Beauty's Beast Page 6

  Yellow eyes caught the light of the moon, shining in the bushes. Several sets of them showed. I stepped back, cracking a bush and earning a louder growl from many of them.

  I swung the branch again. “GET AWAY!”

  One set of eyes lowered and then shot from the bushes as the wolf pounced at me. I screamed, shielding my eyes from the attack, but the animal never reached me.

  It yelped and cried out.

  Snarls and yelping filled the air as a shadow loomed over us. A cloud covered the moon, but in the dim light I knew what I saw. The beast from the raven’s nest was fighting and protecting me.

  He growled and roared as the wolves attacked him, but he fought back, flinging wolves against trees, hitting, and scratching. Not that it mattered; they didn't relent.

  I turned to run but a scream filled the forest, and I knew the beast that was saving me was losing his fight against the wolves. I picked up the stick I hadn’t realized I had dropped and swung it, hitting a wolf in the head as it launched itself at the beast.

  Another jumped at me, but I again swung the stick and hit him across the face. It gave the beast a chance. He snarled and leapt, injuring one of the wolves severely.

  As the great gray monster died before us both, the other wolves ran away yelping.

  The beast turned to face me as the clouds drifted from the moon, and for the first time I really saw him. His dark-blue eyes caught the moonlight and rolled into the back of his head as he collapsed with a grunt.

  There, in the light of the full and silver moon, the beast shrunk to a man. His hairy arms and face became flesh marred by scratches and bites. His hands retracted from the claws they had been, and his jaw pulled back into that of a man’s squared jaw instead of a wolf-like snout. He was naked and bleeding from many places.

  I dropped to my knees, reaching for him, mystified by what I had seen.

  He was no ordinary man.

  He was so much more and maybe so much worse.

  6

  I ran the cloth over his wounds again, making certain the poultices were soaking into the deep gashes. I tilted my head and leaned into the gash across his chest, noting, even in the dim light of the single candle, I could see he had healed more than he should have.

  He had been asleep for three hours since Lumier and Cogsworth helped me carry him into the house.

  They had fought so hard to leave him to rest, but I knew the injuries would go septic if left. I had seen it before on my own mother and knew how to help.

  With my stare, I followed the injuries up his chest to his neck, noting old scars that had faded to the point I could hardly see them. He looked as if he had been in a battle, but it had been a lifetime before.

  He was muscled and hard in the way a man would be if he lived a rough life, like that of a woodsman or a smithy. And yet his large hands were still soft—the hands of a gentleman.

  He had thick dark hair with a slight curl to it, as though he was due for a trim. And his face was scruffy, not that of a gentleman’s at all. He had a scar along his jawline that hooked up to his lower lip. He had lips I couldn't deny were nice. I couldn't deny him any of his beauty, even if he scared me more than any man I had ever met—though I had not met him, not properly. I did not know his name, only that he was the master of the castle and the people in it. The few people.

  His face, although handsome, was marred by his cruelty. The only reason I had not abandoned him in the woods was that he had been injured saving me.

  In fact, if I stopped lying to myself I could admit that he was beautiful. The feeling of his skin against mine, his face pressed where no man’s had ever gone, was also beautiful. I even had to stop myself from imagining it when I closed my eyes. The feel of him brushing against my wet sex was unbearable, even though I hated him.

  Frustrated with the weakness of my mind, I roughly laid fresh poultices on the wounds; again soaking the used ones in the pot of tea I had asked Mrs. Potts to make. I wanted to slap him silly but I couldn't, even if it was the only chance I might get.

  I hated him.

  His lip twitched and I pulled back, leaving the old dressing where it was. His fingers moved and he began to stir. I jumped up, hurrying to the door. I didn't wait for him to wake. I didn't need to be frightened more, or worse.

  I hadn’t even tended to my own wounds yet.

  I rushed to the dining room and then across the floor to the kitchen. Mrs. Potts was singing and dancing with a small boy. He had a funny haircut, like he might have done it himself, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He giggled and laughed as she swung him around and around, singing the repetitive song.

  His little blue eyes caught mine in the doorway and he stopped, staring at me. I looked down, realizing I was still a half-naked mess. I stepped behind the doorway, poking only my head in.

  Mrs. Potts followed his gaze, smiling when she saw me. “Belle, dear girl. Are ya all right? How is the master?”

  “I believe he is stirring.” I shook my head. “But I need to find my way back to my room. I am a bit lost.”

  She smiled wide, leaving the boy and heading for me. “Of course ya are. That second floor is a maze. Don't even get me started on the third and fourth floors.” She sighed and hurried along.

  I walked quickly behind her, hoping to avoid anyone else in my state. Though I didn't think there were many other people here.

  She climbed the stairs in a hurry and spoke even faster, giving me the impression the quiet Mrs. Potts was not a reality. “And how is our patient? He’ll be in a ripe mood when he wakes and knows ya have seen him as a monster. He hates it, ya know?”

  I nodded. “What is he?”

  She turned and sighed. “Cursed. We all are. Can’t leave the grounds, can’t leave the castle, and can’t have normal lives. Can’t talk about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t talk about it,” she repeated as she shook her head and led me to the door of my room. She opened the door and smiled from the dimly lit hallway. “Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day.”

  She turned and left me there, becoming nothing but a shadow for the candles to play with as she walked off.

  I hurried inside, closing the door before anything else went wrong.

  I looked down at my poor body and winced. I was a mess. I peeled off the ridiculous outfit, sighing with relief when the weird breast holder was off and on the floor. I staggered, exhausted and completely naked, to the bed.

  I pulled back the covers and climbed in, yawning and stretching. I blew out the candle and closed my eyes, suddenly happy about the darkness enveloping me.

  I didn't dream. I slept. It was fast and hard and I didn't remember a single thing about it.

  I woke blinking and noting the light in the room. It was warm and bright. Someone had opened the drapes but I didn't mind. I liked that it was sunny in the beautiful room.

  When I pulled back the covers I groaned, seeing the dirt and blood covering my sheets. I hurried from the bed, again wincing and moaning with every movement and step.

  My body had never been through half as much as it had in the past couple of days.

  I pulled the sheets into a ball and dropped them at the foot of the bed, hating the fact I had to wash them. I hated doing laundry.

  I opened the wardrobe and sighed. There wasn’t a single dress to be found that was suitable. I believed for a moment Mrs. Potts had given me the very best and most decent dress in the lot. I dragged on a sheer cream-colored one and growled as I retrieved the laundry.

  As I opened the door the young boy was there, as though standing guard.

  He jumped to attention and frowned at the laundry in my arms.

  “It’s covered in blood from my scratches. I need to wash it. Where does your mother do the laundry?”

  He smiled wide, revealing the huge chip in his tooth. “In the laundry contraption your papa brought us, of course.” He turned and started walking and so I followed.

  He was chipper and in h
igh spirits, sort of the way everyone else in the castle was, unless the master was about. Then they guarded the things they said and acted fearful.

  We walked down the corridor that appeared different in the light of day. None of the drapes were drawn, allowing the light to make it in through the stained glass that was featured throughout the house. I hadn’t seen any of it in the dark, but now in the light, they created mosaics on the floors and walls.

  I imagined it was akin to walking through a rainbow.

  The young boy brought me through a back hall to a set of stairs I hadn’t seen before, but I couldn't help notice they didn't have the same grandeur the others did. They were likely the servants’ stairs.

  At the bottom of them was a plain room, nothing but bare brick walls, simple stone flooring, and a doorway that led to another barren hall. There was light flooding in there from the grungy windows along the outer wall, but it wasn't as bright as it might have been, had they been clean. The whole castle seemed behind on the cleaning, but if Mrs. Potts was doing it alone, it couldn't be easy. This was the sort of place I had seen in cities where there was a staff of several hundred to carry out the cleaning and cooking, not a handful of uneasy servants.

  I paused, not certain that I understood where we were going. “Is this the right way to the washhouse?”

  He giggled and led me through the hall at the back of the room to a doorway. His eyes sparkled as he looked up at me before opening it.

  I had never seen such excitement over a washhouse before, but the moment he opened the door I gasped, seeing his enthusiasm.

  In the center of the steamy room were the typical baths for the laundry, but in one corner of the vast room was my father’s creation. The machine sat over a bath of laundry, reaching down into it with its huge mechanical arms.

  It ground and squeaked and thumped and bumped, making sounds like I hadn’t heard in a long time. Sounds of my childhood. Sounds of a machine that worked.

  It had arms scrubbing and twitching in the vat of soapy water, making bubbles froth and spew over the edge. All of which made me and the boy smile.

  The translucent globes floated about in the air, escaping the job they had in the water. One floated near me. I lifted a finger and popped it. The juicy bubble splashed in the air.

  “My papa finished building this here?”

  “He got lost in the woods for two days. He came in here unwell and had a cold with a chill. Momma helped him feel better. He slept for a couple of days, and when he woke he said he was too late for the people he was meeting. So he put this in here to help Momma with the cleaning. She was very grateful.” His little voice squeaked as he popped a bubble too.

  I shook my head. “If he did this, how did he have time to kill a stag?”

  The little boy’s eyes lowered. “He was trying to help Momma. He was trying to get her some meat to repay her for her kindness. She had said that venison stew was her favorite—”

  “And then the master put him in the raven’s nest and his sickness came back?”

  He sighed with a small nod. “And then he got worse than before.”

  “What are ya two doing down here?”

  I turned to see Mrs. Potts standing red-faced and sweaty with a bundle of laundry in her chubby arms. She scowled at the bedding in my hands. “Leave that and go and get ya some breakfast. It’s in the conservatory. Chip’ll show ya where.” She nodded.

  He took my hand in his as I opened my mouth to protest but the look in her eyes told me she didn't want anyone meddling with her wash. I dropped the linens on the floor and let Chip lead me back up the stairs.

  He led me through a set of doors at the top of the stairs we had gone down. But I hadn’t been in this room.

  I would have remembered it. It was a conservatory all right, just empty and dusty.

  But even with the grime on all the windows, the sun shone in from every angle as every wall and even the ceiling was a window.

  Standing alone in the room was a small table set with fresh flowers and breakfast for one. The only thing that bothered me at all was that I wished I wasn't in the scant dress, as it wasn't proper for breakfast.

  I walked into the room, basking in the light, closing my eyes and taking it all in.

  “I haven’t seen it this sunny before. Not since I can remember. Momma says it used to be sunny in here before I was born. But she says back then it was sunny all the time—before.”

  I nodded, realizing how gray the village was too. I hadn’t really seen much of the sun since we had moved there. It always seemed to be raining, about to rain, or just recovering from a rain.

  I walked farther into the room, smiling at the breakfast laid out. “Your mother is a genuinely kind woman,” I muttered and pulled out the single chair at the small iron table. It looked like it belonged in a garden, not a room filled with nothing such as this one. I looked around for another chair but there was nothing else, including Chip—he too was gone.

  But I was starving, so I sat and ate, staring out the filthy windows and wondering how my father was. I should have been planning my escape or worrying about my freedom and where I would go once I got my father back.

  But I couldn't.

  I was tired of running and there was something about the old, dilapidated village and castle in ruins that piqued my interest. A whisper in the back of my mind said it was avoidance of the reality in my life, much like reading was.

  But I chose not to listen.

  I decided after breakfast I would find an outfit that was respectable and then explore while it was light out.

  I sat in silence and devoured everything she had left me to eat.

  7

  I sighed in relief as I put the dress on. It sagged everywhere and hung on me like I was a child in my mother’s old gown, but I didn't care. It covered every inch of me, apart from my hands and face. The assault I had suffered at the hands of Gaston had made me uncomfortable in my skin. As if I was somehow to blame for his acting that way by leading him to believe that was acceptable behavior.

  I knew it to be a falsehood, and yet I couldn't shake the terrible feeling. He had made me feel guilty for his sins.

  I looped the ties around myself several times and then fastened them in a bow at my waist.

  It would have to do.

  A tall brunette with an incredibly slim build walked into the room. She blushed and winced when she saw my reflection. “Merde! What are you wearing?” she asked in an incredibly thick provincial accent. Her generous red lips and ample bosom had me wondering what her purpose was in the castle. I could have guessed, had I given the master less credit, but I didn't want to tarnish her without her first implying what she was.

  Staring at her crossing the floor to me, it was easy to assume.

  She wore a black dress, a black slip dress to be exact. Her thin body was completely visible in shape and contour under the trifle of material she wore. Her long, pale legs were completely observable with every step she took, and made longer by the ridiculous shoes she wore.

  She wrinkled her long slim nose at my dress and plucked it with two slender fingers. “What is zis?” She scowled, narrowing her dark-blue gaze. She might have been the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even with her scowl. “Why are you wearing zis terrible dress? I had many dresses put in zee room for you. My dresses are much prettier!”

  My jaw dropped. The clothing had been hers?

  “You seem shocked at zis? You thought zey had appeared from nowhere?”

  I shook my head slowly, not certain what to say. I had thought the master put them in my room intentionally. No wonder he had assumed I was there to service him when he saw my dress.

  “Are you mute?”

  “No, miss.” Was she a miss? She didn't look much older than me.

  She stared at me, perplexed or angry, but then laughed and threw a hand into the air. “My name is Babette. You must follow me and allow me to dress you in zee fashion more suited to your body. It is what is best
for everyone.” She offered me one of her pale hands.

  I pulled back, almost a little afraid of her offer. “I was actually hoping to go outside and your beautiful dresses might be ruined by my walking outside and I might be cold.” The words were lacking confidence and rambling.

  Her look didn't improve. “I see. Well, perhaps you will remember to change before dinner so zee master doesn't disapprove of your attire.” She turned up her nose and left the room, sashaying away.

  I looked down at the baggy brown dress and wondered what it mattered to the master how I looked when a goddess like Babette was in the house. Her dark-red lips and silky brown hair had even me convinced she was too beautiful to be real.

  Mrs. Potts’ dress seemed to suit me more so than anything Babette might have owned.

  I hurried outside, hoping to savor some of the sunlight that I had been basking in while eating in the sunroom, but when I got out to the courtyard it was as if dusk had come early. Shadows danced about the stones and discomfort settled in my stomach.

  “You should not have run.”

  I spun, seeing the cloaked man I had come to know only as master. He was standing in the shadows, blending in as an obscure figure, but I knew it was him by the voice and tone.

  “You should not have run,” he repeated himself, something he did often and usually in anger.

  He intimidated me but I couldn't hold my tongue, “You humiliated me and then frightened me.”

  “You provoke me intentionally I think,” he muttered and sighed, exasperated perhaps.

  “No! I never meant to mislead you by wearing the dress. It was what I was given. I would have worn a cloak or a sack if I had been given it. And I just don't understand how you could have treated my father so poorly.”

  “HE HAD NO RIGHT!” Again he snapped and again I jumped, ready to flee. But there was something that came directly after the fright. It was a weakness. I could see it in his stance and the way he breathed. Half a decade had been spent watching my mother die—I knew sickness when I saw it, and it was hard to fear him that way.