this one much closer.

  “To the tavern,” he hollers back, pulling me down the deserted street.

  We locate the wooden building standing in the center of the square and push through the doors.

  Most of the tables are full, and the patrons turn to see who just barged into the room. Henri closes the door behind us, shutting out the storm.

  His face is shadowed under the hood of his cloak, hiding his identity from any who might recognize him after these long twenty years.

  “Welcome, travelers,” the bartender calls from behind a long, scarred bar at the rear of the room. “We have mulled wine, venison stew, and plenty of mead. Find a place to sit, and we’ll be with you shortly.”

  Henri nods and leads me to a small table in the corner of the room. We’re near the fire, but safe from its dancing light. Nervous, both for Henri and for the reason behind our late-night outing, I slip into the seat facing the room.

  Henri takes the one opposite me, keeping his back toward the villagers who continue to cast curious glances our way. “We’ll wait out the storm.”

  “Do you think anyone will recognize you?” I say, careful to keep my voice low.

  “No,” he murmurs, lowering his hood. “But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

  Again, I’m reminded of what a lonely life Henri must have led, keeping himself apart, prowling the woods and watching over the very people who fear him.

  A young maid, not a day older than Anneliese, sets steaming mugs in front of us. Her eyes flutter over Henri with appreciation, but there is no recognition in her expression—and how could there be? He was cursed several years before she was born.

  The thought makes my stomach knot. Though he looks young, Henri’s older than I am—has lived twice my life. Does he think I’m foolish and naïve? Is that, perhaps, why he fought Mortimer like he did? Maybe he didn’t want to marry a puppy, someone who has experienced so little.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he says as soon as the girl leaves.

  My eyes fly to his, and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “It’s not too late for you to change yours either.”

  The straight line of his lips twitches, the corner of his mouth tugging up with suppressed amusement. “Are your parents cruel? Is that why you left them?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” Finding it difficult to hold his gaze, I lower my eyes and take a sip of the hot spiced wine. “They are kind and simple people—caring, generous. I love them very much.”

  Saying the words aloud, hearing them leave my mouth, makes my heart twinge. I do love them—all of them. And leaving is hard. I’ll miss Rynn’s comforting guidance and Eva’s smiles. I’ll miss pretty Ellie continually droning on about her books, Martin pretending to be brave, Penny’s sweet, down-to-earth presence, and Anneliese’s flamboyance. I’ll miss pestering Father and finding Mother in her garden.

  But I must live my own life.

  “There must be some reason I can’t coax you to go home,” Henri says, just as I knew he would eventually. “Why are you here?”

  Again, our eyes lock in the dim light of the sleepy tavern.

  “With me,” he finishes, his tone softer.

  My stomach flutters with nerves and something more. And before I can stop myself, my story spills out. I tell him of Father’s heroic deed that turned my parents’ lives upside down and brought us Mortimer, and of my sisters, brother, and our life in Torina.

  “And this Milton,” Henri says when I reach the end, long after our drinks are gone and our bowls are clean. “He’s not a good man?”

  “He’s a fine man, I suppose. Dependable, steadfast…”

  Henri frowns, but his eyes are laughing. “You make those sound like bad traits.”

  “Not bad, just dull.”

  The prince’s answering smile is bri
ght and unexpected, and it does funny things to my chest. “I was right—you are a strange sort of girl.”

  I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. “Finally rethinking the wisdom of this, are you?”

  He tosses several pieces of gold on the table—far too many pieces for the meal—and gently tugs me up by my arm even though the storm continues to rage outside. “No, but I know now we must exchange our vows quickly, before you realize I’m as dull as your farmer.”

  His hand lingers on my arm for several moments after I rise.

  “Is that your way of telling me that you’re dependable and steadfast?” I tease as I crane my neck to look up at him.

  “I’m afraid so.” With a wry tilt of his eyebrow, he steps closer. “Both those and more.”

  And though I’m rather skilled at banter, my brain goes blank as my chest grows warm.

  “We should…” I nod toward the door, almost breathless.

  Along with handsome and built like a rock, the cursed prince is charming. It’s probably for the best he’s also a bear—if he weren’t, he’d be far too perfect.

  ***

  The village elder doesn’t seem pleased to find us knocking on his door several hours after dark, but he’s appeased by the impressive pouch of gold Henri wordlessly hands him from the doorstep.

  “And this can’t possibly wait until morning?” the man asks, though he’s already peeking inside the bag and motioning us inside.

  “We can’t linger in the village,” Henri says smoothly, lowering his hood with a guarded expression.

  The elder, a man of middle years with a soft, rounded stomach and graying temples doesn’t give Henri so much as a second glance.

  “Seen the castle and now you’re finished with the village?” The elder shoots us a knowing look. “Off for the next thrill?”

  In response, Henri only gives the man a cryptic shrug.

  “Fine,” the elder says, tucking the pouch away. “Let me draw up the papers. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  He motions to an upholstered bench by the fire and disappears into the back room. We wait in perfect silence, listening to the sound of the wind and the crackle of the pine logs burning in the hearth.

  Exactly twelve minutes later, the elder appears with a rolled parchment and a pair of spectacles on his nose.

  Motioning us to the table, he unrolls the parchment and hands a quill to Henri. “Sign here, if you will.”

  Henri nods and makes quick work of the document, signing with such flourish there is no possible way a person could read his name.

  “Now you, Miss,” the elder says, handing the quill to me.

  My hand trembles as I sign my name under Henri’s. I’ve barely lifted the quill from the parchment when the elder snatches it from my hand, blows on the signatures, and rolls it back up, tying it with a thin ribbon.

  “Now,” he says, his tone all business. “Do you have rings?”

  I begin to shake my head, but Henri produces a pair from the inside pocket of his doublet. They’re beautiful, obviously old, and likely worth a fortune.

  The elder frowns, possibly following my same line of thought. With furrowed brows and an expression that makes him resemble an inquisitive owl, the elder turns his gaze on Henri.

  The prince doesn’t so much as flinch under the man’s scrutiny, and eventually, the elder brushes off whatever thought was troubling him and nods. “Very well.”

  It’s a simple ceremony—if you could even call it that. I’m so overruled by my nerves, I barely hear the words the man speaks.

  “I do,” Henri says solemnly.

  “And do you, Sophia, take this man to be your husband?”

  Here it is, the moment of truth. There’s no turning back, no more pretending this is a lark and nothing more.

  I meet Henri’s eyes, more terrified than I’ve been in my life.

  The prince watches me, his eyes conveying his understanding. “It’s your choice,” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear.

  “I do.” There’s conviction in my voice. I don’t just say the words; I mean them.

  We exchange rings, the man congratulates us and shakes Henri’s hand, and then we’re gently, but insistently, pushed out the door, into the cold, turbulent night.

  ***

  “Have we gone the wrong way?” I holler over the wind.

  Lightning flashes around us, lighting the trees. They tower over us, their branches like great, grasping claws, reaching for us in the bursts of light.

  Henri grasps my hand tightly, pulling me with him at a fast pace. “No, we’re heading for shelter.”

  I follow him without question, mostly because it’s impossible to carry on a conversation in the storm. Rain comes down on us with a vengeance, stinging as the droplets pelt against our skin. We cut through thick brush, and my long, borrowed cloak catches on twigs and brambles. Wet, slimy grass catches around my ankles and slick mud cakes my boots, making it difficult to walk.

  Just when I’m about to ask if we’re near our destination, a bolt of lightning illuminates a sheer rock wall ahead.

  I stop abruptly. “I’m not going in there!”

  The cave looks ominous in the light of the storm—the type of place where bats and wolves and old, gnarled witches would abide, waiting for their next meal.

  “It’s safe,” Henri insists, tugging me when I refuse to move.

  Another crack of lightning—this one so close, the thunder booms even as light illuminates the sky—makes me leap forward.

  I follow Henri into the cave, grateful to find it’s shallow, leaving no place for unwanted creatures to linger unnoticed.

  Once safe from the storm, Henri runs his hand over my shoulders. “Your cloak is drenched.”

  “How long before the storm subsides?” I ask, looking at the forest beyond.

  Henri’s silent for several moments as he joins me, staring out at the storm. “I’m not sure. I think the worst of it is over us now.”

  A freezing gust of wind that’s far too cold for summer blows into the cave, and I shiver under the cloak.

  “You’re cold,” Henri says, his voice heavy with concern and what sounds an awful lot like shame.

  I turn to face him. “My dress is dry under the cloak, and the cave is sheltered. I’m all right.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I search for him in the cave. Except when the lightning races across the sky, it’s too dark to make out so much as his silhouette. Needing to know he’s near—needing to know I’m not alone even though in truth my new husband is a stranger—I reach for him. My unease lessens when my fingers brush against his cloak.

  Immediately, Henri takes my hand in his. His skin is chilled from the weather, but his grip is comforting.

  I never imagined I’d be standing in a dark cave in the dead of night, with a storm raging outside, on the day of my wedding.

  But strangely, it’s all right. I set out, looking for adventure, and that’s precisely what I’ve found.

  “Sophia?” Henri asks after nearly an hour in the cave. The storm is finally moving out. The thunder has grown distant, and the rain is now a gentle patter on the grass outside.

  “Hmmm?” I turn toward him, wishing I could make out his face.

  He doesn’t answer right away. Just when I think he’s chosen to stay silent, he says, “Out of all the girls Mortimer could have chosen, I’m glad it was you he dragged to my castle.”

  His words are quiet, and somehow, I know he wouldn’t have uttered them by the light of a fire.

  Now grateful for the dark, I squeeze my new husband’s hand. “I am too.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It’s harder than you might think to write a letter to one’s parents, announcing your surprise newlywed status. It’s even harder to explain that their new son-in-law spends his daylight hours as a wild animal.

  I tap the quill to the parchment and nibble the inside of my cheek. Finally, I finish the letter and ask my parents to send my love to all my sisters
and Martin. Before I lose my nerve, I quickly write at the end, PS: The palace is very nice, and when the sun is up, Henri turns into a bear.

  Yes, that should do it.

  Satisfied, I seal the parchment with my new crest. It looks very official.

  “Oh, great fairy godfather Mortimer,” I recite. “I, a stupid human, humbly need your magnificent and wonderful magic.”

  Three minutes and twelve seconds later, the fairy appears.

  “Oh, fabulous time, Morty!” I exclaim, hoping to get a rise out of him. “That was exactly two minutes and ten seconds faster than your last visit.”

  The fairy scowls at me. “You’re keeping track?”

  “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate your gift.”

  “What do you want, little nuisance?”

  “That’s Princess Nuisance now.” I hold out the letter. “I need you to take this to my parents.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Do I look like a delivery service?”

  A delightful retort is right on my tongue, but I do need him to take the letter since I don’t dare go to the village, so I choke it back and bat my eyes. “Please, Morty? It’s just a little letter. Besides, don’t you want to tell them what a good job you’ve done? After all, you are very clever for introducing me to Henri. I believe that should be acknowledged, don’t you?”

  He rips the note from my hand. “Do not think you’ve tricked me. I know exactly what you’re doing.”

  I try—but fail—to hide my smile.

  Without another word, he disappears.

  Sighing, I glance around the empty sitting room. As sad as it is, I wish the fairy had stayed a little longer, perhaps given me news on my family. I’d even be happy to let him prattle on about the strange inventions he tinkers with.

  Henri’s off, doing things bears do, and I’m here, bored to death. We’ve been married a week.

  Looking back, I’m surprised no one in the village asked questions. But, then again, no one has laid eyes on their prince for twenty years. They didn’t suspect a thing when they saw the handsome young knight.

  Twenty years.