Beauty and the Werewolf fhk-6

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I expected someone more arrogant, based on our first meeting,” he said bluntly. “Just another of the same sort of women who used to look down their noses at me.”

  She snorted. “You bullied me, tried to intimidate me and did your level best to terrify me. What kind of response did you expect?”

  “Not what I got, obviously.” He reached out and caught her elbow, making her stop. “Look…I’ll admit it. I wanted to bed you. If I can bully a woman into that position, I will. Most of the women I run into out in the forest respond to that. They’re happy to trade a rogering for getting off with whatever they’ve poached. I get what I want, they get what they want, no harm done. And I’ll freely admit I’m a good customer at the brothels, and when we still had human servants around here, I was known to tumble a chambermaid or three. That’s the kind of women I know best. The only other women I’ve ever met are the nobles who’d look through me as if I wasn’t there.”

  She was not surprised to hear the venom in his voice at that last.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he continued. “I’m not sure how to treat you, what to say around you. All the others, I know right off what my place is, what her place is, and that’s that. But you — ”

  He let go of her arm. “You baffle me. I don’t know how to treat you. I just know I like being around you, and it’s not the same as it is with any of those other women.”

  She felt herself warming to his tone, his expression. He was in dead earnest, so far as she could tell. And she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him — the bastard, snubbed by the noble, resented by the servants. How lonely he must have been! How —

  “It wasn’t a good life, being the unacknowledged bastard,” he continued bitterly. “My father’s people sneered at me when he wasn’t looking, half the time I had to thrash the servants to get them to obey me — and the only reason they did so after that was because I got away with the thrashing. Finally, I got a position, once I was old enough to be useful — they stopped sneering at me openly, but you could still see the contempt in their eyes. I had to fight for everything I got, prove I was better than the other man that might have gotten what I was granted. Sebastian didn’t sneer at me, but he doesn’t sneer at anyone. He had to fight for what he wanted, too, the wizardry business. The Old Duke wasn’t all that pleased about his son flinging magic around until the day the boy dared one of the squires that had been taunting him to fight him, and the brat ended upside down in a tree, hanging by one foot.” Eric smiled grimly at that. “That’s why he and I get along. That’s why, truth to tell, we were both just as glad to see the backs of most of the Old Duke’s people.”

  She could almost see it — and no wonder he bullied people, if he had been bullied himself. That was why she was treating the twins as she did, treating them as a friend and a real sister and an ally instead of bullying them. It would have been easy to bully them, especially when they had been younger. The servants, her father, would have believed her, and not them, if they had complained. But that not only wasn’t fair to them, since they had done nothing to her, it would only turn them into little tyrants when they grew up — children became what they lived with. But Eric had only seen force used against him all his younger life, and fighting back was all he knew. There had been no one to teach him a better way, and — well, even if there had been, would that really have helped him?

  And just as she started to respond to him, something that had been nagging at the back of her mind leapt forward.

  The Rake’s Reward.

  Oh, no. She had just read this very same scenario last night in that book about The Tradition! The poor, misunderstood rakehell… the man who was a rogue because deep inside he was still a lonely, neglected little boy… the good girl who would redeem him with her love and help him become the gentle man he was meant to be…

  Even the fact that he was the bastard son played into that!

  Except, the book had noted, that was seldom how the scenario played out, once the rake got what he wanted. The habits of a lifetime are very hard to break, and The Tradition was perfectly happy to perpetuate those habits, so that The Rake’s Reward generally turned into The Sadder but Wiser Girl or, well, any number of other songs and stories about girls who trusted a man’s sad story and wound up with a big belly and no wedding ring. And wouldn’t that be a fine way to go home, knowing that in a few months time you wouldn’t be able to hide what you’d been up to!

  Oh, no, you don’t! she thought at The Tradition, angrily, and as she did so, she could actually feel the pressure that the Godmother had spoken about — the force of the magic trying to steer her into the Path it wanted. And then what? Given the situation here, there were all sorts of ways this could go wrong. She was all alone here, with only the Spirit Elementals, who probably wouldn’t be of much help if she said no, but Eric decided she only needed to be “persuaded” into yes. Or if he decided he was just going to take what he wanted, as he usually did. She rather doubted that someone with his appetites was going to be willing to settle for decorous kisses.

  She also didn’t think he’d be inclined to propose marriage once he’d gotten her where he wanted her…

  With her mind working logically instead of emotionally, other things occurred to her. It might not just be The Tradition at work. This could all be a clever act on his part, the wiles of the practiced seducer. Who knew how many other women he’d cajoled underneath him with that same story of the poor, sad, lonely boy?

  Still, looking at his serious, thoughtful expression, she was tempted…

  He could be in earnest. It went without saying that he didn’t often meet a woman who stood up to him, nor one who was willing to don men’s clothing and work as he did. And he was very handsome. When he wasn’t frowning, that saturnine face had a melancholy to it that was extremely attractive. When he laughed, a genuine laugh, he was completely transformed. He was a great deal more intelligent than she had thought. He was treating her rather as an equal, which was incredibly rare. And sometimes there actually was a happy ending…

  But then she remembered the Wool Guild dance.

  Yes, this was the same man who had been perfectly willing to prey on any girl he thought would not be able to defend herself, and who had no obvious Guardians or Protectors.

  “Well, then, treat me as Abel, your young squire, that you are teaching all these useful things to,” she said lightly. “I’m starting to like being a boy. There’s a lot of freedom in breeches!”

  A succession of emotions chased across his face, all in an instant. Surprise. Disbelief. A great deal of disbelief, in fact. This was not the response he had expected — which argued that he had some experience in what he could expect from that sad, sad story.

  Well, so this was a ploy, and you were counting on me to respond to it! You, sir, are a bastard in more than just birth! A very brief moment of anger consumed her, anger that she forced herself not to respond to. He mustn’t guess that she knew what he was up to. She needed to keep him friendly. She also needed him not to be angry at her, because angry men did unpleasant things. “Who knows, maybe I’ll take to swaggering about taverns in breeches when this is over and scandalize the entire city. Or at least my stepmother.” She chuckled, inviting him in on the joke. “Can you imagine what Genevieve Beauchamps would have to say about that? And can you imagine the reaction of the King, since he’s the reason I’m here in the first place?”

  Another moment of surprise, and then an answering chuckle. “I just might help you with that, then, Abel,” he said. “That could be a hell of a jest.” The chuckle deepened. “Nothing wrong with tweaking the King’s britches. Old bastard’s got a stick rammed up his arse, he’s so stiff.”

  She laughed, and slapped his shoulder as a man would. “It’s worth thinking about. But later. There’s a roast of venison waiting for us, and I’m perishing for food.”

  But as they parted where the corridor divided, her laughter faded, and she shivered. That had been a very narr
ow escape.

  And how many more lay ahead of her?

  15

  NO ONE, NOT EVEN A DEDICATED HOYDEN, COULD possibly have thrown herself more earnestly into the role of “Abel” than Bella did. From the moment they sat down to dinner to the moment when she left him after the second riding lesson, she acted as much the boy as she could, deliberately aping every would-be young swaggerer she had ever seen — and since there were generally a lot of them swarming around her sisters, and they tended to ignore her in favor of the twins, she had been able to observe quite a few in action.

  It seemed to work. By the time they parted to get their respective suppers, he was treating her as he had out in the tin country — like a boy.

  Which was all very well, except as she settled down to her book on The Tradition with the beeswax stuffed in her ears and another flagon of hot mulled wine beside her, and picked up where she had left off, she came across another Traditional Path she was going to have to steer wary of — Gone For a Soldier — the girl who really was disguised as a boy, and who subsequently fell in love with the man in whose company she found herself most. Usually this was a girl who, fed up with a stifling life at home, or overwhelmed with patriotism — or just having no other options but to go whoring — struck out for adventure in breeches.

  There were variations, as always. Sometimes it was a girl following her lover to war — well, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about that one. Sometimes it was a girl escaping marriage to someone awful, and very rarely, it was a girl taking the place of her father or brother to save them from conscription.

  Now, so long as she steered clear of the trap of falling for Eric, that could play out for her, she realized, since The Tradition had very firm ideas about the conduct of the man in question. According to the book, he seldom realized that the “boy” in whose company he spent so much time was really a girl. It generally resulted in a surprise revelation after the girl had heroically saved his life and gotten dangerously wounded. Sometimes the “boy” would tell him of a beautiful sister until he fell in love with the girl she actually was, and eventually she would come forward as the sister, her ruse abandoned.

  Well, I won’t be doing anything like that, thank you very much.

  Just as long as she kept a firm grip on what she was doing, and he became oblivious to her femininity, she just might manage to steer clear of any complications with Eric for the next two months. Complications with Eric…surely the very last thing she needed right now.

  At least I am not going to become a she-wolf. That was…well, it made this look like a trivial hurdle to jump, truth to tell.

  If she closed her eyes, she could feel that pressure, now, like a storm waiting to break. The Tradition really wanted to find a place for her.

  She rubbed her temple and sighed. All this was hideously complicated. People had no idea how much they did was being dictated by this force! And this was just ordinary life, without any magic involved! It was a wonder that Godmothers didn’t go mad.

  Then she turned the page and read some more.

  Oh, wait. They do…

  As the full moon passed into the waning moon, Bella took advantage of Sebastian’s absence to continue searching his parents’ rooms for clues as to the curse.

  She found clothing, carefully preserved, and a few very rudimentary books on magic in his mother’s rooms. She found a chest of baby clothing, and in it a box of tokens of Sebastian’s infancy: a lock of hair, a silver rattle, an ivory teething ring. Buried deep behind the closet were half-embroidered garments and bed linens, sad evidence of the things she has left behind at her death. But there were no letters, no journals. A check of the Old Duke’s belongings was even less fruitful; she couldn’t even find any evidence that the Old Duke had done any of his own correspondence, much less kept any sort of journal. In neither room did she find any token or suspicious object that might have carried a curse. A bit discouraged by her lack of success, she reported to Elena, who encouraged her to keep investigating.

  After the three days, Sebastian was at breakfast again, and tilted his head like a curious bird to see her in her new guise. “Are those my old clothes?” he asked.

  She nodded, her mouth full — deliberately copying how Eric ate, rather than abiding by the appropriate — and ladylike — table manners she used at home. “Eric’s teaching me his business. Can’t do that sort of thing in skirts. Have to say, I like it! I may never go back to skirts again!”

  “I’m putting it about that I’m training an assistant,” Eric explained. “If people think there’s going to be a man regularly patrolling at night as well as by day, they’ll be less inclined to prowl the woods by dark. It won’t matter when she leaves — she’ll have been seen with me for two months, and people will assume she’s still here.”

  Sebastian looked worried, his brows creased, and his eyes clouded with concern. “But will you have time for magic lessons now? I mean, if Eric is taking you out on his rounds. If that is what you want to do, I don’t want to interfere, but I promised the Godmother I would see to it you got all the magic lessons I could give you — ”

  Eric guffawed. “Don’t fret. Abel’s mine in the morning. You get her in the afternoon.”

  Sebastian tilted his head the other direction. “Abel?”

  “Abel. Bella. It’s what we’re calling me so they think I’m a boy,” Bella said with a guffaw. “Poachers are getting bolder — that’s why Eric’s putting it about he’s training an Under-Keeper.” She jabbed her thumb at her chest. “I think I can do a convincing job of it.”

  Sebastian blinked, then she saw something dawn on him, though what, she couldn’t tell. He nodded cautiously. “Right, then, Abel, Eric. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Or after, if we’re a bit late.” She finished an instant before Eric did, and shoved away from the table. “All right! I’m ready! Let’s go put the fear of the devil into those bastards, since God doesn’t scare them!”

  They were “in luck” — though it wasn’t very lucky for the poor fellow they caught — for one of them must have noticed Eric’s absence in the woods over the past three mornings and changed his own routine. She was the one that noticed the telltale, furtive movement into cover, and pointed it out to Eric. She hated to — she knew this was going to get ugly when the man was caught — but she also knew the fact she’d seen the man before Eric had was just pure luck. The Tradition would see to it that she became a good Gamekeeper — she was beginning to think that it was due to The Tradition that she had mastered riding the hunter, using the crossbow and defending herself so quickly.

  Which made her wonder, had it been luck, or had it been The Tradition that let her spot the man?

  It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I do, not how it gets done, as long as I keep making Eric treat me and think of me like a boy.

  But Eric was giving her directions, his horse pressed up against hers, his voice pitched low and soft so it wouldn’t carry. “You ride down that way, and keep your eyes on that trapline — see it? There’s a fat hare in the noose right there — ”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t look away from the traps. He’ll be watching you, anxious about his traps, and forget about me. I’ll circle around behind him, and run him down if I have to.”

  She felt sick inside, knowing that he would do exactly that, but nodded, clucked to her horse and carefully steered him through the snow-covered bushes in the direction of that dead hare.

  She couldn’t help it; this wasn’t just a lawbreaker to her, this was a person. Just how desperate was this poacher? Did he have half-starved children at home? Or was he purely poaching for profit?

  Wait, Eric had said “trapline” — and now, as she stood up in her stirrups for a better view, she could see four more snares from the vantage of the saddle, two of them with something in them. A poor man couldn’t afford that much wire —

  “Got you!” Eric shouted in triumph.

  She snatched up her crossbow as th
e horse responded to Eric’s shout by pivoting on his heel and lurching toward the sound of Eric’s voice. There was only the sound of Eric’s voice this time, raised in altercation. The horse plunged through the snow, snorting with excitement. Evidently he was used to this sort of thing. She stuck to him like the proverbial burr, as firm in the saddle now as she had been uneasy a few days ago. As she cleared the trees that were between her and the men, she saw that Eric was still in the saddle, holding a man by the collar, and mercilessly beating him with a short, stout club as he covered his head with his arms and tried to escape, crying out with pain.

  But a savage blow brought him down into the snow, and Eric leapt from the saddle to finish the job, ending with a vicious kick to the ribs. While the man lay there, only semiconscious, Eric lifted a heavy string of rabbits and hares from behind the bushes the man had been hiding in and fastened it to the back of his saddle.