The Heart of The Beast

by Susan Kohler

  “Passably well, I guess,” Beauty grudgingly admitted as she gingerly and unconsciously rubbed her sore bottom, “except for some stiffness, a sore butt, and his lordship’s infernal impatience to get his bath and some food this morning.”

  Gwyneth smiled to herself but said only, “Then ‘tis best if ye get back up there to help him bathe and dress or he’ll pull you back over his knee and spank you again. He likes to do that. There’s a spare gown for you in the wardrobe. I think that one’s ruined.”

  “Really?” Beauty shot back, hiding a rueful grin. “What makes you say that?”

  Beauty hurried up the stairs. The Beast had just seated himself in the steaming tub. “It took you long enough. Get over here and scrub my back, lass. Be quick about it or do you need another spanking?”

  Beauty quickly picked up the sponge and began scrubbing his back. Was it her fault that later, as she washed his long, dark hair, she managed to get some soap into his eyes? Was it her fault that the rinse water she poured over his head had turned so cold?

  The Beast reacted instantly as the cold rinse water hit him. Reaching out a long arm, he quickly pulled Beauty into the tub on top of himself. She wound up sitting on his lap, feeling his hardness beneath her in the rapidly cooling water.

  “You’ll pay for it dearly if you ever pour water that cold on me again,” he growled.

  “I’m sorry, M’lord.” Beauty did not sound repentant as she hid a grin. “It was but an accident.”

  “Sure it was,” the Beast muttered, meeting her lips with his in a quick kiss. “I know you would never do anything like that intentionally; just remember, an accident like that could cause you to get another spanking or your brother to hang.”

  Beauty stiffened at the threat. The Beast rose from the small tub with Beauty still in his arms, a feat requiring considerable strength considering the awkwardness of his body and hers entwined in the small tub. He carried her over to the bed and lowered her to the mattress, covering her body with his.

  “M’lord!” Beauty protested. “We cannot, it’s daytime.”

  “What on earth does daytime have to do with anything?” the Beast asked her amused.

  “Well, ’tis indecent,” Beauty said uncertainly, “isn’t it?”

  “According to you, everything we do together is indecent, Beauty.” The Beast slid into her in a firm thrust. “So what difference does the sunlight make?”

  Beauty never answered. The Beast stroked her body with his hands even as he thrust in and out of her moist body. She was beginning to learn how to respond to his movements and his rhythms, but he finished too soon for her to get any real enjoyment from it.

  At the knock on the door, he covered their bodies with a luxurious fur pelt and yelled for the servant to come inside. It was Gwyneth carrying the tray filled with their morning meal. She had brought fresh fruit, cold milk, hot bread straight from the oven, fried potatoes and porridge with honey.

  The Beast balanced the tray on his lap and began to eat with relish. “Eat up, Beauty.”

  She began to pick at the food with little enthusiasm but gradually her appetite got the better of her and she ate heartily. The Beast noticed her appetite and smiled to himself.

  “I guess you’re hungry,” he commented casually as he watched her eat. In spite of himself, he felt a little guilty. “I hope you had dinner last night. I never thought to ask you if you required anything.”

  “Gwyneth took care of me, M’lord,” Beauty replied quietly, pausing in her dining. “As you knew she would.”

  Instinctively she realized that his statement was an apology of sorts, probably as good an apology as she would ever receive from him.

  “If you ever have any hunger or thirst, just mention it to one of the servants. They will take care of you,” the Beast told her. “Don’t wait for me to order food or drink for you.”

  “How can I order your servants about?” Beauty asked, protesting. “I’m only one of your servants myself.”

  “You have a special status, and I will make sure they all know it,” the Beast promised.

  “I’m your whore, what status is there in that?” Beauty hung her head and whispered.

  “The strange thing is,” the Beast reached over and lifted her chin with his hand, looking into her eyes as he replied, “I don’t think of you as a whore.” He saw her open her mouth to protest and continued rapidly, “I’ll admit I use you in bed, and I intend to continue doing so. I just do not think of you as a whore, not even mine. Please don’t consider yourself such.”

  “I will not, M’lord.” Beauty paused. “But what am I then? What is my status in the castle?”

  “Consider yourself my companion and my mistress,” the Beast replied, setting aside the tray to take her into his arms again. “And my lover.”

  Chapter Four

  For the first few weeks they spent together, the Beast very seldom left Beauty’s side except when he was occupied with the running of his lands or when he went to train with his guardsmen. He worked constantly to keep himself ready for battle. He also left her side when he went to patrol the surrounding countryside, searching for any sign of raiders. The crushing poverty surrounding the countryside, indeed the whole land, had greatly increased the number of miscreants willing to kill for a mere pittance. Some of these vile thieves formed brutal packs. The roaming bands of thieves were vicious thugs who would steal anything they could get their hands on and leave a trail of burned out huts and dead serfs in their wake.

  There was only one other time the Beast would leave Beauty alone. That was when he had any reason to go into the village. He stoutly refused to let her accompany him; it was his means of blocking her from any chance of seeing her family. Her hopes that she would get to go riding with the Beast, and therefore have at least a chance to see her brother Tom in the stables, also never came to fruition.

  During the days when he was working and too busy to spend time with her, Beauty was kept inside the castle walls and was always well guarded.

  She wasn’t so well guarded because the Beast had any emotional attachment for her or even because he was concerned about her safety in any way. Although he fully enjoyed her in bed, he still distrusted her. He thought of her as a possession and he was a man who safeguarded his possessions from anyone who would attempt to steal them away. As he had told her when they first made their arrangement, even when he had no need of her, no desire to spend time with her, she was not allowed to go to the village to see her family or even to the barn to see Tom.

  She was watched constantly, and not only by guards; there were many on the household staff who reported her every movement to the Beast. The watchfulness did more than ensure her safety. She knew the guards were also watching her to report any improprieties or suspicious activities to the Beast. For the most part, the guards had nothing to report except that she read the Bible or some poetry, or embroidered, usually as she sat on a marble bench in the ornate flower garden. Sometimes, when she was particularly restless, she even worked in the garden planting new roses or other flowers, trimming away dead leaves and pulling weeds.

  Once however, she did manage to smuggle a brief note to her brother, Tom, as he worked in the stables. The Beast found out about the note, of course, and read it through without Beauty’s knowledge before letting it be delivered to Tom. It read:

  My Dearest Brother Tom,

  I write this at some risk to us both but I wanted to reassure you that all is well with me, at least as well as can be expected. The Beast is fierce indeed and growls at me often, but all in all, he treats me with a fairness that is at odds with his reputation. Life here is not perfect but much better than I expected or feared.

  So rest easy, my dear brother. Please take care of our mother and Nate and comfort them with the knowledge that I find life here at the castle to be tolerable. I miss you all. Godspeed,

  My deepest love,

  Your sister,

  Beauty

  The Beast was at first ange
red by the mere fact that she had enough nerve to write the note, and then by its contents, secretly pleased. He realized she was, in a small way, content with him and that she had not used the note to berate him or to encourage her family to attempt to rescue her.

  He considered spanking Beauty for defying him by the mere act of writing such a missive but decided to let the matter go. Although she never even knew about it, it was one of the few times he was lenient with her.

  He let the note be delivered to Tom partially because he was intrigued by it. Not only by the contents, but also by the very fact that a simple peasant woman could read and write. Such a thing was unheard of! He was already suspicious of Beauty, having realized almost immediately that she was no ordinary peasant girl. He had soon realized that Beauty had many qualities not commonly found in the villagers.

  Once he really looked at her as a woman, he realized that she walked, spoke, and at all times comported herself with a dignity and poise not found in the rest of the vassals. As proven by the note, she was well educated in reading and writing, and she was also quick with numbers. She knew the gentle art of embroidery and took it upon herself to repair a small flaw on one of the tapestries.

  She had become interested in the day-to-day chores involved in running the castle. Although some of the servants clearly resented her status, indeed, some of them whispered behind her back that she was no more than the Beast’s whore, she slowly gained their grudging respect. She worked hard right along with those servants. Things that had been broken or fallen into disrepair over the years were soon fixed or replaced. Things that were once seldom cleaned now shone brightly. Meals suddenly had more taste and variety. The account books showed that she was frugal, managing these improvements without wasting very many of the Beast’s precious coins. Someone had trained her well in the running of a large estate, trained her to be a bride to someone important. The Beast was no fool, for he knew she was definitely no ordinary serf.

  The Beast held these thoughts to himself, noting them but not confronting Beauty with them. Instead, he gradually left more and more of the domestic responsibilities in her hands. She handled them capably. He stood back and watched, and puzzled as to her real identity. He had an idea who she really was but was unsure why she kept it secret. He knew he would one day confront her about keeping her true identity a secret from him.

  Beauty was pondering a mystery of her own. She was trying to find out how the two Toms came to be accused of the grain theft. There could have been no missing grain because there had never been a theft. The same with witnesses; who could come forward to be a witness when there was nothing to see? Who had carried the tale to the Beast? Why had the Beast believed the accuser without any doubts or questions? She wanted to know who was behind the accusation and what his motive was.

  Beauty also wondered who was really behind the killing of the peasant girls. Although she would be the first to admit that this was no tame beast she lived with, indeed he was rough and insistent and never questioned his right to use brute force to get whatever he wanted, he was not needlessly cruel. As far as she could tell he was heedless to the pain of others and desensitised by his upbringing, but she sensed he derived no dark pleasure from inflicting such pain. She would never believe him capable of cold-blooded and savage murder.

  She had to admit he had committed the rapes, even the Beast admitted to them. He simply refused to see them as rapes, but he admitted them as a part of his life. Like so many men of his station in life, he considered the use of the village women as just one of the privileges of his rank.

  He really was a beast, Beauty realized, yet she just could find no hint of the monster in him. He never really beat her, except for the spankings, and most of the time they weren’t exceedingly severe.

  Although he often left her bottom well warmed and reddened, he had never left a bruise or a welt on her. It was a measure of restraint and control that the Beast never admitted. Indeed, he would deny any hint of gentleness as if it were the vilest accusation Beauty could make against him, but for the most part he wasn’t especially harsh with her.

  By contrast, those murdered girls had been savaged and mutilated. They had all been beaten half to death, and then stabbed numerous times, some almost hacked to pieces. It just was not him, and Beauty knew it. She refused to let herself see what that bit of unwavering faith might reveal about her own growing feelings for him.

  All her inquiries led to one man as being behind both problems, the accusation against the two Toms and the girls’ murders, but she had no evidence, nothing yet that could be put before the Beast as solid proof. She even believed this man might be behind other accusations against unfortunate men over the years. Men who had already been hung for petty crimes they might not have committed.

  She began to believe there was indeed a real monster in the castle, one who did these things just to gain pleasure from watching the sufferings of others. She knew she would need a great deal of solid proof because the man she suspected was one of the few men the Beast trusted. She bided her time and watched, pondering what the future could hold for her and the Beast.

  Life with the Beast was not easy at all. She did anything he asked, true to her word, and she acted loving and obedient at all times. It was hard for her though because she had to defer to him in all matters, in spite of the fact that sometimes she ached to speak out to him about her feelings and opinions. She longed for the freedom to defy him, or to even argue with him.

  Still, she’d become more relaxed around the Beast even though she often admitted to herself that she’d not yet come to feel truly comfortable around him. She had a long way to go before she could come to love him. He was still too rough and far too unreachable. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever come to care for him in even a small way and at other times another faint hope floated through her mind. Could she bring him to care for her? Could she teach him to have any small trace of tenderness or compassion? Could she tame the beast that she’d given her life over to? Would he ever come to love her? Although she admitted to herself that it was barely possible, the only way she could see to improve her life was to try to teach him how to love. The task was more difficult for her because she herself knew nothing about the love found only between a man and a woman.

  He still kept her clothed in dresses that were almost as bad as the dress she’d been wearing when they met, little more than bulky rags. They were better fitting and of much softer wool and finer linens, but they were starkly plain with no decoration. The colours he chose for her dresses were drab greys and browns, even solid black.

  He still slapped her rump at the slightest provocation, and still bent her over his knee and spanked her fairly often. The strange thing was, the very spankings themselves reassured Beauty about the Beast. Not because she enjoyed them in any way, but because even when he spanked her, he kept his temper under tight control. He was never unduly harsh or savage with her. The reason she found this so reassuring went back to her childhood.

  Beauty had rebelled during the turmoil that erupted around her several years ago when her father died. She had fought against the pain and upheavals in her life by acting spoiled and childish. Her brother, Tom, had stepped in and taken over the raising of the barely teenage girl. He took her in hand, literally, and frequently spanked her for her disobedience. Usually he spanked her over her clothes but sometimes, rarely, Tom had even spanked her bare bottom.

  The spankings Beauty got from the Beast were no worse than she’d gotten as a rebellious young girl from her own brother, who was at heart a gentle man. They were not the beatings a brutal man inflicted on a helpless woman, meant to cause real injury, possibly cripple, and even kill.

  The Beast also seemed to relax and open his mind and heart ever so slightly to Beauty every time he spanked her. Afterwards, he’d hold her and talk quietly about his life and whatever problems he was facing. She knew he didn’t realize that he did it and she didn’t quite understand why it happened. Mayhap it was his
unconscious way of making things up to her, but she enjoyed those quiet times with him, cuddling up to him and talking. The cuddling almost made the spankings worthwhile. Almost.

  Sometimes the spankings didn’t even hurt her at all, and she didn’t think they were really meant to. Sometimes they almost seemed to be in fun, almost a form of teasing. It was as if they were merely a part of the Beast’s sex play. Those times, the light spankings ended with the Beast laughing and throwing himself onto her, pressing her down deep into the mattress as he drove himself home.

  So she settled into life with the Beast. He kissed her very seldom but often used her sexually. The sex became less painful and hurried, and even more frequent. He usually took her very fast and hard with very little preliminaries. At first, the few moments of tender touching he’d given her that first night were almost never repeated. Slowly however, he began to take his time with her. He started to spend more time touching her, stroking her, preparing her body to welcome him inside her.

  Part of this was the Beast’s subconscious reaction to the extra passion of the responses he drew from Beauty when he took his time and showed her some tenderness and built her passion. He never quite took enough time though, and Beauty secretly hoped to find a way to show him what she needed. When the quick flashes of tenderness she saw buried deep within this fierce man did occur, Beauty was touched to her soul by the warmth and gentle nature hidden away inside this wounded man.

  For the most part, Beauty was philosophical. In her experience, for a woman to be frequently beaten by a husband or a master was commonplace, but for a husband or lover to care about his woman’s satisfaction was rare. In truth, she realized she fared no worse than most of the married women she knew except that she was not married; therefore she lived in sin and disgrace.

  Her only real complaints were that once or twice she had gotten a faint glimpse of what real passion and tenderness could be and she wanted to feel its full reach. She wanted that deeply. She also missed her family and her freedom. Aside from these things and her loneliness, Beauty was fairly content.