Beauty's Beast(53)

“Good morrow, my lady,” he said. He covered a yawn with his hand. “Why did you not tell me you were riding this morning? I would have had Misty ready for you.”

Kristine smiled brightly. “I felt like an early ride, that’s all. There was no need to bother you when I can saddle my own horse.”

Brandt nodded, then yawned again. “No trouble at all, my lady. Next time you come, wake me up.”

“I will.”

“Enjoy your ride,” he said, and walked past her into the barn.

Touching her heels to Misty’s flanks, Kristine urged the mare into a canter. Charmion lived at the top of Cimmerian Crag. If she hurried, she could be there before nightfall.





Chapter Fifteen



Erik stayed away for four days before returning to the hunting lodge. He knew as soon as he entered the dwelling that she was gone. There was a hollowness inside, a feeling of emptiness.

He stood before the fireplace, his heart as cold as the ashes in the hearth. Why, of all places, had she stumbled upon this one? It had been the one place where there were no memories of Kristine to haunt him, but that was changed now. He could smell her scent all around him, had only to close his eyes to picture her sitting on the settee, lying in his bed, kneeling at his feet as she washed the blood from his wounds. But the memory that tormented him most was the look of complete and total horror on her face when she’d seen him for what he was.

A moan rumbled low in his throat, deepening to a growl. He stared at his left hand, at the thick pads, the long claws. He would never caress a woman with that hand again, he mused, nor lift a glass of wine.

He would never hold his child. . ..

Throwing back his head, he let out a long, anguished cry that emerged from his throat in a wolflike howl, echoing off the walls and spilling into the night. A moment later, he heard an answering howl from the woods, where it was picked up by another, and then another, until the air rang with the melancholy sounds.

He went to the window and stared out into the night, and knew he had to go back to Hawksbridge Castle, had to know that Kristine had made it safely home.

He had to see her just one more time, had to know that she would be well and truly cared for. How many times, he mused ruefully, how many times had he promised himself just one more time? But this would have to be the last.

Heavy-hearted, he swung into the saddle and started for home.





“Gone? What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where?”

“I don’t know, my lord.” Mrs. Grainger took a step backward, alarmed by the rage blazing in Trevayne’s eyes. “Brandt was the last to see her. He said she went riding day before yesterday. She never came back. I sent Gilbert to the lodge to tell you, but there was no one there.” She twisted her apron in her hands. “I’m sorry, my lord. We’ve looked everywhere.”

“She didn’t say anything to anyone?”

“No one here, my lord.”

Had he driven her away, then, frightened her so badly with his monstrous appearance that she had fled Hawksbridge? She had no family, no friends. Where would she go?

“My lord?”

“What is it?”

“She went to see your mother.”

“What? When?”

“The day before she disappeared. She asked me how far it was to the convent at St. Clair. I never dreamed she would go there alone.”

He was gone from the room before the woman finished speaking.

Outside, he swung onto the stallion’s back and urged the weary horse into a gallop. His mother! Why had Kristine gone to see his mother?

The convent was locked up tight when he arrived. Refusing to be thwarted, he rang the bell, then pounded on the heavy wooden door until someone came to answer it.

A woman peered at him through a small barred window cut into the door. “Yes?”

He turned so that his left side was hidden in the darkness. “I must see Lady Trevayne.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but everyone is asleep. Come back tomorrow.”

“I cannot wait until tomorrow.”

“I am sorry, my lord.”

“I’m her son. I’m sure she will see me.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” the nun repeated firmly, “but no one is allowed inside the convent after dark.” And with that, she closed the portal.

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to smother the rage that bubbled up inside him, to keep from breaking down the door.

Wrestling with the beast struggling to break free inside him, he whirled away from the door and strode into the night.





He was at the convent door early the following morning. A different nun answered the bell.

“I need to see Lady Trevayne,” he said. “It’s urgent.”