Depravity, A Beauty and the Beast Novel(49)

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I removed my boots and socks. The cold floor further numbed my feet while I gathered up my dress and pants. With my wet clothes draped over one arm and my boots in my hand, I opened the door to a mist filled kitchen. It was so dark the light of the fire didn’t penetrate more than a few feet into the gloom.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” the beast rumbled from the darkness.

Holding my dress to shield my bare legs, I hesitated in the doorway and debated if I should retreat into the room until I dried.

“My sister is sick. Father sent me to gather what I could to trade for more medicine. We were all told to stay in quarantine, so you might not want to come too close.” I was less concerned about spreading sickness to an enchanted creature than I was about tempting the beast.

“There is washing to be done. Follow me, and I will show you to the laundry.”

The fire snuffed out, and his tail bumped against me. I had no choice but to drop my boots and walk across the cold stone floor, holding his tail so I could follow.

It seemed that the winding path led behind the kitchen. Rain pinged against a window, and the sound echoed in the room. I continued to hold onto the beast’s tail, unable to see anything.

“Stand here,” he said gruffly as his tail pulled from my grasp.

In a moment, a fire burst to life on each end of the room, flooding the large area with light. At the opposite side of the room, two windows marked the wall with a door that led outside. Near the door, three wooden half-barrels squatted heavily beside the fireplace. Not far from there, a long table abutted the wall and racks for drying lay in a tumble. In order to wash anything, I would need to right the drying racks and fill the tubs. Both tasks requiring more bending than I would want to perform when dressed only in a shirt.

Turning, I eyed the mist just outside the arched entry I’d come through.

“May I have something to drink, sir?”

The mist receded, and I sagged with relief. I quickly tossed my dress over a drying rack and moved the rest of the racks into place between the tubs and the arch. To the left of the back door, lay a pile of dirty linens. By arranging several of those over the drying racks, I created a screen for myself before setting to work.

A large kettle and a cistern to the right of the fire gave me what I needed to start the process. The beast returned while I sorted through the soiled pile, his clicking growl announcing his presence. Arms around a mound of linens, I didn’t turn to acknowledge him as I dropped everything into an empty tub.

The growling faded as I tested the heating water, so I braved looking around. A clay pitcher and a stout cup had appeared on the long back table. Cautiously, I tiptoed from behind my screens and poured myself some water. My throat felt dry and slightly sore, probably from walking in the rain. The cool water soothed it enough that I could focus on laundry.

It took a long time to fill the tub with hot water and even longer to scrub soap into the cloth. The soapy steam tickled my throat enough that I coughed occasionally. While I let the cloth soak, I filled another tub with cool water for rinsing. The heat from both fires warmed the room so much that I had to wipe the sweat from my brow. I no longer felt the chill from the floor.

Coughing made my throat sore, which made me cough more as I rinsed and wrung out the water. I changed the material screening me from the dirty ones to the clean ones and washed the second tub of linens.

A mist invaded the room again while I worked, easily two hours after I had started. He made no noise, not even a growl. I felt his eyes following me as I moved from the washtub to the rinse tub. As I twisted the material, sweating and coughing, I realized I would need to walk from my screen to hang the second string of bedding. But, the shirt I wore only hung to the tops of my thighs. As I considered the situation, I decided I didn’t care as much anymore. I was hot and tired and wanted to finish, return home, and go to bed. With that thought, I realized I had Bryn’s ailment.

Stepping from around the screens, I coughed harder and heard a slight wheeze as I inhaled. Yet, I continued to drape wet linens over a drying rack along with several shirts with torn button holes and missing buttons that I had found and washed. As soon as I deposited the last piece, I touched my still damp dress and looked toward the arch.

“Finished,” I said softly.

Outside, the rain continued to pound against the door, so it didn’t matter if the dress was dry. But would I make it home? Bryn had grown gradually worse in a short period of time.

“Will you accept my offer?” he asked.

“What exactly is your offer?” I asked. The heat I felt no longer came from the fires, but from inside.