20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Demelza Carlton

  So he plodded across the flagstones, then turned and trudged back. Once he'd taken a thousand steps, he allowed himself a rest, a cup of wine, and the time to read a few pages from one of the books Ursula had brought, a history of the valley. He felt particularly excited to delve into these books. The King's library contained books written by occasional visitors to the valley. These were written by the barons themselves, men who had known this place all their lives. Perhaps they even contained the truth behind the miraculous victories the Berehaven armies had won. For Ursula's sake, he wished her father or her brother had known what these books contained so that his own father would have been driven off.

  Then again, if they had, he would never have spent the most glorious winter of his life, alone in the castle with her.

  So in small thanks for her hospitality, he would try to unlock the secrets of Berehaven's invincible, immortal army, so that she and her future husband could use them to defend the valley in future.

  He allowed himself ten pages, for then the wine cup was empty, and he had the energy to walk again.

  His long hours in the tower passed quickly now. At first, he would stop when Ursula returned, but as his steps grew surer, he forced himself to continue, for the delight in her eyes was worth every painful step.

  One day, when she headed downstairs, muttering about all the snow she'd have to shovel before she could bring up more wood, he decided it was time to leave the tower room. Not for long, and hopefully not permanently, but he would never leave here at all, unless he could tackle the stairs.

  So he bundled himself up in his warmest clothes, adding a cloak as much for padding as for warmth, in case he fell, and he opened the door.

  He rested his weight against the wall as he crept snail-like down the steps. Coming up them that first night, he hadn't noticed quite how steep they were, or how uneven. The tight spiral gave him the luxury of leaning his weight against the wall whole way down, but his leg ached with every new step that thrummed through his freshly healed bones.

  When he reached the bottom, he was torn between want to lie on the floor and rest for a very long time, and the desire to cheer such a momentous achievement. The icy floor offered him little welcome, though, and there was no point cheering, if he could not make it back up to the tower room, either. Ursula could not lift him, so he would be forced to sleep here, cold and alone, and as far from her bed as the moon itself. Not where he wanted to be at all.

  Whereas if he returned to the tower room under his own power, and shared the good news with her on her return, perhaps tonight she would be willing to take him in her mouth again, for she had quickly become so adept at this, that he wondered whether he might actually prefer it to the sex act itself. Not that he had shared Ursula's bed with her in that way, of course. He'd promised not to steal her maidenhead, and so it remained intact. His self-control slipped further every night, of course, for she was easily the most ardent lover he'd ever known.

  Her husband would be a lucky man, he reminded himself. A lucky man he intended would be him.

  There was an incentive, if ever there was one. No matter how much it hurt, he must ascend the stairs to her chamber if he wanted to share her bed tonight.

  With renewed determination, Bernard ignored the ache in his legs, and their increasingly urgent desire to flop down and never move again, and took the first painful step up, toward his heart's desire.

  Chapter 32

  When Bernard had managed to make his way down and then up the stairs again, three times in the same day without resting, he knew he was ready for more. Venturing outside into the snow and ice to help Ursula bring in fuel for the fire was a bit more ambitious than he had in mind, though. With a walking stick in one hand, he wouldn’t be able to carry much wood, anyway – he'd be more a hindrance than a help.

  If he went to the kitchen…he might manage to carry Ursula's basket up the stairs with his free hand. Of course, he had to find the kitchen first, but the castle wasn't that big. He'd find it before he had to sit down and rest, surely. The castle couldn't have anything worse than the tower stairs.

  After only a few wrong turns, he found the kitchen. He would have found it sooner if it had smelled of cooking like any normal kitchen did, but his father was to blame for that. Killing the cooks and whoever else would have worked here, so if Bernard didn't want to do the job, there was no one left who could.

  He stepped into the room, only to find he wasn't alone.

  "Gosse! I thought you were dead!" Bernard exclaimed.

  Gosse chewed and swallowed the chunk of cheese he'd been munching on before he replied, "Almost was. That storm at the beginning of the season? I'd just managed to take down a deer, when I saw it coming in. There was no shelter up in those mountains, so I just grabbed that carcass and came running back here. I left the deer in a drift along the way, when the snow got too thick to see. I missed the town, but nobody can miss a castle. The door to the servants' quarters was open, so I made it in there and holed up for a while. Then I got hungry and found some food I'd missed last time, or that's what I thought. Took me a couple of days to realise we must have missed one of the servants, who knew about a hidden stash that she'd shifted to the larder. I headed up to the tower to check on you, but it sounded like you had the girl eating out of your hand, and you were doing just fine, so I left you to it. She can do all the hard work of taking care of you, while I stay out of sight. She doesn't even know I'm here. Pretty little maid, too – you're lucky you found her first. I bet she makes a sweet bedwarmer."

  "We're not – " Bernard began, horrified.

  Gosse winked. "That's not what it sounded like to me. Besides, if she's not warming your bed, where's she sleeping? Not in the servants' quarters – I've been there for weeks and I've had them all to myself."

  Bernard's shoulders sagged. Despite all his care, he'd still ruined the poor girl's reputation, the only thing she'd had left to lose. More than ever, he needed to marry her. If she'd accept him, the penniless youngest son of the man who'd killed her family.

  "She wouldn't be the first maid to spread her legs in the hope of catching a noble husband. My advice is don't tell her you're Lord Vauquelin's youngest son until your father comes back to collect you. Out here in this backwater, I bet she doesn’t know what happened to your last mistress. Killed her in a fit of jealousy, wasn't it? Can't wield a sword to save your life, but you had no problem stabbing your own mistress for sleeping with the King."

  So Gosse had heard the gossip about Dulcinea's death. Better that than the truth. "Don't tell her. Please." She'd hate him when she knew.

  The familiar sound of a load of wood crashing to the floor turned Bernard's heart to ice. "I think it's too late for that, Bernard."

  He whirled and found himself face to face with a furious Ursula.

  She pointed at Gosse. "Who is he?"

  Gosse performed an extravagant bow. "I am Sir Gosse, mistress, one of Lord Vauquelin's sworn knights and tasked with protecting young Bernard here." He straightened and gave her a roguish wink. "If you'd like to know the difference between a man and a boy in bed, I would be delighted to show you."

  Ursula's normally warm golden eyes turned to chips of amber. "I'd sooner sleep with one of the castle rats than share a bed with either of you. As soon as the snow melts in the pass, I want you both out of here. Until then…you may stay under my roof, but stay out of my way." She turned on her heel and strode away.

  "Ursula!" Bernard reached for her, and knocked over his walking stick. By the time he'd managed to pick it up and start hobbling after her, she was gone. From the bottom of the stairs, he heard the door click shut, before the bar slammed down, locking him out of her chamber and perhaps her heart.

  He headed back to the kitchen, where Gosse had made use of the wood she'd brought in to start a fire in the kitchen grate. "I ate the last of the duck confit last week, but there's still goose," Gosse said. "Good larder they kept here."

  Bernard slumped down on the bench
by the table, his head in his hands. Gosse had ruined everything. Bernard should have told her the truth the moment they met, and let her cut out his heart then. It would have hurt less than it did now.

  Chapter 33

  For some reason, shovelling snow was a whole lot easier this morning than it had been. Oh, Ursula knew she'd been getting better at it as her strength increased, but this was different. Normally she had to crack the layers of ice before she could shovel much of anything, but today it was almost as if the ice had vanished. Or like it had melted away.

  No, surely not. Her feet were as cold in her boots as any other day she'd been out here. Ursula glanced down, realising for the first time that her boots were darker than usual, instead of crusted in snow. They were wet, and it was soaking through to her socks. Spring had started!

  She raced inside, thundering up the stairs to the tower so she could tell Bernard, but he wasn't there.

  She just stood in the middle of her chamber, shocked, before her mind began to work again. She'd seen him walking more easily every day, so it was only a matter of time before he'd attempt the stairs. She would not have been as patient as he'd been, cooped up in the tower for so long.

  Her basket was gone, and it made sense that he'd have headed for the kitchen to choose his own cooking supplies for once, so that's the direction Ursula took, too.

  She slowed as she approached the kitchen, for it sounded like Bernard was talking to herself, and she was curious as to what he might say.

  Until she realised that he was not the one talking at all – there was another man in the kitchen. A man who knew Bernard, his past, and a lot more than she did. So she stood to the side of the door, and listened.

  Lord Vauquelin…a mistress he'd killed…she could not stand in silence any more.

  Before she could think it through, Ursula marched into the kitchen, her fury ready to boil over.

  "Don't tell her, please," Bernard begged the other man.

  Oh, but it was too late for that.

  "Who is he?" she demanded, pointing at the stranger whose pointed nose and close-set eyes made her think of a rat. A very large one, who wouldn't have any trouble stealing turnips or confits or cheeses.

  Bernard appeared to have lost the power of speech, so the rat man spoke for him, introducing himself as one of Lord Vauquelin's knights as he looked her up and down like she was a piece of meat. Then he had the audacity to invite her to his bed.

  Ursula wanted to vomit. Worse, she'd allowed Bernard to share her bed, when he was little better than the sneak-thief who'd stolen her food and lived under her roof for weeks. They'd probably been swapping secrets about the castle, planning to tell Lord Vauquelin when he returned so that the bastard could rob her of everything she had left.

  She'd been so stupid. Her father was right – men were not to be trusted. She made a cutting reply and hurried out before her tears could fall.

  She'd been so ready to give her heart to Bernard, but he probably would have stabbed it, like he had the last girl he'd seduced.

  Ursula stomped up the stairs, wishing she'd actually pushed him down the stairs on the day they met, instead of him falling. Then maybe he would have broken his head, and died, instead of breaking her heart.

  Chapter 34

  Bernard didn't know what to do. He'd come down to surprise her with a nice dinner, and thanks to Gosse, he'd lost her.

  He could still make her dinner, he decided. After all, Ursula had precious little food upstairs, and she didn't know how to cook whatever she had. Perhaps that would soften her heart toward him, a little. Enough to let him apologise for not telling her who his father was. Maybe even enough so that she'd let him tell her the truth about Dulcinea, for not even the King himself knew the whole story.

  He took hours putting together the best ingredients for a stew, letting it simmer until it tasted perfect. He carried the pot upstairs, then knocked on her door, over and over, but he got no answer.

  Was she even inside? He tried the door, but it was still barred from the inside.

  "Ursula, please let me in. I'm sorry. I brought you dinner."

  No response.

  "I don't know what you heard down there, but I swear to you, it's not true."

  The door flew open and the harpy stood there, seething.

  "It's not true that you're Lord Vauquelin's son?" she demanded.

  She was going to pitch him down the stairs to his death this time, he was sure of it. Best that he give her the stewpot first.

  Bernard held out the pot as a peace offering. "I am Lord Vauquelin's son," he admitted. "But – "

  She snatched the pot out of his hand, then slammed the door and dropped the bar across it again.

  Bernard sighed. Then he headed down to the kitchen to make a second dinner, for his first one, much like the woman he loved, was beyond his reach.

  Chapter 35

  Day after day, Bernard limped up to her door, knocking and apologising, before he gave up and left a pot on the top step.

  She'd given in and opened the door the first time, but seeing the anguish on his face as he lied to her had driven her nearly mad. She'd wanted to push him down the steps, or turn him into something slimy and execrable, so instead of the handsome man who'd stolen her heart, he would look like his true self.

  But he was Lord Vauquelin's son, and if she used magic on him…no one would want to marry the witch woman of Berehaven, for he would be sure to tell everyone he knew.

  So she waited until she heard the thump-click of his walking stick fade into the distance before she dared to open the door and snatch up what was always a delicious dinner.

  She didn't understand. He was healed, and his father would soon come to take him away, and everything else he hadn't been able to steal before winter set in. Why would Bernard even want to get back into her good graces?

  For weeks, he'd fooled her into thinking he was the most perfect, most honourable man she'd ever met, when he was really the murderous son of another murderer. Like father, like son, after all.

  She didn't understand men at all.

  So when Bernard came knocking again, she swore she wouldn't let him in, or speak to him, ever again.

  Chapter 36

  Bernard carried a new pot up the stairs, trying to keep the other bundle from sliding out from under his arm as he knocked on her door.

  "Ursula, sweet Ursula, I'm sorry. I swear, I've never lied to you. Every word I've told you is the truth."

  No answer, as always. He wondered why he bothered trying. Surely she'd heard his apologies, and decided not to accept them. But he could not let her starve, so he brought her food, and each time, he hoped.

  "It's a venison stew, with the last of the chestnuts. Fresh venison, frozen in the snow. Gosse caught the deer, and I saved the best of it for you."

  Bernard held his breath. Still nothing.

  "And there's bread. It's taken me all week to work out how to make it. I wasted a lot of flour, and it's still not perfect, but it's real bread this time. Soft inside, with a crust on the outside, just like it should be. I know how much you've been wanting some."

  Only silence greeted him. Bernard sighed, and stooped to set the food on the step, as always.

  He turned and made his laborious way down the steps again.

  "How can I believe you?"

  Bernard turned so fast he lost his balance. Luckily, he fell up the stairs instead of down them this time, but not without bashing his barely healed leg. He swore.

  Then Ursula was there, trying and failing to pull him up, for her slight strength was nowhere near enough to lift him. "Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes wide with worry.

  Bernard had never grinned so widely. He barely noticed the pain any more. "I am now. Let me in, and I swear I will tell you anything you wish to know."

  "How can I believe you, after you lied to me?"

  He cupped her cheek in his hand so that he could meet her eyes. "Ursula, I swear on my life, I have never lied to you. Th
ere are things I haven't told you, but everything I have told you is the truth."

  She stared at him for a long moment, until finally, she nodded. "Fine. You may come in, but if I find you have lied to me, I shall throw you down the stairs, and this time, there won't be a miracle to save you, for we both know you will not deserve it."

  That was fair. "As you wish, my lady."

  She took a few steps back, then pointed at the big chair by the window. "You can sit there." She sat on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest.

  Bernard crossed the room and took the seat that was offered. "What would you like to know?"

  "Start with the beginning. Why were you here in the tower?"

  Bernard swallowed. This was the answer that would get him kicked down those stairs again, he was certain of it.

  "That's not the beginning. The beginning is what you want to know. Do you remember when I told you about Dulcinea, the King's mistress?" he asked.

  Ursula's eyes narrowed. "That's not what the rat knight in the kitchen said. He said the girl was your mistress, and you killed her. You told me you'd never killed anyone in your life, so I know you lied to me."

  Bernard shook his head. "I never lied to you. I have never killed anyone."

  "So she's alive, then, this mistress of yours?"

  He sighed. "No. Dulcinea is dead. For all that I didn't kill her, I did watch the light fade from her eyes as she died, holding her in my arms until there was more of her blood on me than left in her. I may as well have killed her, for if I had not done what I did, the poor girl might still be alive. Miserable, but alive."

  "Explain."

  Bernard took a deep breath. "When the King returned from his most unholy crusade, he was convinced his place in heaven was assured. He could do no wrong. So when he decided to take a nobleman's daughter as his mistress, he believed it was his right. Her father gave her up as easily as my father did me, because that's the thing about kings – you can't refuse them anything, because that would be treason.