by Nhys Glover
'You are late. You should have been here yesterday. What damage did you cause because of your wilfulness?' The demand was delivered with such fury that Fidelia felt herself becoming light-headed with terror. This man meant her harm, she could feel the violence rippling off him in waves. But why? What had she done to deserve this treatment?
Struggling to break the iron grip on her upper arm, Fidelia whimpered, unable to find words to plead for her release. Then she found herself being dragged out of the carriage and up the icy stone stairs, her heavy black skirts causing her to almost trip and fall on the treacherous surface. Only the man’s strong grip kept her upright.
She could hear the bleating protests of Maude behind her in the carriage. And though the coachman yelled after them, he was neither quick nor motivated enough to reach them before the young man thrust her over the threshold into the Keep.
'Please, I do not understand what you are talking about. I think you have me mixed up with someone else.' Breathlessly, she tried to stop their headlong dash with words drawn from some braver part of herself. But neither her softly voiced pleading, nor her struggles seemed to make any difference to the madman.
'Your father sent word that you had become difficult and refused to come willingly. How could you risk another death, maybe more, just to keep your comforts? Such selfishness is tantamount to murder, you selfish little chit,' he berated her as he continued dragging her further into the huge entry hall.
He was not a particularly tall man, but he was broad shouldered. And from the strength he displayed, Fidelia guessed that he was all muscle beneath his immaculate breeches and simple white shirt. His fashionably long blonde hair fell in waves around his clean-shaven face. She supposed he would be considered handsome, when he wasn’t scowling like the devil himself. His features were certainly cut in classic lines and his bright blue eyes could only be called arresting.
'Jasper, unhand that woman!'
As Fidelia skidded across the polished stone floors of the entry hall, Maude’s screaming only added to her own fear and confusion. The sound of her friend's voice was like a lighthouse in a storm. She saw Philomena striding down a curving stone staircase toward them.
The man called Jasper stopped in his tracks and looked in Phil's direction. He visibly blanched, but didn't let go of Fidelia's arm.
'She should have been here yesterday. Who knows what mayhem she caused last night!'
Phil’s face was flushed and apprehensive.
'Let her go, Jasper. She is not who you think she is,' Phil said breathlessly, scrambling down the last of the stairs to face the madman.
Now that help was at hand, Fidelia felt her panic ebb, and she had a better chance to take in her surroundings and the man who had so effectively manhandled her.
Phil was quite tall and statuesque for a woman. Fidelia had always felt tiny and insignificant beside her. Today, she stood nose to nose with the marginally taller madman, casually dressed in green velvet that perfectly suited her coppery hair and golden brown eyes. Those eyes were flashing dangerously at that moment, like a lioness protecting her cub.
Although Jasper was mere inches taller than her friend, the breadth of his shoulders and his barrel chest made him far more imposing. If he’d chosen to, he could have knocked Phil out of the way with one sweep of his arm. For such a strong man to have such finely chiselled, sensitive features was an anomaly. In some ways he reminded her of the Keep itself: A strange mismatch of pieces thrown together to serve a purpose. Strong, harsh and threatening – and yet, refined and vulnerable?
Where had that comparison come from? Was she losing her mind in her terror? But now that Phil was here, she felt her emotions beginning to settle.
'Of course she is. Her father sent a message to expect her yesterday before dark. He had finally convinced her to come. So close to the full moon was leaving it dangerously late. With the roads in such a bad way because of the winter ice, anything could have slowed her up. As it obviously did, because here she is, late.' Jasper shook her by the arm to make his point. Fidelia whimpered in protest.
'Jasper, calm down. You're not yourself yet. Think man. Look at what you are doing to my friend,' Phil said urgently, placing her hand on the arm that held Fidelia prisoner.
Distracted, the man called Jasper looked down at Phil's hand and then followed it to where he clutched Fidelia’s arm. Then, very slowly, he began to relax his hold. Phil continued to talk to him gently, urgently, as if he was a cornered animal who needed reassurance.
‘This is Fidelia Montgomery, my friend. You remember, I went South to be with her after her husband died? This is not Rebecca Thomlinson. I can assure you, this woman has done no one any harm.’
When he finally let her go, it was abruptly, as if he’d suddenly realised he was being burned by contact with her arm. Then he began to back away from them both, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t hope to identify.
For a moment more he hovered there, staring at them in horror. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room as if the hounds of hell were at his back.
Once the madman let her go and beat a hasty retreat, Fidelia had a moment to pull herself together. Maude was finally at her side, cooing like a discomforted pigeon. And, as annoying as Fidelia found it, she allowed the older woman to cosset her until the woman was able to calm down. Their bond was a lifetime one, and she would as soon hurt her maid by rejecting her comfort as she would throw herself from the battlements of this Keep.
'Are you all right, Dee?' Phil asked in her no-nonsense way. Her face was filled with concern that seemed far out of proportion with the incident. Surely her friend didn't think she was such a fragile creature that being manhandled by the arm for a minute would damage her irreparably?
'Yes, yes, please you two, do not fuss so. My arm hurts and it will take me a minute or two to get my breath back, but otherwise I am unhurt. These stays make drawing a deep breath almost impossible, but I will be fine once I can breathe normally again. I am so sorry that my arrival has precipitated this…incident.'
'Your arm, yes. I will need to look at that. Let us go upstairs so you can remove some of those clothes and I can get a look at the damage.' Phil placed her hand on Fidelia's back and began directing her toward the stairs.
For a moment, Fidelia felt like struggling against her friend in the same way she had fought against the madman. Everyone seemed insistent on taking her places she had not yet agreed to go.
But as quickly as the rebellious thought entered her head, it was gone, and she allowed Phil to direct her up the stairs and into a luxuriously appointed bedroom on the top floor.
It surprised her that such comfort could be available in such an otherwise stark and austere environment. Large picture windows filled the room with morning light and she could see the moors stretch majestically beyond them. There was a huge fireplace with polished marble surround and large four-poster bed cloaked with rich brocade in the room. The wooden floor was covered with a rich Aubusson carpet.
Maude, at Phil's instruction, began to remove Fidelia's outer garments. Her heavy winter cloak went first, followed by the heavy surge jacket. Then the velvet, long-sleeved dress was removed. As she was still struggling to catch her breath, Phil recommended Maude loosen the whalebone stays. In moments, the relief was magical.
Drawing in the first real breath she’d enjoyed since arriving at the Keep, Fidelia looked up at her friend and tried to smile. 'I am sorry to be such an inconvenience.'
'Do not be absurd, darling. It is I who am sorry that your welcome was so...unpleasant. Jasper was not himself. He is the gentlest man, in normal circumstances. Now, let me get a better look at this arm. Please, God, he did not break the skin!' Phil pushed up the sleeve of her white cotton undergarment so she could inspect the red and angry mark there. Fidelia couldn't help whimpering when Phil touched the damaged spot.
'Hmmm. You were lucky. I think the layers of material have saved you from an open wound. You have n
o idea what a relief that is to me. The arm will blacken and look far worse than it is. But in a week or so you should have nothing to show for this unpleasantness.'
The intensity with which Phil had studied the injury unsettled her. Even if the skin had been broken, it would only have been a scratch. Hardly life threatening. But it seemed that, for Phil, such a scratch would have been like the end of the world. She couldn't ever remember her friend being so overly dramatic. There was something wrong here, she could feel it.
'The fire is warm in here and this is the most pleasant room in the Keep. Let us be daring and sit up here and drink some tea. You can enjoy being able to breathe again and having that contraption off. I have no idea why fashion dictates that women be so tortured. That stupid crinoline hoop is impossible. I will never follow fashion if it insists on such nonsense.'
Fidelia found herself being led to a large satin-covered armchair in front of the raging fire. Although she agreed with Phil about modern fashions, she would never bring herself to go against them. After all, what would people say?
While Maude went off to find the parlour-maid and order their tea, Phil offered Fidelia a satin dressing gown of rose blush to cover her undergarments. Then she stretched out in the armchair across from Fidelia.
'Now this feels like old times. Just us, with none of the frippery, sharing a cosy moment.' Phil sounded dreamy as she stared into the fire, a soft smile playing across her lips.
'We had some fine times when we were girls, didn't we?' Fidelia said, feeling the subtle spell of nostalgia overtaking her. 'I wish we never had to grow up. I wish...But that is nonsense. We all grow up. And grow apart. That is life, is it not?' She wished she had been able to keep the note of sadness from her voice.
'Yes, unfortunately we do. But there are advantages to that. If I had not grown up and inherited this place, I never would have met the love of my life. You have no idea what a difference that makes. You cannot understand. Howard...well, Howard just was not the right man for you.'
'I doubt there is a right man for me, Phillie, dear. Grand Passion like you have found is for larger-than-life people like you, not little white mice like me. I will probably find another Howard, when my mourning period is over, and live a very comfortable life in London. I may even be lucky enough to have children this time.' The plaintive note was still there, though she wished it wasn't.
'Grand Passion? Yes, that is what Byron and I share. We have known each other for nine months, been together for six, and married for five. Such a short time in the scheme of things. But I cannot imagine life without him. But you do not have to settle for less than that for yourself this time, Dee. Your mother bullied you into marrying Howard. This time you can choose your own mate.'
'Talking about Grand Passion, will I get to meet the mysterious Byron Carstairs this morning? I came all the way to Yorkshire to meet him, you know. I have plans to win him away from you. Although I probably should not have told you that.' She giggled at her own silliness, as she attempted to change the direction of the conversation. Fidelia knew it was impossible to convince Phil that she was incapable of experiencing Grand Passion. So it really was better to change the subject.
'Yes, Byron is around somewhere. Probably talking to Jasper, I imagine. Jas will be mortified by his behaviour. Look, here comes the tea. Now we can enjoy our refreshment and discuss what really brought you all the way to the wilds of Yorkshire. And I do not believe for a moment that you came to steal my husband from me. You would never steal anything, even if it was bread to fill your empty stomach. '
The bedroom door had opened and a little dark-haired maid entered, carrying a silver tea service. Maude followed behind with another tray loaded down with cakes. Fidelia chuckled happily. There were no concerns here about having enough to fill her empty stomach. She wondered whether her stays would ever be tightened again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jasper raced down to the cells below and locked himself in, throwing the key across the marble floor so that he couldn’t reach it. Then he threw himself down onto the cold stone slab that passed for a bed in the cell.
His mind was reeling. All he could think about was the doll-like woman's tiny upper arm he’d been gripping so tightly. She would be bruised from such rough treatment, he realised. The irrational beast within him had taken control and hurt the tiny creature.
How could he not have seen the signs and stayed in lockdown until he was fully himself? But it wasn’t like him to suffer echoes after the change. He was aghast at his behaviour. If Phil hadn’t arrived, he had no idea what he would have done to the little woman.
The part of him that was still beast was aware of her scent, even with two levels of the Keep now separating them. He tried to fight it, but it wrapped itself around him like a bitch in heat, tantalizing him.
This was madness. He didn't know what was wrong. When he’d been with her, he’d wanted to tear the black clothes from her pale body and claim her, right there in the entry hall. It didn’t matter that there were others present or that she was clearly terrified of him. All his focus was on her and the tantalizing scent she gave off.
This was madness. This was the beast at its worst. And just when he was starting to come to terms with his condition, starting to find a way forward for himself, this reversal happened. In this moment, he was as wild as the first time he’d turned.
Fighting for control, Jasper fisted his hands and pressed them into his temples. If hitting his head against the stone wall would have helped, he would have done just that, until the blood poured. But experience had taught him that pain only made the beast wilder. His best recourse was to hold himself as still and quiet as possible, and try to regain the upper hand.
It was her scent that was doing it. Now that he recognised it, he realized he'd felt this way from the moment he’d come upstairs and heard the carriage outside. Up until that moment he’d been normal, or as normal as any of them could be shortly after they came back to themselves. But as soon as he caught her scent, it was as if a beacon had been switched on and he’d been helplessly guided toward it.
His mind had latched onto the only rational explanation for his heightened emotions. He'd been worried about the missing woman the night before. So he’d hastily jumped to the conclusion that the beacon must be her. Her late arrival could only mean one thing. Last night she’d endangered others, maybe even killed. The selfishness of those who fought against their new reality never ceased to frustrate and anger him. Why did they think they had the right to continue on with their lives once they were infected? They had to know what they’d become. They had to know the harm they could now cause.
All that he had planned to do when he went to the carriage was berate her for her tardiness. Instead, he’d dragged her bodily from her vehicle and forced her to go with him. Each step had allowed her scent to invade him more fully, driving him closer and closer to the edge.
Thank God for Philomena. Had she not stepped in, he might have done anything...
Shuddering, he pressed his fists into his temples, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He began shaking uncontrollably and his breath came in harsh, desperate gasps.
What was happening to him? He had never been like this before. Normally, he woke from his change calm and human. But not today. What had brought this new insanity on? He began to weep in frustration and despair.
Only a short while later, he heard the sound of footsteps on the marble passageway. Then Byron’s large frame filled the tunnel entrance. He looked troubled and more tired than usual.
'What happened, Jas?' Byron demanded, coming to stand on the other side of the bars. Until he was certain there was no danger, Byron wouldn't open the door to the cell and come inside. It was the rule and, even for his best friend, Byron wouldn't bend it. He knew what could happen if he let his guard down, even for a second.
'I wish I knew,' Jasper replied, turning to look at the tall man who gripped the barred door as if he wanted to twist it off its hinges.
&
nbsp; He knew Byron had heard what had happened. It was impossible for him not to, in their little closed community. It was clear that he was angry and having trouble controlling his emotions. But Jasper also knew that none of that anger was actually directed at him. That attitude was what made his Guardian such an amazing human being. He never blamed any of the inmates for their behaviour. He was angry at the circumstances. And, possibly, at himself for letting it happen. But he was never angry at the monsters themselves.
'I was fine after the change. No echoes. I got dressed and Jamey unlocked the door. I am always one of the first to come back. Well, I was. Now look at me. Everyone else is back to their daily lives and I am stuck in here.'
Here was a bare and uncomfortable place, although the fire at the far end of the dungeons kept the temperature bearably warm. The dungeons had been dank, filthy and rat-infested in their previous incarnation. But Captain Davenport had converted them to a much more habitable condition after he bought the Keep. For all that, the cells still had to be heavily barred and empty of furnishings. Nothing would remain of furniture or bedding left in the cells after a night with their occupants.
Charlotte had insisted the women's wing be whitewashed and the floors inlaid with white marble. She argued that their beasts may not notice their surroundings, but for the period before and after the change, she certainly did. So she wanted her surroundings to be as aesthetic as possible.
The marble inserts were before his time. Charlotte had been one of the first to join Captain Davenport at the Keep and she’d played a big part in its refurbishment. Jasper didn't care about aesthetics. For him, their imprisonment for three nights a month could be as harsh as it needed to be. The beast didn’t deserve any better.
'Is the woman all right? She probably warrants far worse than a few bruises for the risks she took. But still, I have never raised a hand to a woman before. I cannot understand why I did today.'