“And do ye still pray, Miss Seònaid?”
“Still?” Bonnie asked in surprise.
“I would think ye’d believe it useless, after . . .”
Bonnie bowed her head, a soft smile on her lips. She thought of the desperate prayers she had uttered on her journey to this castle, to a fate she could not guess. It seemed to her that the Lord God had indeed lit her way through darkness, protecting her from the perils of the night. “You cannot shake my faith, milord,” she said with a smile. “Even you are not quite so terrible.” She made sure she said it laughingly, so he was not offended. Truly, she did not find him terrible at all. Not anymore. “You speak English well, though many here speak Gaelic.”
“My mither was English.”
“Truly?” Bonnie could not keep the surprise from her voice as she gazed across at the shadow of the wulver.
“Does it shock ye that I had a mither, lass?” he asked, his voice rumbling in his throat. “Did ye think I sprung from beneath a rock?”
Though he could scarcely speak without a growl, she thought he sounded amused. “No—I suppose not.” Bonnie felt her face flush. “Perhaps I was just surprised your mother was . . . English.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Aye, ’tis nearly as unbelievable, methinks.”
Bonnie smiled in spite of herself. “Aye. I suppose it is.”
The creature that was once the man called Lauchlan stood in the archway of the balcony doors. From this vantage point he could see the young woman there on the grounds below, her ginger hair blowing in the wind as she stared out to sea. She was a pretty lass, and kind.
She was not difficult to love.
But his emotions would not help him. They never had. The lines of Morag’s curse were deeper and more complex than even his invisible servants knew. She had twined her life with his, and he felt her mocking presence. Haunting him. Scorning him.
In taking away his life she had ensured her own. He knew she was still alive somewhere, spiraling deeper into sorcery and witchcraft.
How the Hand of Righteousness had not yet struck her down he did not know! And over the years his belief in a Higher Power had waned. Could a loving and good God allow that witch’s wickedness to continue? How could such a thing happen to him, a good, God-fearing man?
The beast sighed and leaned his head against the window frame. He was not so sure the word good described him anymore. He truly did not know what he was anymore. No one had come to the castle in decades.
Then, when someone had come, his fury had overtaken him. Then when the merchant, in his fear, began rambling about gifts and roses and his beautiful youngest daughter, the answer had seemed clear. With only months left to break the curse, it was his last chance. A desperate effort, but a chance.
But her arrival had panicked him. He hadn’t seen a woman for almost a century. For one to suddenly stir up the sort of feelings he’d thought he would never experience again . . .
It was terrifying.
Yet he couldn’t quite pull himself away from her. Nor could he entirely give up hope. Their conversations at dinner were growing longer. The beast found himself talking—and talking much—as he unburdened his ninety-odd years of solitude onto the girl Bonnie. After being alone for so long, it had taken him days to grow accustomed to the sound of his own voice (such a horrible, changed voice as it was!). But slowly, as they spoke of her life, of the castle, even of history and gardening, he began to remember what it was like to have companionship. He had been a sociable man, once upon a time. A man who loved an evening’s conversation over a cup of hot grog. He had almost forgotten that man’s existence.
He felt young again. He felt a little less like an animal. Perhaps Bonnie was bringing out the man he still was inside.
Help us!
Bonnie jerked upright in her bed. It was still black outside, and she pulled the covers close around her shoulders. The days had been steadily growing warmer as the winter turned to spring, but nights were still chilly and unforgiving.
And the dreams . . . they grew stronger.
This last dream had been short enough but no less worrisome. The same nightmare of searching the empty halls of this castle, searching for the rose . . . searching for the child . . .
But this time, no matter how she sought, Bonnie could find neither the little girl nor the rose. And the voice calling out to her was more distant than ever before.
Bonnie breathed heavily, drawing cold air into her lungs and expelling it in gasps. She whispered into the silence of her chamber, “Where is she?” The more important question pressed upon her mind, and this time she whispered, “Who is she?”
Bonnie was pensive at dinner the following evening, and the wulver noticed. “Whit be troubling ye, Miss Seònaid?”
Bonnie hesitated, unsure whether or not she should ask. But the time had come, and she needed to learn answers. “The portraits on the wall in the hallway . . . Who were they?”
The wulver looked away. His face looked so sorrowful, so wounded, that Bonnie instantly regretted asking. “Never mind,” she said quickly.
But the wulver shook his heavy head. “No, I’ll . . . I’ll tell ye.” His claws dug into the wood of the table. “They were the family that lived here before me. The man was called Lauchlan.”
“And his family?” Bonnie asked quietly.
“His wife died young, and his daughter was taken from him. But that was long ago.”
The uneasiness Bonnie had felt when she first came to the castle returned. Sometimes she almost forgot the beast was, well, a beast. She was used to his savage appearance by now, and she enjoyed his gracious company. But once in a while something would prick her, and she’d remember that she knew little about him. At other times, she’d catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye and see his wolfish form anew.
The portraits disturbed her. She hated to think that the creature who had somehow become her friend was in any way responsible for the unknown fate of Lauchlan and his family. But what else could have happened to them? She often wondered if she was a foolish coward for trying to pretend that the beast had no connection to them when he clearly did.
“Miss Seònaid, will ye marry me?”
The first time he had asked, Bonnie was terrified; the second, apprehensive. As the days and even weeks wore on, his subsequent offers had made her feel uncomfortable. But now she felt regretful, almost guilty.
“No, Beast,” she said quietly, wishing he would stop asking. Couldn’t he see that her answer would always be the same? Why must he torture the both of them with his relentless request?
That evening as she walked past the hall of portraits, the beautiful, dark-haired lady seemed to regard her with disappointment. Bonnie looked at her in annoyance. “Well, what would you have done?” she asked the unresponsive image sourly.
She leaned with her back against the opposite wall and slowly slid to the floor, her skirts ballooning about her. She put her head in her hands and sighed. Why had it suddenly become so hard to answer his question? She felt the painted gazes of the man, girl, and woman staring down at her. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the accusation in their eyes, so she leapt up and all but ran back to the safety of her room.
“Did he hurt them?” she wondered even as she shut her door and turned to the solitary silence of her rooms. “Is he responsible for their deaths? It’s the only thing that makes sense! Even if he wasn’t . . . what he is, I could never marry a murderer.”
The word murderer slipped from her tongue, and she frowned as though she’d tasted something vile. Oh, how could she even think such a thing? The wulver couldn’t be a murderer. He simply couldn’t!
“But then what is he?” Bonnie’s anguished voice seemed small and childish in her own ears as she stared at the high ceiling of her bedchamber. No answer came to her.
Morag stood in the shelter of the forest. From her vantage point she could see the light in the tower room. Sometimes she saw the shadow of the lass’s form flicker
across the light.
Stupid, stupid girl! How had she, of all people, been found by Lauchlan? Oh, by Cailleach the dreadful, she should have done away with the child the moment she laid eyes upon her in the market of Inverness! Set a hex upon her, made certain she never stepped anywhere near this castle.
Morag ran her tongue under her teeth. Though her former brother-in-law might believe her curse to be nothing more than pure revenge, it was actually the only thing keeping her alive. The curse she had enacted was necessary to her very survival, for it fed her as she, draining her victims’ hopes and humanity, filled herself with their strength. Its breaking would cause her instant, painful death.
And even worse torment to her soul afterwards.
Slowly, she retreated farther into the forest. She would watch silently for now. But soon, she thought, I may have to interfere.
Chapter 12
“MISS SEÒNAID, WILL ye marry me?”
Bonnie closed her eyes in pain at the question. “Beast, I—”
“Dinnae answer,” he said abruptly.
Startled, Bonnie opened her eyes as he rose from his place at the table and stood there, as if fighting some inward battle. When he spoke again, his gruff words surprised her even more: “Think about it. I shall—I shall not ask again.”
Bonnie stared at him, feeling as though she wavered on the edge of some great precipice, where her next move might mean either salvation or destruction. “I shall think about it,” she promised. He bowed and left the room.
Bonnie returned to her own rooms, her heart pounding in her throat with as much anxiety as it had on her very first night in the castle. The air began to smell musty and old, as though the interior of the castle were suddenly decaying to match its exterior. Something was wrong. She had noticed a crack in her window the other day, and the tapestries grew discolored and frayed, their age finally catching up to them. Fissures appeared in the stone walls, and even her borrowed gowns had faded, their elegant embroidery becoming tattered.
The next morning when Bonnie went out into the garden, the sight that greeted her deepened her distress. Over the past few weeks the yellow rosebush, which had bloomed throughout her stay, had begun to wilt. Now, almost overnight, it had deteriorated so dramatically that Bonnie could only stare in shock. After regaining her ability to move, she fingered its brittle branches. Only two flowers remained on the entire plant, and these were wilted and brown. As she watched, another leaf fell to the ground.
“It’s dying.”
Bonnie turned to see the wulver staring at the rosebush despondently.
“But how can this be?” she asked. “It bloomed all winter, even in the snow. I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, for she thought back suddenly on the last several nights . . . nights strangely empty of dreams, even of the child’s whisper.
With one claw the wulver gently touched a withered petal. “The rosebush was meant to last for only a hundred years. Its time now approaches.”
Bonnie took two paces back. She felt a single tear slide down her cheek but didn’t know why. Quickly she wiped it away.
“Do ye like it here, Miss Seònaid?”
The abruptness of the wulver’s question surprised her. Sudden resentment, perhaps strengthened by her concern over the rose, welled up inside her, and she struggled to keep her voice civil as she replied. “You are . . . very kind to me, Beast. I have everything I need, everything I could want except . . .”
“Except?”
Bonnie’s hesitation did not come from fear. She knew he would never hurt her. Instead, she found herself reluctant to say anything that would cause him pain. Nevertheless, the resentment pushed her, and she answered softly, “I have everything except my freedom.”
The wulver’s facial expressions were difficult to read, being something other than human. Yet Bonnie knew that he was unhappy and wished she could somehow express her feelings without hurting him. But the truth of the situation remained glaring and painful. “I miss my family,” she said as though to explain.
“Of course, Miss Seònaid,” he said in his deep voice. He gave the resigned growl that Bonnie had come to recognize as his sigh. “Of course ye do.”
Before Bonnie could say another word, he was gone.
The wulver stood in his room and leaned upon a sturdy wooden desk. His self-loathing threatened to overcome him entirely as he considered the creature he had become. The beast. For a beast he was, due not to his appearance but to his deplorable actions.
He prayed to the God that Seònaid loved so well, struggling to recall the prayers he had known long ago, begging for some guidance. How could he keep her against her will? But then, how could he let her go? For to do so would be to give up on all those who depended on him. To do so would be to let his servants suffer their final doom . . . to let his daughter fade away . . .
“Guid evening, Lauchlan.”
The wulver stiffened. Though he hadn’t heard her voice in years, he knew it immediately. “Morag.” He spoke the word as though it were poison in his mouth.
Turning, he saw the sorceress leaning against the wall and wearing an air of nonchalance as she examined her nails.
“How did ye get in here?” he snapped.
She laughed, bestowing a frighteningly beautiful smile upon him. “I turned ye into a hideous beast, and ye ask how I kin get into yer room unnoticed? Fer shame, Lauchlan. I almost feel insulted.”
“Why are ye here? The hundred years are not yet completed.”
Her smile disappeared, and she straightened then wandered leisurely about the room. His hackles rose as she examined the draperies and furniture. “This castle used to be so beautiful. ’Tis a shame to see it die along with ye.”
He watched her with a glint of confusion in his eyes, and she gasped in mock surprise. “Oh dear. I thought I told ye. Dinnae ye remember? When the curse is fulfilled, the castle and all who are in it shall collapse into nothingness. Haven’t ye wondered why everything seems to be fallin’ apart at once?”
His heart grew leaden in his breast. “Even . . . even Miss Seònaid?”
“The girl?” Morag smiled. “’Tis a pity to have finally met someone so close to the end of the curse, isn’t it? Yet her presence here only endangers her life as the day draws nigh. Ye have . . . oh . . . three more weeks. Perhaps.” She pretended to think. “I seem to have forgotten the exact date.” She turned to the door and opened it, pausing before she stepped through into shadows. “Guidbye, Lauchlan. I doubt we shall see each other again.”
With one last triumphant look thrown over her shoulder, she vanished.
“Morag!” he growled and ran to the door. But when he looked out into the hall, she was gone.
The following two weeks felt strained, almost unbearably so. Bonnie, who had become attuned to the wulver’s moods, didn’t believe he was upset with her, yet something troubled him. Not that he neglected her; on the contrary, he sought her out. But his movements were agitated, and once in a while she caught him watching her with an inscrutable look in his eye.
Finally, one evening near the end of one of their meals, she heard the beast exhale a shaky breath—evidence of anxiety she had never before seen in him—and she knew that whatever the matter was, she was about to learn of it.
“Miss Seònaid,” he said, “would ye like to go home?”
Bonnie choked on her food. When he began to speak, her stomach had twisted in knots. But this had never crossed her mind. “Go home?” she repeated, too stunned to form a complete sentence.
He smiled gently at her bewilderment. The expression should have been dreadful on his animal face, but Bonnie had learned to read the difference between his smiles and his snarls. “Aye,” he said.
Bonnie couldn’t keep from smiling. Indeed, the smile rising inside her would have burst had she tried to contain it. “I would. I would! Oh Beast!” She laughed and then choked as the laugh turned to a sudden sob. Why did she feel this sudden sorrow, this terrible foreboding? No,
no, she must simply be overwhelmed with her own happiness, that was all! “How long might I stay?” she asked quietly, hardly trusting her own voice.
“Fer as long as ye like,” he said softly. He bowed his great head, staring at the empty plate on the table before him. “I canna keep ye here anymore.”
Her foreboding redoubled; she could no longer deny its presence. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“I canna keep ye here, Miss Seònaid.” The wulver lifted his gaze, staring across the table at her. Candlelight shone in his eyes, which seemed to beg her to understand, to discern some secret meaning in his words.
Bonnie felt hopelessly stupid. “What if I don’t wish to go?” she asked, closely watching his reaction.
The wulver closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “But if ye don’t—” He paused.
“Beast!” Bonnie cried, suddenly frightened. She rose and came around the side of the table, approaching him with some trepidation despite the friendship they had developed over time. “Beast, are you—”
He looked up and, seeing her approach, sprang from his chair as though afraid that her extended hand might touch his own. “I’m fine,” he said weakly. “I shouldn’t have spoken.” He backed away from her, making for the door and an escape. Bonnie watched these actions, her heart twisting with so many conflicting emotions, she scarcely knew how to feel.
The wulver paused in the doorway. “I have gifts for yer family,” he said, “to serve by way of an apology.”
“Beast,” Bonnie persisted, “what are you not telling me?”
But he refused to answer. “There’ll be a horse waitin’ for ye in the mornin’.”
Before he could vanish, Bonnie leapt forward, closing the distance between them, and caught his ugly hand to hold it in both of hers. “Please,” she pleaded, trying not to let the tears come to her eyes, “tell me what you mean—”
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 38
