Lord of the Beasts

by Susan Krinard

  “I think you can be whatever you choose.”

  “Then if I work hard and wear pretty dresses, will you look at me the way you look at Cordelia?”

  Donal heard Ivy’s words with amazement and consternation. His cravat seemed to tighten like a noose. As he struggled to find an answer, a footman emerged from the house and held the door open for the one who followed.

  Cordelia Hardcastle swept down the stairs in a rustle of deep blue skirts, a smile animating her resolute features. She walked past the servants and extended her hands to Ivy. There was no mistaking the warmth of her greeting.

  “Ivy,” she said, “Dr. Fleming. Welcome to Edgecott.”

  Ivy took Cordelia’s hands. “It is a beautiful house,” she said with uncharacteristic shyness.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Cordelia glanced up at Donal. “I hope that your journey was a pleasant one?”

  Donal inclined his head. “We found it most enjoyable.”

  Her gaze lingered on his face. “I am so glad that both of you have been able to join us.”

  The rote courtesies expected on such occasions flew out of Donal’s mind. Somehow he had forgotten a few small details of Cordelia’s features in the two weeks since she had left Stenwater Farm: the clean arch of her brows, the tiny dimple in her left cheek, the fullness of her lips that hinted of sensuality kept under strict control.

  Those lips parted, and Cordelia’s breath sighed out as gently as the breeze stirring the leaves overhead. How easy it would be, how scandalously improper, if he were to lean down and catch her mouth with his own….

  “Donal?” Ivy said.

  He shook his head and looked away. Cordelia casually put another several feet of distance between them. “I’m certain you must be famished,” she said to Ivy. “Cook has prepared a grand luncheon fit for the Queen herself. It will be served at one. You will wish to rest, and change into fresh clothing. Your boxes are already being taken up to your rooms.”

  “I hadn’t much to bring,” Ivy said. “Only the dresses you and Donal bought for me.”

  “Of course, my dear. But we shall soon remedy any deficiencies in your wardrobe, I assure you.” She turned to Donal. “Our butler, Croome, will escort you to your chamber, Dr. Fleming. Mrs. Priday, our housekeeper, takes a personal interest in seeing to the comfort of our guests.”

  Mrs. Priday, who was blessed with the round, pleasant face and stout figure that seemed the very hallmarks of an English country housekeeper, took Ivy under her ample wing. After a brief backward glance, Ivy went with her. Croome stood waiting while Cordelia hesitated.

  “I trust that Miss Shipp is well?” Donal said to fill the silence.

  “She has a slight ague, Dr. Fleming, which is why she was unable to greet you. I shall tell her that you inquired after her.”

  “Yes.” Donal glanced across the park. “You have a fine wood here, Mrs. Hardcastle.”

  “Thank you. The Amesburys have always appreciated nature.” She paused. “Perhaps you would like to come in?”

  Donal looked from the gaunt-faced Croome to the wide, heavy door. A rush of panic caught at his throat. “I should be happy to look at your animals now, if it is convenient,” he said.

  “Dr. Fleming, I certainly do not expect you to work after such a tiring journey. That can wait for another day.”

  “Nevertheless, I…Do you perhaps have an empty groundskeeper’s cottage, or a room above the stables? I believe I would be more effective in working with your animals if I lived closer to them.”

  She stared at him with raised brows, doubtless wondering whether or not to take offense at his apparent rejection of her hospitality. From her perspective, she must be doing a simple country veterinarian considerable honor by inviting him to stay in her titled father’s country manor.

  “There is another reason it might be best if I lodged outside the house,” he said quickly. “You and Ivy will naturally spend more time together without the distraction of my presence. It is, after all, to our purpose if we encourage her to prefer your company over mine.”

  “And she will not do so if you are in the vicinity?” Cordelia asked, too sweetly.

  He knew he had blundered, but the constant effort of making himself agreeable was wearing on his patience. “Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, “it hardly matters how we attain our mutual goal as long as we achieve it.”

  Her eyes snapped with annoyance. “I quite agree, Doctor.” She spoke to Croome, who signaled to one of the footmen and went inside the house. The footman set out across the park in the direction of the stables.

  “I have sent for our head groundskeeper,” Cordelia said, “who will know if there is a cottage available. It may require a few hours to arrange. In the meantime, perhaps you will condescend to make use of your room to refresh yourself. You do wish to set Ivy a good example.” She started for the door and paused, glancing over her shoulder. “You will, of course, join us for meals. I would not like Ivy to think that I have banished you from the house entirely.”

  With that, she marched into the house, and the last remaining footman closed the door behind her.

  Donal stood staring at the door, feeling very much the fool. For one mad, impossible moment he had been ready to admit to Cordelia the real reason he couldn’t bring himself to stay in the house. In that moment he had desperately wanted her to understand.

  But if she had ever felt the need to run untrammeled in the wilderness, to cast off all bonds and renounce the walls and bars and conformity of man’s civilization, she had long since judged such needs irrelevant to her life. And that would make her no different than a hundred thousand other English men and women who either denied the animal within themselves, or set it free to rend and devour their own kind. For most humans, there was no middle path.

  With a sigh, Donal picked up his bag, turned on his heel and strode onto the neatly groomed lawn of the park. He tore his cravat loose and stuffed it in his pocket, finally able to breathe again. Soon he was walking beneath the high, arched canopies of oak, ash, elm and lime. He opened his mind and let it wander, brushing over the small, bright flashes of avian thoughts sparkling among the branches, sensing the horses in the stables and the sheep that kept the grass so well trimmed. Close to the earth he heard mice and voles and rabbits, all busy with the endless work of searching for food or raising the next generation.

  But beyond those familiar souls, so like the ones he had known in Yorkshire, were others…far less penetrable minds, whose waking dreams were filled with harsher light and deeper shadow than any to be found in England.

  Donal followed where the outland voices led him. He climbed a low hill, and on the other side he found the menagerie.

  He had not known exactly what to expect, and had dreaded finding tiny, bare cages that would drive any sensible beast to madness in a matter of weeks or even days. But Cordelia’s facilities were spacious, well-furnished and separated so that no animal was too close to another.

  Donal descended the hill, holding his mind receptive. The animals heard him well before he reached the first of the cages, but there was a stillness in them that told him something was wrong. He deliberately slowed his pace and imagined himself as a only another denizen of the park and wood, no threat to any creature, captive or free.

  He needn’t have bothered. He felt no fear as he approached, and only the barest flicker of curiosity. The floor of the nearest cage, sand and gravel and rock, was so dappled with shadow from thick tree branches that he wouldn’t have seen the black leopard if not for his Fane senses.

  The animal lay stretched out in the shade near a small doorway that led to the covered portion of its cage. Donal crouched close to the bars.

  The roar of gunfire bursts in his ears. He presses them flat to his head, for the sound fills him with terror. But soon all he knows is pain. The bullet has lodged in his flank, and blood spatters on the earth, marking his path for all to see.

  He falls back, his legs trembling with effort after so long a f
light. They are drawing closer. His ribs heave as he struggles to suck in air. Heavy footfalls shake the ground behind him. He smells the acrid scent of his enemies. Their harsh, alien voices are like the roar of the sky in the season of falling water.

  He can go no farther. He closes his eyes, shutting out what he cannot bear to see. The relentless footfalls come to a stop, and the net falls over him as the voices bellow their victory….

  Donal gasped and tumbled free, his heart hammering with panic. He slapped at his left leg, certain he would feel the hot rush of blood and the ragged edges of a bullet wound.

  But his flesh was whole, no tear in his trousers to mark a bullet’s passage. He bent his head between his knees and let the wash of dizziness pass. He had felt such fear in animals before, often when they were in pain and he was preparing to heal them. But never had any bonding struck him as vividly as this.

  He straightened and looked into the cage. The panther must have felt his mental intrusion, yet the animal barely lifted his head. His golden eyes blinked once to acknowledge Donal’s presence. Then he laid his chin back on his paws, his elegant tail motionless against his flank.

  Donal clutched the bars of the cage and got to his feet. His legs were still trembling as he moved on to the next cage. A pair of tailless monkeys—macaques, he guessed—clung to the uppermost branches of the small tree that had been provided for them. As soon as Donal offered his greeting, they leaped gracefully down and ambled toward him. Though they showed a more active interest than the leopard, their intelligent eyes were dulled with sadness.

  Bracing himself for another painful memory, Donal opened his mind again.

  He clutches his mate’s hand and tries to pull her away, but she will not leave the little one, who has already fallen to the raiders. The family scatters, their voices high-pitched with fear and anger. But it is too late to save the youngest; they cry and tremble in their captors’ nets. A few lie still among the rocks, never to stir again….

  This time the apes themselves broke the contact. They were back up in the branches before Donal fully regained his senses. He wrapped his arms around his chest and heard the cries of his brethren fade away, replaced by the gentle chatter of birds in the wood.

  “I am sorry,” Donal said, pressing his forehead against the bars. But he knew it was an empty sentiment. These creatures suffered not only from their unnatural imprisonment, but also from the shock of their captures at the hands of callous hunters. He might learn to refine his healing abilities to erase such terrible recollections from the animals’ minds, but he would have to work closely with them, live beside them just as he had warned Cordelia.

  With weary resignation he moved on. The next cage held no sign of its inmate, but Donal heard the sluggish thoughts of the animal secluded in its den and formed an image of the cage’s occupant: a bear, born on another continent, whose memories drifted in lush, warm, green forests. It had chosen to live in its ursine imagination rather than accept the intolerable reality that surrounded it.

  Unable to reach the bear, Donal passed to the largest cage. Three wolves paced among the large stone scattered across the enclosure. Two were female, and one, the male, kept watch from a higher vantage. He might have been magnificent save for the dull, patchy quality of his once-thick gray coat, and he stared at Donal for only a moment before dropping his gaze in submission.

  Sing for the lost children. Sing for the mother, dead with life still growing within her body. Sing for the mountains and the rivers and the empty dens, ravaged and plundered by the two-legged killers….

  Donal bent his head to the leader wolf in a gesture of respect and left them to their endless mourning. Half-blind with grief, he staggered up the hill back toward the house. He was nearly to the door of the manor when he collided with another man heading in the same direction. The man drew back, cursed under his breath and straightened his coat, all the while subjecting Donal to a thorough examination.

  Donal came back to himself and met the man’s eyes, recognizing him at once. The handsome, fine-boned face was topped by a thick and fashionably curled head of blond hair, and the blue eyes were of the precise color to make ladies swoon with admiration. His tailcoat was designed to broaden his shoulders and nip in his waist, his trousers were snug enough to show a lean length of thigh muscle, and his black shoes had been buffed to a scintillating polish.

  Lord Inglesham tapped his gold-headed cane on the drive. “Do I know you, fellow?” he asked with an air of condescending good humor. “Are you the new groundskeeper Mrs. Hardcastle spoke of employing for her menagerie?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DONAL CONSIDERED his reply. He was quite certain that the viscount did remember him, in spite of the briefness of their previous meetings and the weeks that had passed. He touched the brim of his hat.

  “You are correct, Lord Inglesham, in a manner of speaking,” he said. “I am Dr. Fleming. You and I have twice met before, in London, though of course I should not expect such a grand personage as yourself to recall.”

  The viscount narrowed his eyes and gave a sudden laugh. “Of course. You were the fellow at the Zoological Gardens. An animal doctor, if I understand correctly.”

  “I am.”

  “Mrs. Hardcastle did inform me that she had taken on another of her charitable cases. She is much too generous with her time and fortune, but what can one say?” He smiled, an utterly false expression laced with deliberate calculation. “Has she also employed you to clean the stables, Fleming, or have you had an unfortunate mishap?”

  Donal took his meaning well enough. He remembered the cravat hopelessly crumpled in his pocket, and the dust of travel filming his trousers and coat.

  “I would be happy to assist in the stables if Mrs. Hardcastle requires it,” he said. “But if you will forgive me, Lord Inglesham, I must go inside and change for luncheon.”

  Inglesham’s smooth countenance briefly lost its superior cast. “Mrs. Hardcastle is excessively broad-minded when it comes to her servants. I’m sure that you appreciate the honor.”

  “I have been made quite sensible of it.”

  “Very good.” Inglesham swung his cane and continued toward the house, scratching Donal from the short, rarified list of matters that merited his attention. Donal shook his head and followed, allowing the footman at the door to fawn over the viscount and bow Inglesham into the house before asking a passing maid where his own room might be found.

  The maid hurried off to find the proper guide, and Donal was left to examine the entrance hall with its handsome tiled floor, marble columns and ornate chairs set along the walls. A very grand cage it was…so grand that one might almost forget how thoroughly it entrapped its occupants. Donal was relieved when Croome arrived to lead him up the grand staircase to the landing, through a picture gallery overstuffed with Amesbury ancestors, and into the guest wing.

  The room assigned to Donal was much as he had expected…far more imposing and luxurious than anything he would require in his most self-indulgent moments. The bed was large enough for four, and the single room, with its adjoining dressing closet, would have swallowed the spacious kitchen at Stenwater Farm. His few trunks were already laid out and opened, and his coats, trousers, shirts and waistcoats had been carefully transferred to the huge oak armoire.

  Donal set his bag on the bed, moved quickly to the window and threw it open, sucking in the fresh air with gratitude. Then he cast off his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat and paced the room from one elegantly papered wall to the other, debating what to say to Cordelia when next they met. Frank speech would not be possible at the luncheon table, but soon he must confront her with what he had learned of the poor creatures she held in captivity.

  If she was something more than an average well-born Englishwoman, as he had begun to suspect, he might make her understand. If she was not, then nothing he might say would pierce the veil of her comfortable illusions.

  After he had thought it through a hundred times, Donal shed the rest of
his clothing, cleaned up at the wash stand, teased his hair into tolerable order and donned fresh clothing. He struggled with his cravat and let it lie askew around his collar. As Inglesham had so helpfully pointed out, he was only an employee, and not expected to attain the heights of fashion considered de rigueur among his betters.

  He descended the stairs and found another footman to show him to the breakfast room, where the informal luncheon was being served. When he arrived, however, he found that all the diners had finished their meals and gone about their business, leaving plates of cold meats, bread, cheese and a selection of fruit for the laggard. Donal picked through the remains, avoiding the meat, and made a hearty meal while a footman hovered nearby.

  When he was finished, he asked after Cordelia and was told that she was occupied with Miss Ivy in her chambers. Donal’s first impulse was to flee the house and seek Cordelia at another time, but as he was finding his way to the door he ran across Theodora Shipp.

  “Dr. Fleming!” the lady said, performing a hasty half curtsey. “How pleasant it is to see you again. I do apologize for not coming out to greet you when you first arrived.”

  Donal bowed. “I was sorry to hear that you were ill, Miss Shipp. I hope you are improved.”

  “Indeed.” She flushed and lowered her eyes. “It was only a touch of the ague, and it is already on the wane.”

  “I am delighted to hear it.” He hesitated. “Miss Shipp, may I speak to you in confidence?”

  The flush spread from her cheeks to the rest of her face. “I…are you sure you would not rather speak to my cousin?”

  “It is Mrs. Hardcastle I wish to discuss.”

  “Oh. I see. Oh…” She fumbled with a handkerchief, dropped it and quivered like a rabbit about to bolt for its hole. Donal quickly retrieved the handkerchief and passed it back to her.

  “I did not intend to cause discomfort, Miss Shipp,” he said, aware once more how ill-suited he was to human company. “If you will excuse me…”

  “No. No, I am quite all right.” She attempted a smile. “I shall be happy to speak with you, Doctor. Perhaps in the garden? It is such a pleasant day. Only let me fetch my bonnet.”