by E J Kitchens
Groaning, Belinda rolled out of bed. It was more than a lack of romantic love that made her reject Gaspard. It was a lack of character on his part. She wasn’t going to let her current mood steal her future. Nor a curse. She was not the type to give in to gray. She just needed something to do, hands-on.
Belinda dressed, tidied the already clean room, then went in search of the seamstress, who promptly barred her from helping with the dressmaking. She was afraid to go near the kitchen. She ventured to the library, only to find it empty. After re-reading her spells, she set herself the goal of an hour of study. Within a quarter-hour, however, she began to nod. She fell asleep wondering how someone who never napped could nap twice in two days.
The morning mist seeping through the forest swirled about Beast as he strolled, seeming neither too bashful to cling to him nor bold enough to shroud him entirely. He didn’t let this uncertainty bother him but marched along as if familiar with the path, even as Belinda struggled to force the scene into a recognizable one. But she couldn’t. Why did she always dream of new places yet the same Beast and saccharine-voiced huntress? Why did it worry her that she didn’t recognize the forest beyond the dream gate?
Beast slowed as the woodland broke suddenly for a worn wagon trail. Muffled sounds from around a bend caught his attention. He listened, ears perked, then crept along the edge of the dirt road and peered around the curve darkened by thick trees and shrubs. A low growl erupted from his throat.
Four men, faces concealed by handkerchiefs, unloaded crates from a man’s wagon laden with market-day goods. A fifth man, armed with a cocked pistol, reminded the merchant of the benefits of not protesting such treatment.
Another growl low in Beast’s throat caused the bandits to look around nervously. Beast crouched, as if about to spring, then shuddered as he looked down at his claws. Squaring his shoulders, he used his paw to swirl the mist about him, as if asking it to cloak him, and picked up a sturdy branch.
The gunman cried out and dropped his weapon as a knife buried itself in his shoulder.
“Unhand his belongings, cowards!” A man in his mid- to late-twenties with a military bearing, scarred face, and worn traveling clothes burst from the mist and tackled one bandit. “Get the gun, merchant,” he yelled as he leapt up, leaving the bandit unconscious. He quickly engaged another in a very short round of fisticuffs, which left that bandit insensible as well.
Beast stared, then shook himself with a sigh and backed into the woods. He watched quietly, shoulders drooped, for the few minutes it took for the newcomer and the merchant to subdue and tie up the bandits, then toss them into the back of the wagon. Beast turned away and trudged back around the curve and across the road into the forest beyond. A branch snapped under his heavy tread just as the trees and mist concealed him.
The newcomer looked up, then darted into the woods. “Rupert!” he cried, searching in vain to see through the mist and trees. “Rupert! Quit being a bloody idiot and come out!”
Wasn’t Rupert the prince’s name? Belinda’s nose itched, very realistically for a dream, and she promptly forgot something important she’d been thinking.
The mist continued to cloak Beast until he neared the back of the village. There, it thinned and roamed away to the village square, as if drawn to it by the noises of market day. Beast paced, slower than usual, until a light footstep disturbed the forest. He sniffed the air, and took off running. An irritated, feminine cry of “Beast!” followed.
Belinda woke with a start, blinking against candlelight and filtered sunlight, and rubbed at the indentation in her forehead that bore remarkable resemblance to the edge of a book.
“You know they make beds for napping?”
Rather than glare at Beast, who was standing beside her examining the books before her, Belinda’s hand shot out to cover her book-pillow, praying she’d not drooled on it. Turning slightly from him, she shook her head to clear away the last tendrils of sleep. “You can’t tell me you’ve never slept in your chair.”
“I wouldn’t dream of denying it, but my chair is comfortable.” As if to prove it, he eased down into the crimson cushions with a contented sigh. “You’ve been hunched over a desk.”
“Have you been watching me sleep?” Belinda demanded, facing him. She was surprised by a faint glow about him, as he’d had the prior morning. It was almost like the glow of exercise. There was amusement in his eyes as he met her gaze.
“Only from the doorway here.”
“Where have you been this morning?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He arched an eyebrow to indicate that was a foolish question, then picked up a collection of plays. “I take my sleep very seriously.”
“And I take my—” work very seriously. She had no work here and didn’t want to give Beast an opening to get rid of her by implying she had duties to return to.
“Daily doses very seriously?” he added wryly before Belinda could come up with an alternate reply.
That piqued. “My promise to help you in exchange for you sheltering me. What can I do for you?”
“For me, nothing. But feel free to be an idle, demanding mistress to my servants until your father returns. Unaccountably, they seem to enjoy work, and having someone else to do things for pleases them. So enjoy yourself for the remainder of your stay.” He waved his arm to indicate the entirety of the castle. “You have at your disposal all the spoils of the dearly departed prince’s estate: a fine forest and pleasure gardens, archery equipment, stable, billiard rooms, music room, books, and … fine foods. Ah,” he exclaimed, observing the full breakfast tray floating through the doorway to him. “This beats breakfast in bed.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Belinda grabbed a book on economics and left. Beast may have conceded she’d beat him at his little game of scaring her into believing she was to one day be dinner, but naps made her cranky. And she had no desire to hear Beast eat more than once a day.
As she skirted the kitchen in favor of a safer exit, Belinda analyzed her dream. Beast could have helped, but didn’t. Like the enchantress said, he preferred to stay comfortable and let others do what he should do. But what could she do about it?
There was a nip in the air outside, but Belinda didn’t mind the cold so long as she had sunshine. She found the bench outside the stable again and settled down to read. A third of the way through the book, the brush of wood as the stable door shut startled her out of the pages. As she looked up, lines of letters magically clear to her were replaced by a precisely pressed, somewhat frilly, extravagantly blue servant’s garb on a middle-aged man. Her nose itched as she squinted at the unexpected outfit.
The man stopped short just outside the stable door, his gaze colliding with hers in an expression of shock and alarm. Recovering quickly, he smiled at her and made as if to keep moving.
“You’re visible. Why are you visible?” Belinda demanded, gaping at him, inexplicably concerned lest an intruder had invaded Beast’s sanctuary and meant to harm him.
Her question drew him to a halt, and he faced her fully. “Why are you?”
“I wasn’t cur—”
He gave a half-smile at her abandoned answer. “Very wise of you, Miss Lambton.” He motioned to the seat beside her. “It’s not something we should talk about.”
Belinda shut her mouth and scooted over for him to sit.
“I’m Lyndon,” he said, but she’d already guessed that. He was Beast’s confidante. Now that she saw him, she judged him a personal servant or valet rather than a stable master. Was he not here at the time of the curse? Or was he saved from it to be the method of communication with Beast’s family?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Belinda nodded, her closer examination of him failing to move past his face. He had a kind, weather beaten one, with a touch of white about the temples, and something fatherly and stately in his eyes that made her heart ache for her own father.
“You never thought the sight of a face, even a stranger’s, could be comfor
ting, did you?” he asked, amused.
Blushing, Belinda looked away. “No. I generally only expect my father’s to have that effect.” But then, she’d never expected to go for a long time without seeing another human face.
“How long before he returns?”
“Another six weeks, if all goes well.”
“What will you do when he returns?”
“Run home as fast as I can.” She added quietly, “I don’t like being an annoying interloper.” Especially an unsuccessful one.
Lyndon laughed. “I’m glad it’s not your true personality. So what can I do for you, Miss Lambton? You should know, however, that I don’t give information.”
“I didn’t come for favors, merely to be outside.”
“There’s nothing you’d like to do more than read outside then?” he said skeptically.
“I’d rather be doing something active, if only I knew what.” Her eyes brightened with an idea. “I’d love to go for a hunt. I provided meat for my family; I could provide some here. I’d like to do something useful. I’m not accustomed to being a guest.”
Would her modeling a life of useful, cheerful activity spur Beast to noble deeds of the same where tales hadn’t? A mental image of Beast lounging in his well-worn wingback chair, looking like a natural part of it, flitted through her thoughts. She gave her head a slight shake.
“To let others do for you is, at times, a good thing, Miss Lambton,” Lyndon said, with an almost scolding tone. “Good for you and good for others.” He motioned toward the stable. “We have someone who hunts for us. How about a ride? I managed to save your clothes for you, so you could wander the grounds in greater comfort and”—he eyed her trailing gown—“safety.”
“Thank you,” she said with feeling. “I would like a ride.”
“Excellent. Come along. You can change inside.” Lyndon rose, and she followed along behind him to the stable door. She stopped just short of it.
“Wait. The horses weren’t turned into dragons or snakes as part of the curse, were they?”
Lyndon chuckled, his eyes widening dramatically as he answered, “Elephant-sized cockroaches.”
She gave an exaggerated shiver. “Well, in that case … lead on.”
He obeyed, guiding her between the rows of stalls to the staircase leading to the rooms above.
“Are you sleeping out here because of me?” she asked with chagrin as she spotted saddlebags thrown over a stall door.
“Beast didn’t want me to give away his secrets, and it’s no trouble. I’m only here for a few days.”
“Well, his secret is out, so you might as well go in where it’s more comfortable.”
Lyndon nearly ran into a stall door. “All his secrets?” he asked, staring back at her.
“Well, no,” Belinda admitted, taken aback by his concern. “Just the big one—he’s not a convincing beast. As to other secrets, it would no doubt be interesting to discover them, but as they don’t directly concern me, I shan’t pry.”
“You don’t know who he is then?”
“No, and that does concern me, so I’m not above snooping to figure that out. However,” she said, squinting and giving his outfit a sideways glance, which made her nose itch, “I have a distinct feeling someone—besides Beast—doesn’t want me to know, and that one has unusual methods to prevent me from discovering it.” Or perhaps the enchantress merely wanted to tease Belinda, but either way, it was annoying.
“Why is that?”
“You’re not wearing a very starched, very flamboyant formal blue suit, are you?”
He glanced down at his chest, confused. “No, I’m—ah, wearing something that might give Beast away.”
Belinda thought so. Meddling enchantress. “You won’t tell me what it is?”
“No,” he answered emphatically, leaving her at the door to a small room, which he entered. He picked up a paper-wrapped bundle from atop a small trunk, then returned to her. “You may change here while I see about a horse for you.” He and Belinda exchanged places, and Belinda closed the door between them. Above the crinkling of paper as she unwrapped her clothes, she heard him walk away. Even his gait reminded her of her father.
“Wait, Mr. Lyndon,” Belinda called through the wooden door.
The footsteps stilled. “Yes, Miss Lambton?”
“Do you know how to bring about a change of heart?”
There was a sharp gasp, then a heavy pause, and Belinda feared she’d asked too much. But she had no one else to go to for wisdom.
“That’s a fluid term, Miss Lambton,” he answered at last, his tone heavy, making her wonder if he’d tried and failed in the same endeavor himself. “It depends on the heart and what is required of it. If the heart lacks whatever it is all together, then naught save a miracle could plant it there and make it flourish. But if whatever it is is there, like a blazing fire burned low or a tree cut to the roots, it will require careful tending to flourish again.” He added so softly, and sadly, Belinda almost didn’t catch the words, “And the desire to change. A hope that it’s for the best. And that requires a miracle too.”
Belinda paused, one boot on, the other in her hand. “A tree cut down, Mr. Lyndon? Or a buried sprout?” Was Beast ever more than the talking blanket he was now?
“I said ‘tree,’ but perhaps a buried sprout works as well, as it can grow from a tree stump as readily as from a seed. Why?”
“It’s a useful thing to know, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “Allow me to recommend, however, that this endeavor of yours begin with an effort to make sure what you seek is there to begin with. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
The horseback ride, like the indulgent bath, reminded Belinda of her life prior to her father’s financial ruin. Unlike her older sisters, she could do without such fine things, but she still wished her father back doing what he loved as a successful merchant—maybe then her sisters, both married and living far away, would stop ignoring him. And if his success and happiness meant she could have such nice things again, she wouldn’t complain. She would also be free of Gaspard. Which was another reason to figure out Beast and get him uncursed.
Aside from running through futile ideas in that direction, Belinda found the ride exhilarating and the woods about the castle grounds enchanting rather than enchanted. She spotted several wild plants that reminded her of those she’d collected to sell to the healer in her village, and determined to speak with the castle’s healer the next day to see if she needed the plants.
Wild herbs are unobtrusive. The thought struck her forcibly as she turned her horse’s head for the castle. That’s part of what makes finding them so delightful. She lifted her fingers to her nose, enjoying the lingering fragrance of a wild mint she’d found and rubbed to release its aroma. She’d been too obtrusive and—if she admitted it—obnoxious in her efforts to free Beast. Quietness and subtlety were more likely to work upon a studious and silent creature like him.
He might be a tiny sprout and merely that, or all that remained of a once mighty tree, for he had kindly let her stay as a guest rather than a servant. Perhaps she just needed to clear the way for the sprout to grow. Too much fertilizer killed, after all.
After dinner, Beast challenged Belinda and Lyndon to a game of riddles, during which Belinda was strategically dense during a covert proposal, unintentionally dense at other times, and remarkably shrewd, even if she did say so herself, at others. She noticed Beast’s frustration with her cunning almost-understanding of his cloaked proposal with something akin to shame, but she didn’t wish to gainsay an enchantress and make proposals easy on him, even if she did plan to be less obnoxious in other ways.
And she couldn’t help being clever enough to figure out the majority of his riddles.
Chapter 6
Whatever spell on the castle that kept her forcibly abed late some mornings, or sent her into sudden slumber during the day, did its work on Belinda the next morning. Unable to stop it, her dream
followed Beast’s vigil near another unknown village, the terrain around it strangely flat compared to her home. No one saw him. Except the Lady of the Saccharine Voice.
Belinda awoke to a drizzling morning, the gray of it seeping into her bones, making the castle even more friendless than usual. A dangerous emptiness settled in her chest. She would almost have wished even for Gaspard’s greeting as she left her room. That thought caused her to stiffen her spine and go in search of amusement.
She played the piano for a while, then sought the warmth and brightness of the library fire. Perhaps, if she dared admit it, the visible company of an overgrown blanket dressed in fine velvet. Even his mild version of life would be something.
But Beast treated her with polite indifference, barely remarking even on her presence. Belinda bore it quietly for the sake of The Uncurse Plan, Part D: Don’t Over Fertilize, and the sake of her pride.
The next few days continued much the same, gray without and gray within. The Lady of the Saccharine Voice was now a common presence in her dreams, and Gaspard and her father haunted her thoughts as Belinda grew wearier and wearier of the quietness of the castle. Even the novelty of her reading spells was wearing off. The grayness buffeted her.
But a Lambton didn’t give up, and certainly didn’t give in, she reminded herself as often as she needed to, which was often.
“I will not give in to gray,” Belinda whispered to herself, raised her chin, and marched into the library, now a familiar space after a week’s residence at the castle. Per custom, Beast was settled in his cozy chair. After a brief greeting, Belinda, eschewing scholarly “Uncurse Plan” books for the time being, chose a biography of a famed explorer, one she’d heard her father mention as an entertaining read, and nestled into a comfortable chair she’d had her eye on rather than sitting primly at the desk she normally claimed.