Beauty's Beast(65)

She sought forgetfulness in sleep, but her dreams were dark and troubled. Sometimes she dreamed that Erik was a werewolf, that he was stalking her through dark shadowed woods. Sometimes she dreamed they had escaped from Charmion’s castle and returned home and that she was forced to keep Erik locked behind bars to prevent him from tearing their newborn child to shreds.

Charmion came to visit her morning and evening, making certain she was well, asking if there was anything she needed. A midwife had been summoned from the village. A nursery was being readied. Dominique’s cradle was being refinished.

Kristine didn’t know which was worse, the nightmares that haunted her sleep, or the waking nightmare that her life had become.

She thought longingly of Hawksbridge Castle, of Mrs. Grainger and Leyla and Lilia, of Nan and Yvette.

She missed riding Misty.

She missed falling asleep in Erik’s arms. . .. Erik, Erik. Waking or sleeping, he was ever in her thoughts, her prayers.

Daily, she begged and pleaded and demanded to see him again, and finally Charmion agreed.

Kristine’s heart pounded with anticipation as she followed the witch down the narrow flight of stairs to the dungeon. She had forgotten how bright it was down there with the candlelight reflected in the mirrors, candles that burned but never went out.

Charmion halted at the bottom of the stairs. “Enjoy your visit, my dear,” she said, her voice filled with mockery. “I shall return for you within the hour.”

Kristine nodded, the witch already forgotten as she hastened down the narrow corridor toward Erik’s cell.

She knew what he looked like. His image haunted every dream, yet she stared at him in shock when she saw him, only then realizing she had been hoping that the image she saw in her dreams was only make-believe, that she would find him whole when she saw him again.

He whirled around at the sound of her footsteps. A myriad of emotions flashed across his face—joy, hope, shame, despair—as he slowly walked toward her.

“Erik.”

“My Kristine.” He reached through the bars, his good hand resting on her swollen abdomen. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Truly.”

His gaze searched her face. “She’s not mistreating you?”

“No.” She blinked back her tears, knowing it would distress him to see her cry. Knowing that he needed her touch, needing to touch him in return, she reached through the bars and caressed his right cheek. “I miss you.”

He caught her hand in his. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed her palm, then rubbed his cheek back and forth against the back of her hand. Her skin was smooth and soft, so soft. He inhaled her fragrance, remembering the evenings they had spent together in the library, the nights he had shared her bed. Desire stirred within him and he dropped her hand. Wanting her now, in his present form, seemed obscene somehow.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said.

His voice was deeper than she remembered, almost a growl. “Don’t be angry with me. I had to see you. Oh!” She gasped as the baby gave a lusty kick. Reaching through the bars again, she took his hand and placed it over her womb. “Can you feel it?”

A look of wonder spread over his face as he felt his child move beneath his hand. “Does it hurt you?”

“No, it feels wonderful. I hope it’s a boy, Erik. A strong, healthy boy.” Fighting tears, she smiled up at him. “The next lord of Hawksbridge Castle.”

“The next lady of Hawksbridge, if Charmion is to be believed.”

“What do you mean?”

“She says the child is female, a girl to replace the daughter she has lost.”

“A girl. You have failed, then.”

“Failed?”

“You married me to beget an heir to Hawksbridge.”

“I have not failed. My daughter will be my heir.”

“You are not disappointed, then?”

“No.”

Kristine smiled. “Perhaps we will have a boy next time.”

Erik nodded. His daughter would never see Hawksbridge, and there would be no next time. He knew it, and so did Kristine, but he nodded just the same, willing to play the game if it would make her happy, even as he quietly cursed his father. But for his father, none of this would have happened. Left to his own devices, he would never have married Dominique. She would never have conceived, never died in childbirth, and he would not be here now, his body slowly being transformed into that of a beast. . .. He felt the baby move again, drew in a sharp breath as he realized that had he entered the priesthood, Kristine would have died on the gallows.

He blew out a deep sigh and realized that her life, the time they had spent together, was worth any price he had to pay.