The Beauty's Beast Page 2

  Because he was their liege, the meadow soon emptied of all save the king, his most trusted retainers, the queen, Kathryn—still in the tree—and the wolf.

  “Do you require assistance to descend, my lady?” the king asked Kathryn, his mouth twitching in a grin.

  Kathryn composed her face and shook her head. She leapt down from her sanctuary, landing a few feet away from the wolf. Pity stabbed at her heart as she stared at the disheveled creature, the labored heaving of its sides, the bloody patches on its hide. “What will you do with the beast, my lord?”

  King Thomas alighted from his horse, offering her his arm. As she stepped forward, he covered her hand where it rested on his elbow. A quick wink came and went so fast she could not be sure she’d seen the movement at all.

  The king turned from her and addressed his courtiers. “As I am king, hear me and obey. I do here and now extend the hand of mercy to this creature. He is rational. He has a mind. No one is to harm him. Ever.” King Thomas sighed with great weariness. “I shall hunt no more today. Let us return.”

  One of the knights surrendered his own mount to Kathryn and led the great stallion by the reins as she rode. The knight, Sir Edric, grinned over his shoulder at her as he led the horse, but Kathryn gave him only a wan smile in return. She closed her eyes, the swaying gait of the animal soothing as she drooped with fatigue in the saddle.

  “My lady.”

  She blinked her eyes open and looked to her escort.

  “The king requests that you attend him,” Sir Edric said.

  Kathryn stifled a sigh and nodded, taking the reins from the knight’s outstretched hand. She trotted the horse to the front of the column to ride beside the king as requested. On the king’s other side, Queen Aliénor frowned at the king. “But, husband, isn’t it possible this could be a trap? Some magical mischief sent from Jerdun.”

  Kathryn froze, feeling her eyes go wide.

  The king glanced over and noticed her at last. He smiled. “Lady Kathryn, what think you of this?” He motioned to the ground on his right side.

  Kathryn craned to see past his horse and gasped to see the wolf limping quite determinedly in step with the king’s horse. Kathryn had believed the wolf all but dead back in the clearing. Truly she thought they had left him there. A misapprehension, apparently.

  Queen Aliénor shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea. The beast could be dangerous.”

  King Thomas made a small gesture of negation with his hand. “I disagree. I trust the wolf. He feels…familiar somehow. Noble.”

  His wife made a small, dissatisfied hmph noise and looked behind. “Well, I do not trust the beast.”

  King Thomas caught her hand and dropped a quick kiss. “Trust me then.” He scratched the line of his bearded jaw and addressed Kathryn again, “While you were being helped to a mount, a few of my men tried to deter the wolf from this course of action. They were, shall we say, disabused of the notion that he would be parted from me.”

  Kathryn grimaced. She hated to think they had been wrong about a noble, knowledgeable beast, after all. Maybe Queen Aliénor was right to be afraid.

  “Oh, nothing serious,” the king explained, perhaps noticing Kathryn’s discomfort. “Just some light scratches and bruising.”

  Kathryn snorted to find the king so nonplussed at the threat of his best men being mauled by a mystical animal.

  “What shall I do with the creature, Lady Kathryn? Any suggestions?”

  The queen opened her mouth but pinched it closed, swallowing whatever she’d been about to say. She creased her brows, watching Kathryn.

  Kathryn shifted uneasily, feeling torn between the two royals. Her loyalty was to the queen, and clearly Queen Aliénor disliked the beast. But, after saving the wolf in the clearing, it seemed wrong to leave him behind to bleed to death in the forest. Kathryn couldn’t bring herself to say anything to either monarch and simply stared hard at the back of her horse’s neck. Coward. The slightest misstep could see her banished from court, though. Her father would be furious with her if she were cast out. She dare not risk that.

  She darted a sideways glance at the king. A corner of his mouth tipped up as if he sensed some of her inner turmoil. “Perhaps inspiration will strike when we reach my castle.”

  ***

  My king. The werewolf trotted—well, limped eagerly—along at the heels of Samson, the king’s horse. The werewolf, despite his still-blighted life, basked in the glow of not only his king’s mercy but also his generosity in taking along an injured wolf.

  What good have I done in the world to deserve so great a boon? Not only to behold the face of my king but also to be with him, ride with him again. Beast or no beast, what does my form matter if I am to have a chance to serve my lord again?

  He smiled to himself, happily padding along in step with the king’s horse. Yet the wolf’s happiness wavered as the maiden from the tree craned around in her saddle to look at him. Her hair was disheveled. Mud had splashed the front of her gown and spotted the line of her jaw. She seemed very vulnerable to him, innocent even, but the wolf had learned his lesson about women. Never again.

  He pushed aside this gloomy thought and stared again at King Thomas. No, the wolf would allow nothing to tarnish his joy at this reunion. I have my king again, and nothing and no one else matters.

  Chapter Two

  When they reunited with the rest of the hunting party in a clearing, the wolf caused much comment among the queen’s other ladies. A few shrieked and sank into the arms of the nearest men. The queen merely stood with her fists clenched and a pleat of worry between her brows.

  King Thomas knelt before the beast, gently rubbing its ears, and the wolf’s tongue lolled out from happiness. “I think the beast has walked far enough this day. I will carry him before me on my saddle.”

  Queen Aliénor hissed a breath out through her teeth. “Stubborn—” She shook her head. “You will do no such fool thing. I will give up my coach to the creature, which will be entirely more comfortable for him. My ladies and I can ride.”

  King Thomas grinned at his wife, looking happy, looking much younger than his forty odd years. Kathryn restrained a wistful sigh as she watched the two of them.

  The king stood and brushed wolf hair off his hose. “Someone will have to ride with the beast, my queen, to see that he doesn’t hurt himself worse before we reach the castle.” King Thomas looked expectantly at his master of the hounds.

  The groom spat and crossed his arms. “I’ll ne’er touch the filthy beast, an’ you can do your worst, sire, but that won’t change me mind.”

  King Thomas, perhaps recalling with sympathy the death of the kennel keeper’s favorite hound, shook his head. “I understand.” Pacing beside the carriage, the king rubbed thoughtfully at his lips. “Now what’s to do for the animal? None of my men will touch him.”

  Chewing her lip in indecision, Kathryn looked again to the wounded beast, which had collapsed inside the queen’s ornate carriage. The wolf’s breathing came in ragged pants, and blood spilled down his shoulder to his leg.

  Whomever her actions might anger, she had to help him. She stepped forward and gently touched the king’s arm to claim his attention. King Thomas looked down at her, his expression politely inquiring.

  “Your Highness, I kept dogs at home. They would get into mischief all the time. I have never had to deal with anything as severe as this, but I did learn a little leechcraft from my uncle before his death. I might be able to do something for the beast. If there truly is no one else.”

  The king patted her hand and addressed the rest of his entourage. “Is there anyone else?”

  The crowd visibly recoiled at the request, clumping together into tight groups of three or four. The queen’s face scrunched with worry again. “You don’t have to, Lady Kathryn.”

  “I…I want to, my lady.”

  Queen Aliénor blinked and shook her head, looking uneasily at the wolf again.

  King Thomas looked t
o Kathryn, smiling again. “Well, what say you, my lady? Will you stay with the wolf, help him, and care for him in his sickness?”

  Kathryn stifled her disquiet and nodded. “I will heal him as best I can and, when he is well, I shall do whatever else is required of me to aid him.”

  “And you, my fine beast?” said the king to his newest vassal.

  The wolf gazed at King Thomas with a look of such naked fidelity and fondness, Kathryn almost turned away. The idea that an outsider should behold such raw and wild emotions seemed indecent.

  The king scratched the wolf’s head, still speaking to the animal as if it could understand. “How will you repay your debt of honor to the lady for this generous service? Will you attend the Lady Kathryn, guard her, and care for her? Be her champion should she ever have need of one?”

  The wolf sniffed at the carriage floor, obviously stalling, before he looked back at the king and inclined his head ever so slightly.

  King Thomas beamed at this further display of intelligence. “Remarkable. Truly a remarkable creature.”

  “He is at that.” Kathryn bent to caress the wolf’s head, but the animal ducked away from her touch, dropping his head to his paws again and shutting his eyes. She curled her fingers back, stung by the rejection.

  Prickling with nervousness, Kathryn allowed the king to help her into the carriage. The door swung tightly closed, shutting her up in the dimness with the wounded wolf.

  ***

  Kathryn and the wolf had been among the first to arrive at the castle, but upon the wolf stepping down from the carriage, he froze and stood stationary before the great doors of the stronghold. She watched the rest of the court pour by her. Fine ladies, gentle knights, grooms, servants, horses, carriages, and dogs all went into the king’s castle. Still the wolf remained immobile before the doors. Something like fear or grief—possibly both—shone out of his peculiar blue eyes.

  She studied the wolf and waited. She had time. All the time in the world, in fact, since the king had expressly said her first duties now lay in tending to the wolf. A tirewoman who had been called to assist Kathryn arrived. The servant worriedly shifted from foot to foot, chafing her hands as she eyed the wolf with misgiving.

  Kathryn, however, did not mind waiting on the wolf’s pleasure. Some significant struggle occurred now within the beast. His body had tensed, and he stared at the castle, taking in the high walls, the square battlements, his dark eyes flicking all over the place as he panted and shook. Kathryn did not coax him. Better to let him fight it out on his own rather than force him forward when he was not ready.

  While they lingered on the threshold, the castle steward found them. “King Thomas has instructed me to secure you the necessary implements for tending the beast.” The steward huffed and glanced with disfavor at the still immobile animal.

  Ignoring his tone, Kathryn gave the servant a list of the necessary tools to tend the wolf’s injuries, most especially the bite on his shoulder.

  “And further,” the steward said, making a note of all the items she had listed, “I am to show you to Master Llewellyn’s workshop—”

  “Master Llewellyn?”

  “The king’s wise man and Court Magician.”

  “I know who he is.” Kathryn bit her cheek as her nerves jolted inside her. Master Llewellyn was the king’s right-hand man, one of the most important officials in the kingdom. Surely he wouldn’t appreciate some woman using his workspace to tend a wild animal.

  The steward cleared his throat with thinly veiled annoyance. “The king has granted you use of Master Llewellyn’s workshop to house the beast and care for him tonight.”

  “Will Master Llewellyn mind?”

  “He is currently away gathering herbs in the mountains and is not expected back for a few more days.”

  Which didn’t exactly answer her question, but it seemed the steward had no wish to be helpful, and Kathryn had a wounded wolf to care for. “Oh. Well, all right. Thank you.” She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and the steward bowed as if she owed him something. The man left to fetch her tools and helpers. The scrawny maidservant would not be enough, and Kathryn supposed the woman was only there as chaperone to herself anyway, to preserve Kathryn’s chastity and honor.

  After a few steps, the steward turned back. “Oh yes, and is there anyone particularly suited to sitting the night out with the wolf?”

  “Yes,” Kathryn said. “I shall, of course.”

  This snapped the wolf out of his reverie, and he growled at her, more warning than menace.

  Startled, Kathryn frowned and then, guessing the problem, she smiled. She knelt so only the wolf would hear her. “I’m sure staying in the quarters of a gentleman wolf is not exactly proper. But I think you are too fragile to watch the night out alone. We cannot have your condition worsen. Not if you are to be a member of the court, at any rate.”

  ***

  A member of the court, the werewolf thought, much struck. So I am. The lowliest member to be sure, but here I am. What other miracles might occur now that this first is past?

  The girl gazed at him expectantly, still patient, though she shivered as the evening air blew through the king’s courtyard with the setting of the sun. The wolf looked to the trembling girl, and a quite human guilt shuddered through him, entirely alien to his wolfish body.

  While inhabiting a wolf’s body in a wolf’s world, his life had been easier. Here and now, the hunger rushing in veins that had once pumped human blood almost overwhelmed all aspects of him. To enter this castle, this hallowed place, to experience even a reflected shadow of the old chivalry by which he had lived his life—he almost couldn’t bear the aching in his heart.

  A large part of him wanted to turn tail and run back to his isolated forest as fast as his lupine legs could carry him. Yet his human heart and his rational mind decided that nothing—not wicked fairies or a cruel goddess, enemy warriors or even another werewolf—would drag him from his home again. Finally, hesitantly, painfully, the wolf put one paw through the castle doors.

  The girl watched him. “You might not have heard, but the steward has given me use of Master Llewellyn’s workshop to treat you. In the garden, I believe.”

  The wolf cut through the main corridor of the castle, then exited out the back, turning toward a small shed snuggled up cozily against the stone walls of the castle. He led the girl without hesitation to the right building. When he glanced back, the girl was smiling to herself.

  He pushed the workshop door open with one paw and waited for her to precede him. The maiden did and, keeping her face averted and her voice bland, she said, “Have you been to the castle before, Sir Wolf?”

  He looked up at her sharply and huffed in a fair approximation of a human sigh. He had not meant to reveal he knew the castle, but in his present state of pain and abstraction, he had fumbled. Shaking his head, he walked into the old workshop with as much dignity as he could muster while limping on stiff legs.

  ***

  The steward fulfilled all of Kathryn’s wishes with precision and speed. The proper implements were there and waiting, as well as three strapping young lads from the stables who were used to violent animals and dirty work.

  As the wolf wriggled his way onto the worktable, he eyed these helpers with disfavor.

  “Do I need them to make you behave yourself, d’you think?” Kathryn whispered.

  The wolf gave her a sharp look and then, ever so slightly, shook his head. No.

  Smiling, Kathryn turned to the stable hands. “Just one of you, for now, to hold him steady for the first part, and the other two can step in if necessary.” She gave the wolf a look from under her lashes. “Which I sincerely hope will not be necessary.”

  The grooms exchanged uneasy glances amongst themselves but did not speak.

  Kathryn breathed deeply to steel herself and bent to examine the wolf’s injuries. She had seen a few dogfights in the kennels at home, and these wounds were rather typical of a death fight. Large, deep l
acerations covered his shoulder where the hound had grabbed him, and smaller cuts on the wolf’s face showed where the hound had scratched at him before being killed. Mud and blood—some of which even belonged to the wolf—matted the wolf’s coat.

  “I’ll have to use the iron to cauterize the deepest wound, I’m afraid, to prevent infection,” she said absently to the wolf. Rolling up her sleeves, she patted his side gently. “I’m going to have one of my helpers here wash your wounds with wine while I get the bellows going and heat the iron.”

  One of the stable lads stepped forward. “I can do that, m’lady. I’ve practice enough with the iron from tending the dogs and horses.”

  She nodded. “All right. Make sure to use charcoal, not coal. And don’t let the iron get so hot that flame leaps from it.” Her helper nodded and went to heat the iron.

  As she made everything ready, the other two grooms skirted wide around the wolf, apparently loath to touch him. She sent one to get honey and brandy from the kitchen and the other to heat water on one of the workshop’s impressively efficient little braziers. She herself set about cleaning the wolf’s filthy coat, rinsing the dirt and detritus from the scratches on his face and body.

  He settled in comfortably to her handling. When she dabbed at the scratches with the wine, he did not flinch, snap, or otherwise make any overtures of violence toward her, even though her ministrations must have hurt him. She smiled. “You are indeed a mild-mannered wolf.”

  The wolf winced as she touched some tender spot. Had he been only a brutish animal, he might have whined from the pain in his shoulder. He certainly would have snapped at her, but instead he remained passive and patient. As she continued their one-sided discourse, chattering amicably about random odds and ends, the wolf looked at her rather sardonically, his eyes narrowed. The back of her neck tingled with awareness. He understands me. Every word. This wolf was obviously more than he seemed.