"I checked the kitchen, the larder, the store rooms, even the wine cellar. They're all empty. We saw them take cask after cask out of the castle, until there was nothing left to take. It matters not whether we sleep here or return to our houses – we will starve to death before spring." The man who'd spoken stamped the snow from his boots and headed for the fire to warm his hands.
Cries of disbelief came from those around him, and half a dozen pulled on cloaks, preparing to go outside and see for themselves.
Ursula rose and marched to the fire. "He's right. Lord Vauquelin's army took everything of value, and left. I searched every house myself. He took your winter supplies. He killed my father, my brothers, and then he took….everything."
"Mistress Ursula, you should rest," Aleka said, but her concern was drowned out by calls for Ursula to tell them what had happened inside the castle, for no one who had gone in had returned.
She took a deep breath, and began. Everything, from the soldier in her chamber to taking the tunnel to the cave where she'd slept. "And when I woke up, I found a bear family sleeping there beside me, so I left as quietly as I could, and came back to town," she finished.
"Bears!"
"They have returned!"
"The bears will save us!"
"They will defend us, just like before!"
The cries came from children, their eager eyes shining in the darkness. Their parents quickly hushed them.
It seemed they'd also heard her grandfather's tales, but only children would believe them. "One of the bears was a newborn cub, scarcely larger than one of our babies. I'm sure they only came because the cave was a quiet place where no one goes. I am only here because they preferred to sleep instead of attacking me," Ursula said.
A man her father's age rose. "Sounds like they're hibernating to me. A sleeping bear would surely wake if there was an intruder in their cave, especially with a cub so young. Besides, bears birth when they are hibernating."
Ursula waved her hand. "Sleeping, hibernating…it is all the same to me, and as far from fighting as we can get. Besides, what would they fight? The invaders have left, taking everything with them before the pass closed. Even if we followed them, managed to catch up with them and demanded they give back what they took, there would be little left. An army that size would eat our winter supplies in a matter of days. But if we stay here…" They would all starve. She didn't say the words, but she was certain they all thought them.
"If we stay here, our only chance of survival is to hibernate like bears," someone said.
Several people laughed.
"But we're not bears," someone else muttered.
But they could be. Ursula's mouth went dry as the idea took hold. If she disobeyed her father's orders, she could magic people into bears, so that they could hibernate. Well, maybe she could. She'd never tried to turn anyone into anything larger than a rat or mouse, but surely a bear couldn't be so different.
"I might be able to help with that," she said, so softly she hoped no one heard.
But of course they did.
People turned and stared.
"No one's had the Gift in nigh over a hundred years. Maybe even two hundred," the hibernation expert said.
Other men nodded.
"What Gift?" Ursula asked.
"The Gift that turns the people of Berehaven back into bears. We were all bears once, you know, and the first Baron had the power to turn us into men. But when the valley is threatened, he turned everyone into bears again, the better to defend the valley." The hibernation expert puffed out his chest. "One bear has the strength of at least ten men, you know. Why, a dozen bears could have taken on that whole army!" He peered at her. "If you have the Gift, then turn me into a bear right now!"
She hesitated. "I've only ever turned my brothers into mice. Never anything so big as a bear."
"Have you tried, girl?"
Ursula shook her head. "My father…"
"Well, Baron Orson isn't here to do the job, so as his daughter, you'll have to do. Now, can you turn me into a bear or not?" the man demanded.
Ursula bit her lip, waiting until she tasted blood to fuel the spell. It only needed a drop, but she wanted to be sure. She closed her eyes, thinking of the snoring he-bear. Hibernating he-bear. Whatever. She felt the magic flow out of her, shaping into the spell she told it to, infusing the man before her. It was certainly doing something to him, though she didn't know what. And she wouldn't, until she dared to open her eyes.
And met the dark brown eyes of a bear, wearing the most human look of surprise Ursula had ever seen on an animal's face.
People clapped, and the bear grinned, displaying a mouth full of fangs.
Ursula took a deep breath, and changed him back again.
Cheers erupted around her.
The former bear looked delighted. "Do that again!"
Other people clamoured for her to change them, too.
Aleka let out a piercing whistle that silenced them all. "The girl's lost her family, not eaten a bite for two days, and scarcely slept in that time, either. Let her rest. In the morning, when she is not dead on her feet, then we will see how many of us she can save. One night won't make a difference."
Around her, men and women muttered their agreement as they retreated into the shadows to lie in their own beds, or at least the pallets where they planned to sleep.
Ursula thanked Aleka, and started to stumble back to bed, more exhausted than she'd realised.
"It's us who should be thanking you. If you have the Gift of your ancestors, you have the power to save us all. You're the true mistress of Berehaven, and every one among us will defend you to the death," Aleka said.
More blood on her hands? Didn't she already have enough? If her father had already negotiated the marriage with Lord Vauquelin's son, then he might not have felt the need to attack, and her family would still be alive. Durward would still be alive.
Ursula mumbled something that seemed to satisfy Aleka, before climbing wearily beneath the blankets. She fell asleep the moment her head touched the straw.
Chapter 11
The bread and ham was long gone, and Bernard feared he'd run out of water soon, as he'd used most of it to soak the food into something soft enough to chew. Gosse had not returned from his night in the baron's bed. He wondered what Gosse would say if he told him he'd spent many nights in a king's bed, and it was not something he'd wish on any man. Or boy, though his father had wished it on him. Had his father known about the King's tastes when he'd sent Bernard to court?
Bernard wasn't sure what was worse – if his father had known, but sent him anyway, or if he didn't know and probably wouldn't believe a word of it if Bernard told him the truth.
Ah, what did it matter, anyway? His father was on his way home, the King and his court would never come here, and Bernard was likely to die of starvation or infection or something else equally horrible before spring. And the King's dirty secrets would die with him.
About the time the fire died out completely, Gosse returned, carrying a sack and a thunderous expression.
"This is what Lord Vauquelin left us as supplies for the winter." He upended the sack on the table.
Carrots, a few apples, half a small ham, a cheese that looked like it had seen better days…
"That won't last us a week," Bernard said.
Gosse nodded. "The good news is there is plenty of wood cut. Enough to keep the fire burning in here for a year or more. I'll bring up some more wood before it gets dark. There is water aplenty, or we can melt snow, but if I do not stumble across a great storehouse of foodstuffs in that tiny village down by the river, I'm going to have to go hunting." He pointed at the sack. "It might not last both of us a week, but it is more than enough for a sick man for that time. For it might take me a week to find something worth shooting to bring back."
Bernard swallowed. A week, alone and helpless in this castle? What if there were vengeful ghosts? What if the harpy returned?
He almo
st laughed at himself. Ghosts and harpies? He should be more worried that his father's men had missed someone, someone very much alive and real and seeking revenge.
"Help me make a bed on the floor, nearer the fire, so I can keep it burning while you are gone," Bernard said. At the disgusted look on the knight's face, he added, "Please. For if you don't, the fire will most definitely go out, and how would you explain to my father that you let his son freeze to death?"
Gosse grudgingly agreed, and he even helped Bernard shift from the bed to the pallet by the hearth, an excruciatingly painful exercise that had them both swearing. Bernard knew it would be some time before he'd manage to leave the tower, if ever.
It wasn't until he'd left that Bernard thought to ask for a cooking pot, and by then it was too late. Bernard sighed. He'd give everything he owned for a single kitchen maid to have survived his father's massacre, a maid who might look kindly on him and nurse him back to health. For between Gosse's glowering and cursing, Bernard feared that this time, the knight might not come back.
And if he didn't…
Bernard swallowed.
If Gosse didn't return, then Bernard might have to choose between dying of starvation or freezing. Perhaps he would get to put his sword to good use after all.
Chapter 12
Ursula had never performed so many spells in her life. If she'd known how exhausting it would be, perhaps she might not have offered…but then, what was a little work, when it meant her people would live through the winter? It wasn't like she had anything better to do, and this was as least useful. Sitting in her tower all day stitching yet another tapestry helped no one, least of all herself. For who really needed a new tapestry, anyway?
It took her a week before she'd turned the last men into bears. Mothers and children had been first, then those too old to fight, before their menfolk on the final day.
That night, she stretched out on the same pallet that had been hers since she arrived, and waited. She didn't have to wait long. Bears fell asleep faster than people, she'd found, not that she would ever know why. For her magic had one weakness – she could change anyone else into a beast, but the magic wouldn't work on her own body.
The sky was clear tonight, and the full moon rose high above the cliffs, lighting her path. She'd taken the last of the food in the bears' cave – a small pouch of oats and a piece of cheese. No one else would need it. Not before spring. And by then, some other creature might have stolen it anyway.
Ursula considered hiding in one of the houses in town for a day, but that would be cowardly, and what would be the point? The castle was her home, and if anywhere had the stores to see her through to spring, it would be her father's castle. The townspeople might be as much a part of Berehaven as she was, but the secrets of the castle had been passed down through her family, and those who had served them for generations. Under the castle was a veritable labyrinth of caves, cellars and passages, which took days to fully explore. Lord Vauquelin's men couldn't have found all of them.
The castle was dark – not a single torch was lit. She didn't need light to see her way, though – she had lived within these walls all her life. She moved on soundless feet up to where her family's apartments were, the only sign of life anywhere. She paused outside her father's chamber, expecting to see Geoffrey's body still lying where he fell, but the stones were empty.
Lord Vauquelin's men had even taken the bodies. Ursula prayed they'd given them a decent burial. On the morrow, she would search the castle grounds for the graves.
But now, she wanted to retire to her own bed, in her own chamber. A place where there would be no bodies, no blood, and no bears.
She crept upwards, following the spiral stair to the bedchamber where she'd slept every night of her life, excepting this past week. She wanted to fall into bed and forget all of this had ever happened, if only for one night.
Ursula pushed the door open and hesitated on the threshold. The room smelled strange, stale, like it had been shut up too long. She would throw the shutters open and air it in the morning, she told herself sleepily, stumbling toward the bed. She tumbled into the feather mattress, sinking deep into its softness. So much nicer than the hard floor of a cave, even cushioned by a thin layer of straw.
All she had left to do was dream of better days, which she soon did.
Chapter 13
Dawn found Ursula in the kitchen, attempting to light the fire. Tinder and kindling she had aplenty, and she'd seen the servants lay enough fires to know how it was done, but without a flint to light the thing, she was lost. She searched the kitchen in the early morning light, but came up empty. Lord Vauquelin's thieving army had stolen even the flint from the kitchen, the bastards.
She had one in her chamber, which should hopefully still be there. Sighing, she trudged up the stairs, bucket of water in one hand and pot of oats in the other, the spoon clinking in the pot with every second step. If there was anyone left in the castle, they couldn't help but hear her.
Still, she did nothing to silence the sound. As the only person awake in the valley, it was comforting to hear some sign of life. It was almost like not being alone.
Ursula pushed open the door with her elbow and set the pot and bucket on the hearth. Sure enough, her tinderbox was still here, so she busied herself laying and lighting a fire. It was better this way – she'd want the warmth of it in here, and it was too much work to keep the kitchen fire going and the one up here. Especially if she had to carry the wood up from the yard, for there was precious little here.
She thanked heaven that the fire caught quickly, but still she held her breath as she placed a log on the fire. She almost cheered when it began to burn. But that log was all she had, and it would not last long. Ursula set the pot of oats on the hearth, in the same spot her maids had placed her breakfast to keep warm for as long as she could remember, and pulled on her cloak to go fetch more wood.
In the yard, she was delighted to discover the one thing Vauquelin's army hadn't stolen – the wood pile, now hidden under a thin layer of snow. She knocked the logs against one another to dislodge the snow, before piling them into a half barrel to carry upstairs.
When she'd filled the tub, she tried to lift it, but she couldn't. Swearing softly, she tipped out half the wood and tried again. Better. At least it would be enough for the day – she could come down for more when she'd eaten her breakfast, which would surely be ready by now. How long did oats take to cook, anyway?
She tipped the firewood on the stone floor and reached for the pot with her gloved hands. She pulled one glove off so that she could grasp the spoon, stirring it before lifting a spoonful to her lips.
She almost spat it out again. A spoonful of cold water with gritty, uncooked oats wasn't a fit breakfast for pigs, let alone herself.
Ursula hung the pot on the hook over the fire, where her maid usually put a kettle when she wanted a hot tisane to help her sleep.
Then she headed outside for more wood, as there was no point watching water boil, or whatever it did.
The firewood made a satisfying clatter as she tipped it out, and by her third trip, she thought she might have enough to do her for a few days. Her arms ached from the unaccustomed work, which she hoped she wouldn't have to do again for a while.
Surely now her breakfast was ready.
The pot was bubbling, which was probably a good sign. She fished out a spoon of the stuff and lifted it to her lips.
"What are you making?"
Shocked at the sudden male voice, Ursula tipped the whole spoonful into her mouth, scalding her tongue. She swore, then fumbled at her belt for a weapon, putting her back to the wall.
"Get out of my chamber!" she hissed, brandishing her eating knife.
Chapter 14
Bernard slipped in and out of consciousness, helped in no small part by his magic potion. Sleeping so much meant he had less appetite. He had no idea how long it had been since Gosse left, but as he was now down to one last, wrinkled apple, he figured it m
ust be at least a week. He needed more food, more wood, more water, and hadn't the physician said his bandages would need changing about now?
If only his leg would stop hurting. He'd never known pain like this before, and more than once he'd considered using his own sword to end it. But he was not that desperate yet.
Twice, he'd woken to find the fire had gone out, and he'd had to relight it, or freeze. But that couldn't be the case this time, he thought. The fire burned merrily in the grate, and something was bubbling on the hook above it. Gosse must have returned.
Bernard sat up, taking a deep breath so that he might savour the smell of whatever Gosse was cooking over the fire. He was disappointed to smell little more than boiling water.
Perhaps it was to change his bandages. That thought perked him up a little. He'd ask Gosse how hunting had gone, and perhaps they would be feasting on fresh meat before the day was done. His mouth watered at the prospect.
The door opened, and Bernard opened his mouth to greet the knight, and thank him for returning. For, truth be told, Bernard had not truly believed the man would return. After all, if his own father did not care whether he lived or died, how little could his life mean to some random knight?
But Bernard's voice died in his throat as he saw who emerged. A maiden in a dull brown dress, carrying a tub full of wood, stepped into the room, and dropped her burden on the flagstones. She did not seem to care how much noise she made, or acknowledge him at all.
Perhaps she did not like having to serve the son of the man who had killed her compatriots. Bernard could understand that. He watched her for a moment, as she knelt on the hearth to taste the contents of the pot.
Curiosity overcame his caution, and Bernard asked her what she was cooking.
The effect was immediate. The girl dropped the spoon, swearing, with words mild enough to have come from the lips of a court lady, before she backed up against the wall, and drew her dagger.
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 5