The Beast of the Barrens

by Val Saintcrowe

  “That hurts!” she cried.

  He let go of her immediately, putting up both his palms, as if in surrender. “My apologies.”

  She rubbed her arm.

  “I would… prefer you don’t wear that dress. The way it, er, adheres to you leaves little to the imagination.”

  “It’s not the dress,” she said. “It’s the fact that I have no more stays. You cut one set off me, and the other I left in Diago’s room. I am without undergarments, and I don’t see what you expect me to do.”

  “Oh,” he said, swallowing. “Well, we can remedy that, I’m sure. My apologies again. I should not have…” He shut his eyes. “You unnerve me, Ziafiata.”

  “Oh, do I.” Her voice was flat.

  “Yes.” He opened his eyes. “Nevertheless, there is no excuse for hurting your arm. I shall endeavor to correct my behavior in the future.” He gestured. “Let us go upstairs to talk, if you don’t mind.”

  She shrugged. “Fine.” She went up the stairs, and he followed her.

  He indicated that they should go into his quarters, and so she did, and they sat down together at the table where they’d shared a meal.

  He looked everywhere except at her. “You have no reason to protect Diago now. You will tell me about the key.”

  Understanding suddenly dawned on her. “You let me leave. You did leave the door unlocked on purpose.”

  “Yes,” he said to the table.

  “You knew I’d go to Diago, and then you immediately made an offer for me, and you left me there overnight, because you wanted him to take me to bed and break my heart.”

  “I didn’t think he’d tell you he had plans to rescue you or promise that you were his bride,” said Chevolere. “I certainly didn’t think you’d kill him, not that I can blame you, and not that he didn’t deserve it.”

  “Everything you did to me…” She sucked in a breath. “You said that you do not derive pleasure from causing women pain?”

  “I…” He traced the wood grain on the table. “I have never before done to a woman what I did to you. The stories about the harlots, they are fiction. I do visit Madame Vadima, but all we do is play cards. However, I made it plain to you how I reacted when I inflicted such things on you, did I not? It excited me. So, in the end, I suppose I’m no different than any other man in that respect.” He sounded disgusted with himself.

  She considered this. He was still playing at being apologetic and regretful. He still sounded very sincere, and she almost wanted to believe him. This was likely calculated, too, however. “I’ll help you even if you don’t pretend to be wretched about it. I want you to know that,” she said. “The key is kept under a loose stone in the cobblestone walkway to the fortress. Count six stones from the left edge and then count six stones in the adjacent direction, away from the gate. When you reach that stone, you will find it loose, and you will find the key hidden within a hollowed-out chamber. There. You have what you wish from me, don’t you? You can cease all your charades.”

  He raised his gaze to her. “I’m not pretending to be wretched about it.”

  She sighed. “All right. We’ll play it that way. I will pretend to believe you if it makes you feel better.”

  He looked away. “Perhaps I am not so wretched as I could be. Your body, I cannot stop thinking about it. Every part of you is lovely and perfect. It would be a shame to damage you, as I said, and yet some part of me…” He grimaced.

  She blinked at him, unsure of what to think of this. Was he truly sincere?

  Perhaps he was actually attracted to her. He had been been physically aroused when he was removing her clothing. There was no way to feign that. Maybe he wasn’t feigning any of this.

  She shrugged. “Well, I am already damaged, if it comes to that. I am no untouched maiden, as you well know. Perhaps, if it is something you truly wish to do, we could discuss it.”

  His gaze snapped up to hers. “What?”

  “Perhaps it could be a trade. My body for… well, let me think of what I might want from you, and—”

  He was horrified. “Don’t say such things. What is wrong with you?”

  There was no emotion in her voice. “Rather a lot, I think. A great deal of things are wrong with me.” As long as Chevolere truly had no interest in causing her pain, she supposed she didn’t mind. Maybe she was even a bit curious, because Chevolere did seem so eager for her. Diago had been eager, too, but he’d never called her breathtaking and he’d never looked at her the way Chevolere did.

  If Chevolere was sincere in his attraction, it was… well, almost a pleasant thing. Some part of her enjoyed it.

  “You…” Chevolere’s voice was hoarse. “You can’t want me, not after what I put you through.”

  “As long as you don’t cause me pain, I’m sure I can endure it,” she said. “Maybe if you were more attentive than Diago was, it could be somewhat enjoyable, even. I’m told some women do enjoy it.”

  “No,” said Chevolere.

  “No?” She cocked her head to one side. “But I thought—”

  “Don’t bargain yourself in that manner,” he said. “Never do that.”

  “Excuse me, but didn’t you bargain me to Diago in that manner?” Her voice was acerbic.

  Chevolere flinched. “I have no interest in bedding you.”

  “Oh, now you’re denying it?” She didn’t understand this man.

  “Perhaps there’s interest, then. I’ll admit that. But it will never occur.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I will not do anything to you. In fact, you will stay clear of me. You will get proper undergarments, and you will not parade around with your body showing, and that will be that.”

  “If that’s the way you want it.” Her tone was light, but she felt a little disappointed for some reason. And she was very, very confused. Did he want her or didn’t he? Why had he refused her offer?

  “I have what I want from you,” he said. “The location of the key.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s all you want.” Her voice mocked him.

  His nostrils flared. He got up from the table. “I promised that you could stay here, and that you would not be locked up or abused in anyway, and I will keep my word. You may stay as long as you like. If other people think I am ravishing you, so much the better, but I don’t need you to pretend that. Our business is entirely concluded.”

  She nodded, gazing up at him. “Of course.”

  He took a step toward her and then stopped. He pressed a palm against the table. “Listen, you should… bargaining away your body to something like me, it’s… you mustn’t—there will be nothing left of you.”

  That was what he had said to her when she was chained up on that stage, when he was threatening all manner of vile things to her. She stiffened, because at the memory of all that, she remembered how much she had despised him. But such a sharp feeling as that sort of hatred… she didn’t feel anything like that, not anymore, not since she’d looked down at Diago’s blood spattered over her skin.

  “I think there would be something left,” she said caustically. “You give yourself too much credit if you think whatever is between your legs could destroy me.”

  He swallowed. He gazed down at his hand, where it rested on the table. “You don’t know,” he whispered.

  “And you do? I thought you’d never done something to a woman like what you’d done to me.” She was still mocking him.

  He retreated. “I can’t do anything to a woman, any woman,” he muttered.

  She furrowed her brow. What did he mean by that?

  He winced. “Blazes. Never mind.” He turned and stalked out of the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chevolere didn’t speak to her again that day.

  He couldn’t understand what had driven her to offer herself up to him the way she had. It had appalled him to see her so cavalier about it, so emotionless.

  She had been through an ordeal, he decided. He had hurt her, badly hurt her,
but then some other man—a man she’d loved and trusted—had betrayed her. And Chevolere had been kind to her in the wake of that, and she was confused. She had no one else to turn to, so she thought she…

  He had ruined her. It was his own fault.

  But her offer…

  Blazes, why did thinking of it make him aroused again? Bile rose in his throat. He had thought it was bad all these years to feel nothing but disgust for anything sexual, but this was worse, because the disgust wasn’t gone, but there was also desire that had never been there before.

  Well, maybe he’d never given it much of a chance to be there. If there was bare skin, he averted his eyes. If a woman tried to sit on his lap, he moved her. And none of them did, not once his reputation was securely in place. He didn’t look. He didn’t touch. He didn’t think about doing those things.

  But now, oh, now everything was falling apart. He was falling apart.

  He called Matteo Vitio back in as soon as he could, along with another of his musqueteers, Pietro Lasa. He informed them of the location of the key, and he told them to use it to get into the Caputio fortress and to free Geolli Varti, who had been held captive there for the past seven years.

  Geolli was a cousin of Federo Abrusse, though he did not have the Abrusse name, since he traced his bloodline on his mother’s side.

  Springing him was part of the plan, one of the last, most important bits of the plan.

  Chevolere sent them both off and then he waited.

  News came from Matteo that they had both been called up on a tour of watch duty, and that they would not be able to go to the fortress until they were finished in a week’s time.

  Chevolere wasn’t pleased, but he had no recourse other than to hire other musqueteers to do the activity, and he didn’t trust anyone as well as he trusted Matteo and Pietro. So, he waited.

  He asked Marta to see to clothes for Ziafiata, and the wench acquiesced but then lingered, gazing at him for so long that he finally snapped at her, asking what was the matter.

  “Are you done with her then, sir?” said Marta. “Did you only wish to use her once?”

  “This is not a conversation I wish to have with you,” he said.

  “She seems all right now,” said Marta. “But I don’t think… pardon me, sir, but just because you can take something from someone doesn’t mean you should.”

  “I’m well aware of such things,” he said to her. “Leave me.”

  He did not spend time with Ziafiata in the days that came. He did not eat with her or converse. But when he saw her, they were polite. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. She did seem all right. She was making friends with the people who worked at the tavern, especially the singers and musicians and dancers. One night, he found her traipsing about with her face garishly painted with stage paint, and she laughed and said the dancers had gotten hold of her, and did he like it?

  “Yes,” he said, gazing at her. He always liked the way she looked. He had liked her afraid and liked her spattered in blood, liked her pretending to be possessed by a demon and liked her in the bath.

  “Anyone else would say it made me look like a whore,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But I like it just the same.”

  “You’re horrible, Chevolere.”

  “Can you doubt it?” He smirked.

  She laughed, a musical sound, and then she whirled away, winking at him.

  He gazed after her and his entire body throbbed.

  * * *

  Ziafiata found Chevolere impossible to understand and so she determined to stop thinking of him at all. He had kept his word, and she was not locked in her room, nor was any impediment placed on her movement throughout the tavern. She was not prevented from leaving either, so far as she could see, but she did not leave, because, as she’d said, she had nowhere to go.

  The situation here could not continue forever, she supposed, but she didn’t think of that either, because she was enjoying her newfound freedom. Under her father’s roof, everything had been regimented, so it had been practically like being held captive anyway. Also, she was never sure when her father’s temper would flare, and then he would punish her in some fashion or other, which meant she lived in uncertainty and anxiety much of the time.

  So, this was far superior to anything she’d been through.

  Soon, her days fell into a predictable pattern. She rose late, because she was always up late the night before. It was impossible to sleep in the tavern until the entertainment ended, anyway. Too much noise. Whereas before, she’d been confined to her room, now she spent the day amongst the workers of the tavern.

  When she rose in the late morning, Marta was usually there to help her with dressing—mostly just with lacing her stays and any buttons that she couldn’t reach herself. Then Ziafiata would go down into the kitchens, where she would watch as the workers there prepared stews and meat pies. If she asked, they would allow her to assist them. They all seemed to like that she was eager to learn about what they were doing. And, of course, she was always allowed to taste everything here and there as the cooking commenced, which was how she broke her fast.

  Once the tavern opened, she spent her time flitting back and forth between watching the entertainment and chatting with the dancers and performers who weren’t on the stage at the time. She was fairly certain these women had taken to her as a sort of pet, or perhaps a living doll. They enjoyed fussing with her hair and painting her face and laughing when she said things they deemed adorably innocent.

  She didn’t mind that they treated her thus. She rather enjoyed it, in fact. She had not been cosseted much of her life, and this was a bit of a welcome change.

  Sometimes, in the evenings, she would beg some ale from the man who tended bar, whose name was Luigio. He had a thick neck and a thick mustache. He would give her what she wished, but he would typically cut her off at some point in the night, telling her that pretty things such as she should be careful to keep their wits about them.

  With the ale coursing through her, she would dance to music or join in on a card game with some of the patrons of the tavern. She would pretend to know nothing of cards, though she had learned on her father’s knee as a child. He could be indulgent sometimes, even affectionate, which only made it more painful when he was cruel. She thought he’d likely taught her cards to amuse himself. He thought it was funny that his little daughter could gamble like a criminal. At any rate, she would pretend to be very stupid about the games, and then the men playing would take pity on her, and then she would turn the tables on them and take all their money.

  Of course, word began to spread, and now the games she was playing were not quite the same, because she had the respect of the other players. In the end, she supposed she liked that better. It was a more even playing field.

  She rarely saw Chevolere, and when she did it was from across the room. Sometimes, she looked up and caught him staring at her, and his light gray eyes were the only expressive part of his masked face. But what they were expressing, she could not say.

  She did not understand him at all.

  She liked it when he looked at her for some ridiculous reason. She didn’t know why, because it was preposterous.

  But she had liked it when he said she was magnificent, and she had liked it when he had told her that she was lovely, and she liked the way he gaped at her now, as if he was in awe of her.

  She did not know why he’d said he couldn’t do anything to women. She had heard of there being some kind of dysfunction with men’s organs, but she’d felt his pressed into her skin, and it seemed to be fully functional.

  No, it was something else that he’d meant, but she didn’t know what. The more she contemplated it, the more she wanted to understand. She was more intrigued with him as each and every day passed.

  Even so, she kept her distance from him.

  Days and nights passed, and she rarely spoke to him. When she did, he was pleasant and complimentary. Once or twice, she could have
sworn he was flirting with her.

  And then one night, Luigio was not tending the bar. It was his night off. She had never taken advantage of his absence to ply the other bartender for more ale, but this night was different. At first, she truly lost track of it all. She had a cup or two more without realizing it, and then she was very drunk.

  At that point, she no longer had any reasonable sense of restraint, and she went back again and again to the bartender.

  Then she allowed herself to be dragged along with two of the dancers out of the tavern after it closed and down the streets of the Barrens to another tavern, the Soggy Branch, which stayed open even later, and the three of them laughed and cavorted and danced on the tables, kicking up their legs as men tried to look up their skirts and cheered.

  When the others deposited her back at the tavern, it was quite late. Chevolere had seen to it that she had a key, so she used it to let herself in, and she painfully made her way up the narrow steps to the top floor.

  Once there, she was seized with the idea to look in on Chevolere, and she was far too drunk to think better of it. Whatever impulse gripped her at that point, she followed. She stumbled to his room. The door was not completely closed. It sat open an inch, and she pushed on it.

  The door creaked a bit when it opened. Everything in this place seemed to creak.

  Immediately, she found herself pressed face first into the door, the tip of a sword at the back of her neck.

  “Ziafiata?” said Chevolere’s voice behind her. “What are you doing? I could have killed you.”

  She turned around, giggling. “I wanted to see you, so I—” The words died in her throat.

  Chevolere caught her by the shoulder and jerked her body back to face the wall. He wasn’t wearing his mask. She supposed he didn’t wear it to sleep.

  The sight of him sobered her somewhat. She gaped at the wall, trying to process what it was she’d just seen. It was nothing like what she’d expected.

  His face was entirely unmarred. He had smooth, perfect skin. There were no scars. His nose was straight and perfect and he was… beautiful.