Beauty

by Sadie Johnston

  Hiding in Plain Sight

  Sadie Johnston

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2019 by Sadie Johnston

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Editing by Craig M. at LKJ Books

  Formatting & Typesetting by Mia at LKJ Books

  Cover Art by Mia at LKJ Books

  http://www.lkjbooks.com

  First Edition

  First Edition: June 2019

  A Word from the Author

  This story has been…complicated for me. The story itself is still one of my favorites that I’ve written, but the publishing history has proven to be a bit of A Thing.

  It was originally released as Deeper than Skin and then later as Hiding in Plain Sight by Mia Darien. It was then re-released with the same title under a different pen name when I chose to separate my urban fantasy publishing from my romances. However, 2019 sees me in a state of evolution, and I realize that the previous title sounds a little more romantic suspense than historical romance.

  So. Here I am again. This is the last time, though! It’s Beauty or bust, you might say.

  In whatever incarnation the outside takes, however, I hope that you enjoy the story contained within. It’s close to my heart, and a bit of my own take on a ‘beauty and the beast’ tale—which is one of my favorite kinds of story! This specific story and its characters have some roots in my hobby writing and writing partners, as well as being the product of a frantic NaNoWriMo in 2011.

  All that being said…

  Please keep reading after the story for some “behind the scenes” thoughts from me about the story, its fact and fiction, as well as a bit about the character of Constance and more about me as the author.

  Happy Reading,

  Sadie Johnston, Spring of 2019

  Chapter One

  17 May 1767 ~ Gévaudan, France

  The young woman rushed into the forest. Fingers of shadow grabbed at her fine dress and twigs clung desperately to her hair, hoping the tresses’ shimmer might help them bloom after the oppressive, long winter. She ignored both, fleeing the sun for the welcoming unknown in the thick trees of Mont Mouchet.

  She wondered if anyone would miss her at home before it was too late. Would they come looking for her? She doubted they would find her, even if they did. This mountain was infamous for its mystery, and for the way that a person, or beast, could lose themselves in it forever if they wanted to. At least, that’s what she was counting on.

  Cloth ripped and pieces of underskirt abandoned her as holes appeared in the satin. Chestnut brown curls broke free and leapt to their death from the pile at the top of her head, only to discover they were stuck in place and could do nothing more than hang limply along with the rest. She ignored all of it, because it didn’t matter anymore. Or it wouldn’t if she was successful.

  Constance Marie de Marin stumbled into a clearing on her hands and knees, a clearing that had been hidden from her until she found herself in the middle of it. It might as well be here. It wasn’t like there would be a sign marked for what she sought or anyone she could ask. She was on her own, just like she had always been and always would be.

  “Please,” she shouted at the trees. Her aunt would be ashamed to hear the unladylike tone, but being ladylike wouldn’t get her anywhere now. It hadn’t gotten her anywhere before. “I know you’re out there. Everyone knows that you’re out there! You kill women and children when they dare to enter your land. You love this mountain. I have heard them talking about you and this place.” She paused. “I listen to them all when they talk and I know that this is your favorite place. I’m deep in your woods.”

  Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she pushed herself to her feet. Her chest felt so tight that it drew the rest of her body inward. Her heart thundered. “I know that you must be out there. I am a woman alone in your forest! Please! Come kill me!”

  A cluster of birds exploded into the sky, leaving behind an eerie silence. Her breath sounded labored to her ears. Her pulse throbbed in every corner of her body as she waited. Nothing happened. She was disappointed, but not surprised, and not ready to give up. She had come out here for a reason. She meant to see it through.

  “I’m standing here waiting for you,” she screamed. “I won’t run and I won’t fight back. I will be the easy prey you always take. Is there something wrong with me? Am I not good enough to be slaughtered?” She turned in a slow circle and examined every tree trunk, but it all remained silent. No terrible Beast surged from the shadows to maul her until she was nothing but a mangled corpse that some unfortunate hunter would find days from now.

  There was nothing. She didn’t even hear the wind.

  “They are making me do that which I cannot allow and yet cannot stop! I will die if it happens and I wish to choose my own end. I would rather be torn apart by you than allow myself to be...” She trailed off, unable to finish that statement or even that thought. The idea was simply too ghastly. The idea alone simply hurt too much. “Please, I am begging you to do only what comes natural to you. Let me be one of the dozens.”

  Still, there was nothing. It was like everything else in her life.

  Constance sunk to her knees and stared at the cold, hard-packed earth. What did it say about her that she was so cursed she couldn’t even make the famed Beast of Gévaudan show himself? She lowered her body until her forehead touched the ground. Tears lingered just inside her eyes, but they wouldn’t fall.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of going home, because if she did she would be forced to admit that she had no escape and no recourse.

  “Please,” she said, in a voice so weak, no one could have heard her.

  Something shifted in the forest. It was difficult to define precisely what it was, but something changed. Swallowing hard, she lifted herself. The silence remained. “Is someone there?” she called. The Beast would not stand in the woods and stare at her, but it felt like something was out there. Something that hadn’t been there before. Fear coiled in the bottom of her stomach. If it wasn’t the Beast, then what was it?

  It could be something else that would do for her what she wanted from the Beast, but she knew better than most that there were fates worse than death.

  “Who’s there?” She tried again, but even the wind was silent. Constance could find nothing but herself, and yet she knew she wasn’t alone.

  Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh before she got to her feet. There had to be someone out there, but who was it? Why didn’t they show themselves? Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Nothing had changed.

  Dirty, heartbroken and still alive, she walked out of the forest.

  Left behind, he walked into the clearing. Tristan du Lyon stared after the girl.

  It had certainly been the last thing he’d expected to find. He’d just happened to be there and heard someone crashing through the woods. His mind had filled with excitement that maybe his quarry was going to show itself and his time in this province wouldn’t be a waste. But then he heard the voice and the things she said and he had to get nearer. He had to know what was going on, but he didn’t dare show himself.

  It troubled him to think that someone so lovely could be so unhappy. These woods were unsafe, which was why he was out here. She too was hunting, but Tristan wanted to kill the Beast, not the other way around.

  His hunting dog trotted up beside him and sat down. The hound waited patiently for his master to give him direction.
When it came, it was simply to follow Tristan back to camp.

  Sitting down, he pulled his bag closer and tried to puzzle out the mystery of the woman in the woods. He hadn’t been in Gévaudan very long and didn’t know many people. She was unfamiliar to him. What was she being forced to do that made her want to kill herself, and why choose such a grisly way to do it?

  Tristan could understand moments in life so unbearable that they made you want to die. He had been there once himself, but he never would have imagined sacrificing himself to the jaws of a monster. It was a manner of death that could not be considered peaceful or easy by any way of thinking. He supposed the one thing it did have was that it wasn’t by your own hand. She was just putting herself in its path. Still, the idea bothered him deeply.

  His dog nuzzled his leg. Tristan absently reached down to pet him while his mind rolled the puzzle around a while longer, briefly considering trying to find out who the girl was, but then he remembered who he was and decided against it. What could he possibly have to offer her that would make her life any better? Nothing, so he moved on and tried to think of other things: like why he was out here, and what he hoped to do.

  Still, he couldn’t get that girl’s beautiful tear-stained face and sad, dark eyes out of his mind for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Two

  18 May 1767

  Early morning light fell through the curtains as Constance woke from an uneasy night’s sleep. She inhaled deeply and looked to see Jeanne, her maid, sitting in a corner chair. The torn dress from yesterday sat across her lap while her hands worked their magic. When she was done, Constance knew the dress would look like nothing had happened and no one would ever be the wiser.

  “Good morning, mademoiselle,” Jeanne greeted without looking up. Only a few years older than her mistress, she carried the world and its wisdom with her in a way that Constance never could: without the bitterness of painful experiences. The young noblewoman believed Jeanne had been born that way, although she had never asked.

  “Morning, Jeanne,” Constance replied. She couldn’t bear to add ‘good’ to it. Sitting up, she slid her legs from under the blankets and set bare feet on the cold floor. Wrapping her dressing gown around her, she walked the side table and poured herself a cup of tea from the pot Jeanne had brought. The woman was a mystic, always knowing when Constance would wake so the tea was always hot when she drank it. “The dress looks lovely.”

  Jeanne glanced up with a knowing smile. “Better than it did when I found it on the floor last night.”

  Sipping as she sat down beside her maid, Constance smiled feebly. “I took a walk,” she lied. Jeanne always knew better, but never asked. “Are Aunt and Uncle home this morning?”

  The maid hesitated. “They are breakfasting with Comte Morangis.”

  The name alone sent a chill through Constance. She closed her eyes, resisting it. “Did they say how long they expected to be away?” Morangis often kept them busy for hours and she knew her family was too enthralled to turn him down. In some ways, she didn’t mind, because it gave her a small break from them. In other ways, she hated it, because it filled their heads with more of Morangis’ words.

  Jeanne clearly didn’t want to be the one to share the news, but it was inescapable. “They believed they would be away till midmorning, although they couldn’t be sure. They wanted me to assure that you would keep yourself useful while they were gone.”

  “I thought that’s what I was being forced to do in a few months time as it was. What more can they ask of me?” Constance dropped the bitterness into her cup, but she could still see Jeanne watching her with a close eye. “I think I’ll take in the spring air again. They are always encouraging me, after all, to keep up my health.”

  “The weather is lovely,” Jeanne agreed, “but I would appreciate it if you would be more careful with your dresses.”

  Constance nodded, relieved that Jeanne didn’t press her for details about what had happened to the other dress. “I will be.”

  She skipped breakfast. Jeanne helped her into her clothes and pinned up her hair. This time, Constance took her cloak as she left the house and drifted across the grounds, which were fresh with life after the long cold. Not that a long winter was unusual for Gévaudan, but neither person nor place liked it. Everyone rejoiced to see signs of spring when it finally came to the province, but given the return of the Beast, not many people were getting out to enjoy it as they had in seasons past.

  Today she picked her path with greater care and less of her apparel was left behind for the trees to eat. If she wasn’t here to find the Beast and sacrifice herself, she didn’t know why she was at all, but that didn’t change the fact that she found herself in the same clearing. Now there were birds twittering in the trees and a steady breeze passing by. It felt almost idyllic, if she forgot how she had discovered it in the first place.

  And yet, the serenity oppressed her. It brought yesterday onto her thoughts, so she chased it away with the sound of her own voice. She felt more than a little crazy, speaking out loud to herself, but she also felt somehow compelled to do it anyway. She had so few confidants as it was, perhaps the forest would be one. “It was pretty foolish to come out here yesterday,” she said. “I couldn’t stand to be in my house anymore, or around my family. I was very upset.” She lowered herself to the ground. “I’m not any less upset today, but I realize how hopeless it all is. If I can’t even get the vicious Beast to come kill me then what other options do I have?”

  She sighed. That hole in her heart opened wide and she fell into it, and not for the first time. Staring at her skirt, she picked at invisible fibers.

  “I am in the care of my aunt and uncle,” she went on, treating the forest as if it was a new acquaintance. Maybe if she could say it here, she could find it in herself to be braver in other places, at other times. “They aren’t bad people. They just don’t know certain things about me. I can’t see how I could ever tell them, but what they don’t know is hurting me. They want me to do something. In fact, they are making me. I can’t do it, but they won’t listen to me. I think they believe I’m just being contrary, but it’s more than that. It’s much more than that.”

  “What is it then?”

  Constance screamed, but it lived a short life in her throat. Her head snapped from one side to the other. She couldn’t see anyone, but knew that she’d heard someone. It was a man’s voice, deep and rough like it was dragged across rocks before being heard. She wasn’t imagining things, she was sure, but she had certainly never expected to hear someone out here with her. Perhaps she should have, but she hadn’t.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice and hands trembled.

  “I apologize,” the voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He echoed in the clearing and she couldn’t figure out where his voice was coming from. It seemed like it came from everywhere, but she knew that was impossible. “I couldn’t help but overhear you.”

  Constance kept searching. “Who are you?” Multiple terrors settled in her mind. Who was this man? Did he know her family? Was he going to tell them what she had said? Was he going to hurt her? What was he doing out here? There were too many questions to even begin answering when all she had to go on was a disembodied voice.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t matter?” she repeated, with considerably more surprise. She wanted to demand that he tell her, but she didn’t see how that could be effective. He had the upper hand, but he hadn’t come after her. That was something, she thought. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Why are you out here?”

  The voice chuckled mirthlessly. “For the same reason you were,” he said. “I’m hunting the Beast.”

  Constance frowned. Were? She thought about that. “Were you out here yesterday as well?” She curled in on herself, dreading the answer.

  “Yes,” he admitted after a long pause. “I’ve been out hunting for two days now and I heard some of what you said yesterday. Again, I didn’t mean
to, but you were shouting rather loudly. It was hard to miss.”

  Maybe the earth would open up and swallow her. That would solve her problems. “Why didn’t you say something yesterday?”

  “Honestly? I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t exactly something I had expected to hear while out.” A long pause. “What is it that’s so terrible you would willingly seek an agonizing fate like death in the jaws of the Beast? That monster is vicious and without mercy. Death is terrible enough, and permanent. To be slain by the Beast would be akin to torture. It’s no fate for anyone, let alone a young woman as fine as you.”

  A bitter, humorless laugh bubbled up from her throat. “You don’t know me, sir, or else you wouldn’t say such things.” She sighed. “Are you going to tell anyone about hearing me, or of the things I’ve said?”

  “No.” He didn’t hesitate. “They were not meant to be heard. It was unavoidable, but as such, they are not meant to be repeated. They are your secrets to keep and I will respect that. I know a little something about private pain.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. Her eyes looked over the trees again, wondering who this man was and where he was. “Why won’t you show yourself?”

  The silence was the longest it had been, and she wondered if he’d left. When he finally did reply, it surprised her, although not as much as when she’d first heard him. “I would rather not say. I have my reasons, as you have yours. Do you want to tell me what the terrible thing is you’re being made to do?”

  That point was impossible not to concede. “No.”

  “We each have our secrets to keep.”

  “I suppose we do,” she said. “I should return home. Perhaps we will speak again.”

  She stood and brushed dirt off her dress. This one had fared better than the last. Jeanne would be pleased. Constance began walking out of the clearing.