Beauty's Beast(92)

Erik rested his head on the edge of the mattress, eyes closed as Kristine’s hand moved restlessly over his head, clutched the fur at his neck as another contraction ripped through her. It grieved him to see her in pain, to hear her soft cries. He damned Charmion for the hideous curse she had placed on him, railed at the fate that had transformed him into a beast, making it impossible for him to hold his wife’s hand, to speak words of assurance and comfort to her, to promise her that all would be well.

Mute, he stared at her, at the perspiration that dampened her brow, at the lines of stress and pain around her eyes and mouth, and wished he could endure the pain in her place.

Fear engulfed him as he recalled the last time he had watched a woman labor to bring forth his child. Kristine’s whimpering tore at his heart, reminding him of Dominique’s last, heart-wrenching cries.

Lifting his head, he howled his frustration, felt Kristine’s hand stroke his head.

“It will be all right,” she said. “I will not leave you as she did.”

Whining low in his throat, he licked her hand, howled again as she cried out in pain.

After another half a dozen contractions that he was sure would rip Kristine in two, the child was born.

The scent of the blood, the afterbirth, filled his nostrils and he backed away from the bed, watching as Edith bathed the child, then wrapped it in a soft blanket and laid the babe in its mother’s arms.

He growled, drawing the wizard’s attention.

“’Tis a healthy girl,” the mage said.

A girl. As Charmion had predicted. Erik padded toward the bed and placed one paw on the edge of the mattress.

Kristine blinked back her tears as she lifted the child so Erik could see his daughter. “I shall call her Erika, after her father.”

Erika. She was tiny and perfect, with dark blue eyes and thick black hair. Rising on his haunches, his forelegs resting on the mattress, he breathed in the child’s scent, then gently licked one tiny dimpled hand.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Kristine murmured.

“You should rest now, daughter,” Edith said.

Kristine nodded. “Erik . . .”

“I’ll look after him,” Caddaric said.

“Let him stay.”

“Kristine, he’ll be safer back in the dungeon.”

“No. He doesn’t like being locked up.”

“It’s for the best.”

“No.”

Caddaric took a deep breath, prepared to argue as long as necessary, when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” Edith called. “What is it?”

“A message,” Nan replied. “From Lady Charmion.”

A low growl rumbled in Erik’s throat at the mention of the witch’s name.

“What is the message?” Caddaric asked.

“She wishes to see the child.”

“Where is she?”

“She is without the gates, awaiting your reply.”

Caddaric blew out a sigh of relief. If she was outside the castle, then the wards he had put in place were holding. “Did she say anything else?”

“No, my lord.”

“She wasted no time in getting here,” Caddaric muttered.

“What will we do now?” Edith asked.

Caddaric shook his head. “Kristine, are you sure you want to do this?”

Tears spilled down Kristine’s cheeks as she brushed a kiss across her daughter’s brow. Of course she didn’t want to do this, she thought, but what other choice did she have? She looked at Erik. Hackles raised, teeth bared, he paced the length of the room, back and forth, back and forth.

“Kristine?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Tell her . . . tell her we will meet her tomorrow night, in the chapel.”

The wolf shook his head, a growl rising from deep within his throat. Padding toward the door, he barked, then scratched the wood, obviously wanting to be let out.

“Perhaps you had better send him back to the dungeon,” Kristine said.

Caddaric nodded. “I think that would be for the best,” he said. A wave of his hand, and the wolf vanished from sight. “And I think tomorrow morning might be better for our purposes. Evil is not so strong in the light of a new day.”

“Very well,” Kristine said. “Nan, tell Lady Charmion we will meet her in the chapel at ten tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“After you have delivered the message to Lady Charmion,” Edith said, “please send Leyla and Lilia up with clean bedding and a cup of hot tea laced with chamomile.”

“Yes, my lady,” Nan replied.

“The chapel at Hawksbridge Cross,” Edith remarked after the maid left the room. “It was one of Dominique’s favorite places. She often went there to meditate.” Edith glanced out the window. “I can feel the witch’s presence,” she said, shivering. “It hangs over the castle like thick black smoke.”