“You would let this creature continue to steal our young?” a shrill voice demanded.
“Nonsense,” the steward interrupted loudly, seizing back control of the meeting before it could descend into all-out panic. “We all know the tales surrounding the forest, but none of its denizens have ever bothered our village before—most likely because we have never bothered them. Mercer should not have ventured into this beast’s abode.”
“Is that why you brought him here—to condemn him?” Tess retorted. “The man just lost his daughter! Leave him—leave us—in peace.”
“A daughter is not all your family has lost,” Michael Tanner cruelly asserted, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. “First your husband died in a freak accident, then your brother lost his ships and his fortune as well. Now this! What ghastly did you offend back in Nathar to earn such a curse on your family?”
“How dare you!” Tess exclaimed, outraged. “Have you no shame, to mock my family’s afflictions?”
“I am in deadly earnest,” Tanner replied. Raising his voice even louder, he cried, “I will not commerce with a man under a curse!”
“That is ridiculous,” Jon Crofter countered, speaking up for the first time. “We all know of Mercer’s kindness—he would never do anything to earn a curse. We should support him in this tragedy, not reject him.”
Jon’s gaze met Adara’s, and she shot him a look of gratitude.
Tanner narrowed his eyes, but steward forestalled his rebuttal by raising his hand.
“This is not about a curse—this is about the safety of our village,” he asserted. “Everyone is to stay out of the forest or risk meeting the same fate as Rose. That is all.”
He signaled the meeting was dismissed, and most of the villagers began to disperse, some conversing urgently among themselves while others cast pitying—or suspicious—glances at the devastated family. A few people hung back to commiserate with the sisters, while a couple of busybodies lingered in the hopes of obtaining further gossip.
The steward sighed and stood, feeling oddly exhausted. Prudence had demanded that he take the cautious course, but his choice left him feeling horribly hollow. As he panned the departing crowd, his eyes locked with Darren Woodsmith’s, and the lad’s desperate, half-crazed gaze clearly announced that he, at least, had no intention of heeding the steward’s warning.
Slowly, the steward nodded his permission to the youth and gave him a slight smile. He hoped he would succeed.
* * * * *
Tess stepped out of the meeting hall, knowing her composure would shatter if she remained there any longer. Hastily, she strode around the side of the building, eager to be out of sight. She was not a moment too soon as the tears she had repressed all day began to stream down her face.
Rose, Rose, forgive me. I need your father to sustain this family. Letting you go was the only way I knew to make him stay.
As she rounded the back of the building, she was startled by the sight of two sweethearts in each other’s arms. Tess froze and was just about to turn away when one of them spoke, and she realized it was Adara.
“S–So you see, I cannot p–possibly marry you now.”
Tess drew back in surprise, her tears momentarily forgotten. She had no idea Adara even had a beau, let alone one she had agreed to wed! Curious, Tess shrank back behind the corner, listening intently to her niece’s conversation.
“My dear Adara, do you think having no dowry matters to me? Your father’s misfortunes do not change how I feel. It just means I will have to work that much harder to save enough to support you on my own.”
“But that will take f–forever.”
“Then I will wait forever,” the lad replied. Tess recognized him as the one who had spoken up in Mercer’s defense—what was his name? Jon Crofter.
“It hardly matters. I cannot l–leave my father now, not when Rose is—Rose is gone,” Adara’s voice cracked as she let out a shuddering sob.
“I know. I understand. But someday, the time will be right for your father to let you go, and I will be waiting.”
Tess turned away as the two embraced each other again, her mind whirling with renewed purpose.
So Adara wishes to wed the Crofter boy. Well, we shall have to see about that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rose was so afraid, she could scarcely think. Every shift the horse made sent a frisson of fear shooting through her until her chest throbbed from the pounding of her heart, and her mouth was so dry she could scarcely swallow. She clutched at the reins as though they might somehow keep her from falling off, and her legs ached from gripping the horse’s sides so tightly. Yet her fear of the mare was nothing compared to her terror of what lay ahead.
Rose did not know where she was to go once she reached the crossroad, but for now there was only one path from her village she could follow. The trail seemed to narrow the further she traveled into the woods, and at times the branches drew so close that they brushed against her legs on either side. Thankfully, the placid mare seemed to handle such intrusion well—but each feathery brush made Rose freeze in her saddle, certain that something had just tried to grab her. Futilely, she would strain to see through the darkness, but only thin slivers of moonlight penetrated the black forest, and every shadow seemed to hide a basilisk behind it; every low-hung branch that caught her hair was a manticore swooping in for the kill.
She rode like that for what seemed like hours—long enough for the moonlight to fade and a deep violet sky to take its place. In another hour, it would be morning and her family would wake. How long until they realized she was not there?
The horse suddenly stopped, and Rose realized they had reached a fork in the road.
What now? Rose wondered, her gaze searching the dark silhouettes for her guide. Father said he would be met at the crossroad, but there is no one here. For the first time since her father had returned from his trip, Rose felt a small surge of hope. If her guide did not come, she would still have fulfilled her part of the promise. How long need she wait before she could guiltlessly turn back for home?
Hesitantly—praying no one would answer—she called out, “I am Rose, come in place of my father. Is anyone there?”
A light flashed on amidst the trees, and Rose’s heart plummeted with disappointment. Squinting against the shine—painfully bright after a night in the dim woods—she could just glimpse the outline of a lantern, though the thick grey-green foliage concealed whoever held it. As she stared, the light started to drift away from her and then paused, as though it were waiting for her.
“Am I supposed to follow you?” Rose asked weakly.
The lantern bobbed up and down.
She swallowed hard. The light did not come from either path, but instead from the dense woods that lay between the two—woods that were much too thick for a horse to traverse. Carefully, she dismounted from the mare and untied her sack from the saddle horn.
“Go back home,” she commanded in a voice that shook despite herself. As much as she disliked animals, the horse had been her only guard against the unknown. Now she had to leave even it behind. “Go on, now.”
The mare just stared at her blandly.
Summoning the shredded remains of her courage, Rose picked up the reins and dragged the horse’s head around until it faced back the way it had come. Then she reached out and lightly slapped the mare’s flank. It took a few steps, then stopped, looking back at her skeptically.
“Oh, do what you will!” Rose exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes. “I must go.”
The sky had lightened enough for her to clearly see the grey-green foliage she would have to hike through, but she still could not make out the person who was to guide her. All she could see was the lantern waiting in the distance. As soon as she turned to face it, the light started off again into the brush, and Rose picked her way carefully behind it. Her pace was ponderously slow, and she had to stop often to detangle her dress from the plants that hemmed her in. Whenever she paused, the lig
ht would halt as well, though it never drew close enough for her to see who carried it.
“How much further must we go?” she asked at one point, but received no answer. The apprehension roiling in her stomach only increased with the prolonged silence, and more than once Rose was certain she was going to be sick. Surely if the beast meant well by her, his guide would not be so reticent. Was he reluctant to create a rapport with someone who did not have much longer to live?
No! The beast told my father I would be treated well, she tried to reassure herself, but the ominous quiet seemed to mock her attempt.
Rose walked in silence after that.
* * * * *
Ari stared down through the slats of the rafters, panting slightly from his hasty ascent. He scarcely noticed his discomfort, however—all his attention was riveted on the girl. Twigs and leaves stuck to her hair, but they were unable to dim its strands of burnished gold. She looked exhausted and stumbled as she entered the lodge, but she quickly pulled herself erect. Her chin was held high with seeming confidence, but even from this distance, Ari could smell the fear rolling off her.
Shame swept over Ari. He had never truly expected the man to keep his promise—certainly did not think he would deliver up his child in his place. What kind of father would sacrifice his offspring to further his own ends?
Mine did, he remembered bitterly.
“Hello?” the girl called, her voice trembling. “Are you—is anyone there?”
Her voice was like birdsong, sweet and clear. Ari felt his soul surge at the sound, and he closed his eyes.
“What is your name?” he boomed down, even though he knew. Compared to the pure chime that was her speech, his voice was rough and guttural, barely comprehensible at all.
The girl’s head shot up and her gaze raked the ceiling, but he knew she could not see him through its slats.
“R–Rose, My Lord,” she stuttered.
Ari winced. He had never felt less noble.
“Do not call me, ‘Lord,’” he instructed. “I am a beast, and Beast is what you shall call me.”
“Y–yes, sir.”
He peered through the cracks at her face and found he could not look away. “Your father forced you to come in his stead?” he demanded harshly.
“Never!” she exclaimed, aghast. Shock made her voice strong. “He would never do that! I came of my own free will and without his consent. I would trade my life for my father’s.”
Ari felt even worse. “You would be my prisoner here forever?”
He heard her swallow hard. “As long as that, yes.”
Her decision shook Ari. He could not keep her here. It was wrong. He was wrong to have made the demand in the first place. Yes, he was lonely—desperately so—trapped in an accursed exile and forsaken by his family, but that did not excuse him of robbing another of their freedom. He would have to send this girl away . . . but not today. She was wavering on her feet as it was.
“You have had a trying journey, Rose. Go upstairs and rest now. This lodge and all that is in it are yours to command. As am I,” he added in sudden decision.
She nodded slowly, her expression confused. “Shall I see you before I do?”
“No,” he snarled his refusal. “You shall never have to bear that burden.”
* * * * *
Rose trudged her way up the staircase, uncertain what to make of the beast—Beast, she corrected herself. He had not been at all what she was expecting. A cruel creature with stumbling speech, perhaps—not one that could talk as ably as a man and which refused to show itself to spare her the sight. And what had he meant by “the lodge was hers to command?”
Trying to make sense of it all when she was so fatigued was nearly impossible, and it made Rose’s head hurt to try. Instead, she opened the door to the room that the Beast had directed her to—the first one on the right.
Magnificence awaited her. A cherry-wood bed lined the right wall, its drapes and coverlet a rich crimson color. Rose reached out and felt the cloth—it was thick but incredibly soft, made of a material for which she knew no name. A large window let in streams of sunlight, and underneath it stood a beautiful cherry wood dressing table with bronze edging and a stool to match. A fireplace took up half the wall opposite the bed and possessed a bronze mantle as well.
If this is a measure of things to come, perhaps being a prisoner here will not be so bad, she comforted herself.
A slight scraping sound made her pivot around, and Rose had to stuff a fist in her mouth to stifle a scream. A basin so large that it chafed against the stone doorframe was edging its way into the room—but what startled Rose was that it was hovering at least two feet above the ground. No one was carrying it.
The basin settled itself onto the floor by her feet. In its wake, jugs floated into the room and dumped their contents of steaming water into the tub, then exited back out again.
Magic, it must be magic, her mind grasped.
Though the basin was extremely large, within minutes of its arrival, it was full. Rose touched the water tentatively. It felt deliciously warm and inviting. A soft thump directed her attention to a stool, which had repositioned itself near the basin. A towel and a washcloth were folded on top of it, leaving no uncertainty as to what she was meant to do.
“Very well,” she said quietly. Her eyes darted toward the ceiling, but it was solid stone, not wood—there was no way the Beast could be hiding up there.
Breathing a little easier, Rose walked over to the door and shut it. She wished there was a way to bolt it, but comforted herself that if the Beast wanted to invade her privacy, he already would have. It was not as if she could defend herself against him, after all.
Rose quickly doffed her dress and sank into the tub. She hissed as the water stung the scratches on her arms and legs—tokens of her trip through the woods—but she soon forgot her pain in the delight of a warm bath. Never in her life had she been treated to such luxury!
Maybe the Beast just wants to ensure his dinner is clean, she mused with dark humor, but even as she thought it, she felt her worry fading. The Beast had spoken kindly to her, and this room did not seem like the kind of place you would send someone you intended to kill. And he had promised her father she would be well taken care of. Though she had not been able to stop her mind from considering the horrific possibilities she might face, Rose no longer found herself quite so able to believe them.
With a sigh, she lay back in the water until it completely covered her head. The sensation was absolutely exquisite. All too soon, lack of air demanded that she surface, but Rose kept her eyes closed as she did so, holding on to the delightful feeling of being cocooned in liquid warmth.
Something yanked sharply at her hair, and she sat straight up with a screech. At the same time, something else began to scrub brusquely at her shoulder.
“Stop it!” she cried.
Instantly, the actions ceased. Rose twisted around in the basin to find a comb and washcloth hovering in the air. She stared at them, and it seemed to her that they stared right back.
“Rose? Are you all right?” the Beast boomed from beyond the door, concern evident in his voice.
“Yes, quite,” she choked out in a high-pitched squeak. She tried again. “I am fine. Just getting accustomed to . . . things.”
A brief silence. “I see.”
His voice was strangely muffled, as though he was still talking through the ceiling of the entrance hall. Rose wondered exactly how sharp his hearing was, and lowered her voice to a whisper as she told the objects, “I prefer to wash myself.”
They seemed to sag midair in disappointment. How could objects appear unhappy?
“I will let you comb my hair when I am done,” she promised, and immediately the comb perked up and zoomed over to the dressing table where it settled down to wait.
A corner of the washcloth tilted her way, as though in hopeful expectation. “I suppose . . . I could use you if you did not move,” Rose offered the washcloth, stretching out
her hand. Instantly, it fell into her upraised palm and lay still.
Feeling rather disturbed, Rose hastily washed herself and rubbed the debris out of her hair. When she was done, the washcloth rose out of her hands, wrung itself out, and draped itself over the mantle to dry.
Rose caught herself staring at it again and shook her head, stepping out of the basin as she did so. Before she could bend down to pick up the towel, it rose off the stool and unfolded itself before her.
“Let me dry myself,” she said nervously, taking the towel in her hands. It relaxed, acting for all intents and purposes like a normal bath cloth as she dried herself off. Perhaps that was what the Beast had meant when he said the lodge was hers to command—she just had to tell the objects what she wanted, and they would obey. She could handle that.
The towel seemed to wink at her as she dried, and Rose saw that the deep purple cloth was infused with silvery specks. She paused and looked at it closely, but could spy no hint of embroidering thread. How had a dyer managed to achieve such a consistent spangling of color?
Putting aside the puzzle for when she could think more clearly, Rose briefly debated what to do with the towel, feeling it would be disrespectful to simply let it collapse back onto the stool. The towel took the decision out of her hands by flying over to a peg on the wall—had that been there before?—and hanging itself up neatly by the fire.
Do not think on it now, Rose advised herself, shivering a little as she pulled out the spare outfit from her sack. Her old clothes would need both washing and mending before she could wear them again.
On the dressing table, the comb rattled an impatient reminder of her promise.
“No, I have not forgotten you,” she called softly.
Rose settled down on the stool, and the comb carefully began the task of unsnarling her hair. It was very gentle, and Rose soon found herself nodding off to its soothing motions.
Bound: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 2) Page 6
