Beast Lord: (Beauty and the Beast) (Tangled Tales Book 3) (4 page)

“Stop calling me that!” The wench took a step backwards.

“If you’re not Hecuba, then how did you get the flower? I threw it out of my solar window not five minutes ago.”

“If you’re talking about this rose – I found it right outside the great hall, just lying on the ground. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“No, you didn’t find it, because the door to the great hall is on the opposite side of the castle from my solar window.”

“She’s good, my lord. I am starting to really believe her,” mumbled his squire under his breath.

“Well, I’m not convinced. We’ll just see about this since the witch would never let me do . . . this.” He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her against his chest and pressed his lips against hers in a powerful kiss. The pain of his split lip shot through him and he winced and pulled away. Instead of dissipating in a puff of green smoke like he thought she would, the girl just stood there staring into his soul with those icy blue eyes and twirling the rose between her fingers.

“Is that supposed to prove something?” she asked snidely, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He felt his body stirring beneath his belt, enthralled by the sweet taste of her lips, and excited by the feel of her perky, rounded breasts that had a moment ago been pressed up against his body. “Damn you, Witch. Why are you doing this to me?”

“I told you, I’m not a witch,” she said once again.

“My lord, I think mayhap she is telling the truth,” whispered his squire.

“I still don’t believe it, but I’m going to find out once and for all.” He grabbed her by the wrist again and dragged her along behind him as he took long strides, hurriedly making his way back to his solar.

“Ow, let go of me! Your grip is too tight and you’re hurting me,” complained the girl.

“Where are you taking her my lord?” Trumble ran up next to Stefan as they walked.

“To the solar where I will find out once and for all if she is a witch or a woman. And squire, I want you there to witness what’s about to transpire.”

“You – do?” He asked, and then a wide smile spread across his face. “Yes, my lord, I’ll not only witness but participate if you so order.”

“Aye, so you will,” he said, pushing open the door and walking inside. He headed right for the mirror on the bed, knowing that Hecuba’s true self could not be disguised when viewed in the mirror. He’d show the hag’s true image to Trumble, because he was going to let his squire hold the mirror and look within.

Bonnibel struggled as the warrior held tightly to her one hand, and the thorns from the rose dug into the fingers of her other hand. There was no way she was going to let this beast pull her into his solar and have his way with her. It was bad enough he’d kissed her. If he hadn’t taken her by surprise, and there had been a place on his face that wasn’t already bruised, swollen, stitched or bleeding, she would have reached out and slapped him.

“Stop! Leave me alone,” she told him, digging the heels of her traveling boots into the floor. It did nothing to stop him. He was a big, foreboding man and very strong. He pulled her directly over to the bed, obviously planning on coupling with her and even letting his squire join in on the act. What kind of a beast was he?

“Stop pretending to struggle when we both know you could just up and disappear if you wanted to.”

“I wish I could, because you are a brute!” She dug her nails into his arm and he shouted out and flung her atop the bed.

“Arrrgh! You just dug your nails into my burnt flesh. Why is it you like to see people suffer?”

“Speaking of suffering, you’re about to take me against my will and let your squire join in. That will be more painful than the bite of my nails on your raw flesh.”

“I don’t want you,” he spat, picking up a hand mirror on the bed that she didn’t even know was there. “Here, Trumble,” he told his squire. “Look at the hag’s reflection in the mirror and you’ll see exactly who she is.”

She pushed up on her elbows, thinking she heard the man wrong. Granted, he was the ugliest man she’d ever seen in her life, but she’d never known a man before who didn’t want the pleasure of hopefully bedding her. She’d constantly fought off suitors in the past that had been hot and bothered by her beauty. “You don’t want me?” she asked, looking first at him and then at the squire who had his back to her and was gazing at her in the mirror.

“I think you’ve made a grave mistake, my lord.” The squire moved the mirror in one direction and then another and kept gawking at her reflection. “She looks beautiful from any angle.”

“You must be doing it wrong. Give me the mirror!” The man grabbed the mirror from his squire and then turned his back and held up the mirror, gazing at her over his shoulder. She folded her arms over her chest and waited. She saw the reflection in the mirror of his eye open wide, and she lifted her chin in retaliation as he slowly turned around.

“Satisfied that I’m not an old witch now?” she asked and scooted to the edge of the bed.

“You’re really not Hecuba, are you?” He pushed his face closer to hers, and his swollen eye and stitched face came nearer. She could barely look at him without retching, but there was no way she was going to show vulnerability by turning away from him. She was strong and he needed to know it. This was her castle and she would not be treated this way by a mere stranger.

“If I was this witch you speak of, I’d turn you into a bug and squash you under my heel so you’d leave me alone.”

“What do you think?” his squire whispered.

“It’s not her,” he whispered back. “Hecuba wouldn’t turn any of us into a bug. Her eyesight isn’t that good. She’d turn us into something bigger or she’d never be able to see us to watch our misery while she laughed and gloated.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, enough about this witch. I’m tired of hearing it.” She walked over to the bedside table and picked up a decanter of water and stuck the rose inside. “Now, I’ll ask you again. Who are you and who took my father?” She turned to look at them, and both the men were just staring at her with their mouths hanging open.

“I – I’m Lord Stefan de Bar,” he finally told her. “And I have no idea who your father is or where he is for that matter. We came looking to save my sister from the witch and were ambushed by the same men who killed so many from the castle.”

“I am saddened deeply by this news even if I didn’t know my father’s men and subjects. I saw bloodstained cobblestones in the courtyard but no bodies.”

“They’ve already been hauled to the field and burned, my lady,” the squire told her.

“Where is your army that accomplished this feat?”

“Lord de Bar doesn’t have an army,” said Trumble, getting a glare from Stefan.

“I’m in the process of acquiring the service of . . . soldiers,” Stefan told her. “My father, brothers, and their men were here, but I don’t need them and sent them away.”

“I see.” She turned back and busied herself at the table, wondering if the man’s brains had been knocked from his head during the battle to have dismissed skilled soldiers to protect the castle when they’d just been attacked. “Well, as soon as my betrothed arrives, I’m sure he’ll have an entourage of soldiers with him and I’ll put them to work.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Stefan’s words were laced with anger. “Breckenridge Castle is mine now. I’m the lord and will make the decisions, not you!”

She knew it would do no good to argue with him right now since she had no men to protect her from his rage. Mayhap if she tended to his wounds properly it would soften his disposition.

“How did you get those cuts on your face?” she asked, moving closer to peruse his wounds. “And who sewed you up? A cordwainer?” She reached out and touched one of his stitches and he jerked away. “I’ve seen smaller stitches on a pair of shoes. That is going to leave a nasty scar if it’s not cared for properly.”

“I did my best to sew him up,” said the squire. “But Lord de Bar isn’t the best patient. He tends to squirm and groan a lot in the process.”

“I do not squirm or groan,” snapped Stefan. “And what does it matter how well my face is stitched when I’m going to die anyway?”

“Die?” she asked in surprise. “You seem to be feistier than some of the best warriors I know that are half your age. Besides having wounds on your face and arms, I’d say you’re in perfect health.”

“That’s right. My sutures aren’t going to kill you,” Trumble said in his defense.

“Nay, but an infection might,” she said, reaching out for him again. This time she pulled him to the bed. “Squire, get my traveling bag from the great hall, and tell my guard in the courtyard that I’ll need his help holding down this man because I’m going to show you the right way to stitch a wound.”

“What? No, you’re not,” Stefan protested, but she pushed his big body prone on the bed.

“Hurry,” she told the squire. “And tell my guard to bring some rope as well. I might need to tie him down to keep him from moving.”

“No one is tying me down,” he protested, and when he sat up again, she pushed him back down and reached over and plucked the rose from the decanter of water and handed it to him.

“Here. Hold onto this. It’ll take your mind off the fact I have to remove all the sutures in your face before I put in new ones.”

“Remove them all?” He groaned and just looked at the rose and shook his head. Then he closed his good eye and groaned again.

“Your squire is right. You do groan a lot,” she surveyed.

“Well, I never thought dying was going to be this painful.”

“Painful? I haven’t even touched you yet,” she said, reaching out and ripping part of the sheet from the bed and wetting it with some water.

“It’s not the stitches I’m talking about,” he told her, wanting to tell her about the curse and what he needed to do to break it. But even so, it wouldn’t matter, because odds were against this girl ever even liking him at all.

Chapter 4

An hour later Bonnibel exited the solar with her travel bag thrown over her shoulder and her guard at her side. She’d been sure to give the beast lots of whiskey to help ease his pain, and thankfully it knocked him out cold. She had the feeling he’d been drinking heavily before she even got there. She needed him out of the way in order to explore her father’s castle and figure out just what was going on. And no matter how scary or powerful Stefan de Bar was, she wasn’t going to let him take what was hers.

Until her father returned, she was claiming his castle. He had no sons or successors, and her sisters weren’t even living in the country. When her betrothed, Lord Wickhambreaux arrived, she would convince him to remove the beast and his friends from her dwellings and she’d never have to see his face again.

She smiled to herself as she made her way back to the great hall, because she knew when Sir Stefan awoke he wasn’t going to be happy. True, she’d fixed his sutures, as she wasn’t that cruel to purposely ruin anyone’s face, but after he’d passed out she’d cut off his hair, leaving him with just a few tufts on top of his head. She did it to show him she was in charge now that she’d returned to England. A brash, bold move to be certain, but she didn’t care. He was one man with only a squire and not even an army to command. How hard could it really be to take over and rid her of his presence?

He’d looked so pathetic all broken, bruised and stitched up, lying on the bed clutching that odd hand mirror in one hand and her rose in the other. She’d removed the rose and put it back in the water once she was finished with him since she loved flowers. She had half a mind to take the mirror, but he was protecting it in his tight grip and she didn’t want to wake him. She really needed time alone to figure out what she was going to do.

“My lady,” said her guard, Graham. He was a loyal guard and had crossed the channel as her escort to protect her. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be roaming the castle by yourself. I will be staying at your side from now on.”

When she entered the great hall, she noticed the beast’s squire at the other end of the room talking with a pretty serving wench. She didn’t want the servants liking Sir Stefan or his squire more than they liked her. If they did, it would be hard to regain her father’s holdings. If only she knew where to find him.

“Squire, I think you should be at the bedside of Sir Stefan, don’t you?” she asked.

“My lady,” said the squire with a quick bow of his head. “Has Lord Stefan called for me?”

If she told him the truth that the man was sleeping, the squire might take his time getting there and continue to gain favors by talking with the servants. She needed him out of her way.

“Yes, he cried out for you in pain. I really think you should be at his side and stay with him through the night. It’s not good to leave him alone at a time like this.”

“I’m on my way!” The squire took off at a run through the great hall.

“Lady Bonnibel, I have a feeling you’re lying,” said the guard.

“I’m here for a purpose, Graham. Now help me by roaming the grounds and let me know what you can find out about my father and his disappearance with these attackers.”

“I’m staying at your side, my lady.”

“There is no need, now go. I’m not going outside the castle walls, so I’ll be safe.”

“As you order.” The guard nodded and left.

Bonnibel held onto her satchel with her Romance of the Rose book tucked safely inside, and began to explore. She’d lived here as a child, but things were different now. She hadn’t been back here in eight years and wasn’t sure what kind of changes her father had made to the castle in her absence. She wondered if her old bedchamber was still there that she and her sisters had shared, or if it was being used. Heading up the stairs, she made her way to her room. She nodded to a passing chambermaid, and when she stopped outside the chamber door, she hesitated.

Memories of her mother filled her head of all the happy times they’d shared together, playing games with her sisters and learning to sew. She had her mother to thank for her skill with a needle. But her favorite times were when her mother taught her how to read. Of the three sisters, Bonnibel was the one who always loved books of any kind. But books were expensive and not common to have. Each had to be written and illuminated by hand, with the animal skins stretched and dried to make the velum pages.

Most books were constructed by monks in monasteries and took years before they were completed. Her mother had held the same love of books, and even had books in her possession.

Bonnibel used to practice by reading the Romance of the Rose book to her mother. She liked it so much that her mother decided one day to let her keep it. That’s why she treasured her book more than anything. It was the last memory she had of her mother.

She opened the door and walked into the chamber, the thick air smelling musty and stale. A tapestry was covering the only window, and the room was gloomy and dark. Dusty green bed curtains were closed around the bed, and it looked as if no one had entered this room since she left it eight long years ago. She walked slowly over to the bed and laid her hand on the carved spindle, running her fingers down it.

She was home, finally. But why did it not bring to her the feeling of happiness that she thought it would? Mayhap because it wasn’t the same without her mother.

She pulled open the dusty velvet curtains and lay down upon the bed. She took the book out of her bag and held it to her chest, willing her mother to come back to life, wanting her sitting there on that bedside chair so badly that she’d do anything to see her again.

The travels of the day exhausted her, and before long she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

Stefan awoke the next morning, taking a moment to realize where he was. He’d actually slept better than he had in a long time – but that might have had something to do with all the whiskey he drank.

“My lord, you’re awake.” Trumble jumped up out of the chair next to the bed, and walked over to the window. “It’s got to be close to noon by now, but I let you sleep since I knew you needed your rest.” He pulled open the covering from in front of the window, and sunshine streamed into the room, hurting Stefan’s eyes.

“Aaaaah, close that before I throw you out the window, Trumble. It’s too blasted bright – and what do you mean close to noon? Do you mean midnight?”

“Nay, my lord,” said Trumble pulling the covering over the window again. “I mean noon.  You fell asleep yesterday after the girl stitched you up and it’s already tomorrow.”

“Today is today, it can never be tomorrow,” he growled, sitting up and putting his feet over the side of the bed. It was dark in there, but something felt different. It felt colder than usual. “Stoke up a fire on the hearth,” he instructed his squire. “It feels cold in here.”

“It’s a castle, it’s always cold,” said the squire, doing as instructed.

“No, I mean . . . something feels . . . odd.”

“It’s probably the stitches in your face pulling against your skin.” The squire stoked the fire on the hearth. “Although I must say, Lady Bonnibel did do an excellent job. Her sutures are much smaller than mine were. Take a look in that mirror if you don’t believe me. The healing balm she used seems to be working as well. And the swelling of your eye has gone down.”

Stefan gently touched his eyelid with his fingers to see that what the squire said was true. He also realized he was actually seeing out of this eye now, though things were still blurred. He hoped the sight in his injured eye would someday fully return. He looked down to the witch’s hand mirror he still clutched in his hand and raised it up, cocking his head to look at his reflection. He held it close to his face since the room was dark, and could see that both of his eyes were so bloodshot that the whites were bright red. A long line of small sutures ran up the right side of his face, stopping and continuing above and below his eye. And another angled row of stitches was over his left cheek. Then he pulled the mirror back a little, trying to focus on . . . his hair!

He jumped to his feet. “Take that covering away from the window,” he shouted to his squire. “Hurry.”

Trumble put another log on the fire and stood upright, brushing the dirt from his hands. “But I thought you said –”

“Do it!” he bellowed, hoping to hell he was seeing things wrong. But when the sunlight filtered in through the room once again, he had no doubt what he was seeing in the mirror wasn’t an illusion. “God’s eyes, what happened to my hair?” His hand slapped against his head, hitting the sutures in the back of his head in the process, and stinging like crazy.

“Aye, it’s short,” Trumble said with an empty nod.

“I can see that! I may only have one good eye at the moment, but I’m not blind. How did this happen?” He looked at his reflection in the mirror again, feeling sick to his stomach. Having a mangled face was one thing – but tolerable since they were warrior wounds. But his brothers all had long hair, and so did most every knight since it was custom. His hair was gone - all of it, except for a few tufts at the top of his head sticking out in crazy directions. His hair was so short that his ears stuck out and the back of his neck was totally exposed.

“I’m not sure how it happened, my lord,” said Trumble stretching his neck and moving his head back and forth as he came near in order to get a better look. “It does look – rather – different, I must say.”

“Different?” He looked in the mirror again, furious at seeing how ugly he looked. “I’ve been ruined and will never hear the end of the ridicule from my brothers. I’m hideous!”

“Aye, you are, my lord,” said Trumble. Then his hand slapped over his mouth as he realized just what he’d agreed to.

“The girl did this! It’s her fault,” Stefan growled. “Where is she?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her since yesterday when she told me that you requested I stay at your side in the solar until you awoke.”

“I never said any such thing.” He threw the mirror down on the bed and walked over to a trunk and flipped it open, looking for some clothes to wear that weren’t bloodied and torn. He didn’t find clothes, just weapons and trinkets. In aggravation he ripped the front of his tunic open, letting it hang there, as tattered and torn as he was feeling at the moment. “She’ll not get away with this.”

He went back to the bed and picked up the mirror and stuck it in his waist belt and stormed out of the room. “There is going to be hell to pay, and when I’m finished with her, this girl will never think of tricking me again.”

* * *

Bonnibel awoke to the sound of her chamber door banging open and hitting against the stone wall. She sat up in bed, seeing the beast storming into her room. It was dark and there hadn’t been a nighttime candle, but there was no mistaking the fact he wasn’t happy.

“Get up!” he said, stopping at the side of the bed and reaching down and grabbing her by the arm. He pulled her to her feet before she could answer. “Squire give us some light so I can see her face when I tell her what I’ll be doing with her.”

“Yes, my lord.” Trumble hurried over and removed the tapestry from in front of the window.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked. “Get your hands off of me or I’ll call my guard.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve already dismissed him.”

“Dismissed him?” She struggled against his hold. “No you didn’t. Graham, help! Help me!”

“There’s no use crying out for help, my lady.” His voice was low and menacing. “He can’t hear you – from a ship headed back to France.”

“He wouldn’t leave. He’s been sent as my escort and to protect me until my betrothed arrives.”

“It was either he leave or I cut off his head. I think mayhap he chose the better of the two options, don’t you?”

“You would have – killed him?”

“He’s very angry, my lady,” said Trumble from the window. “I wouldn’t doubt for one moment that Lord Stefan would have killed him if he hadn’t left, so don’t blame the guard. He was only looking out for his own life.”

“And who’ll look out for you when I come to kill you next for rambling?” Stefan asked his squire.

“Sorry, my lord, I’ll keep my mouth shut now, I will.” Trumble pretended to button his lips closed and looked the other way.

“What in God’s name did you do to my hair?” Stefan asked, sounding dark and dangerous.

“I – cut it,” she answered plain and simple.

“Why?”

“Because . . . because your wound at the back of your head needed to be stitched and the hair was in the way.”

“Really? And what about the hair at the top of my head or that in the front or at the sides? That wasn’t in the way.”

“You are getting quite upset over a little hair.” She managed to pry his fingers off her wrist and stepped back and smoothed down her gown. “Besides, I fixed your sutures, so you should be thanking me instead.”

“You walk into my castle and –”

“My father’s castle.”

He glared at her and continued as if he were trying to keep from exploding. “You walk into my castle and not only start ordering the servants around –”