He held her hand the entire time Mrs. Martel was wrapping the bandage, then sagged back into the big bed, still holding onto Callista. “Satisfied?” he grumbled.
“I’ll be satisfied once you’ve had a good night’s sleep.” Mrs. Martel sniffed. “Honestly, the trouble you get yourself into. You’re not a knight in shining armor to go riding into battle at the drop of a hat, and without waiting for your backup at that!”
“I’d do it again,” Griffin said staunchly.
Callista reached out and hesitantly touched his face. “You could have waited for backup,” she pointed out lightly.
He squeezed her hand. “And you might have been hurt while I waited. It wasn’t worth even the chance.”
“Might’ve gotten you hurt less.”
He was starting to drift. His voice sounded slurred as he insisted, “Worth it.”
Callista felt a single tear run down her cheek before she swiped it away. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?” Griffin’s voice was slurring even more than before.
“For coming to rescue me.”
He fell asleep with a soft smile on his face, his fingers laced through hers. It was a long time before Callista managed to convince herself to pull away; and when she did, she didn’t stray far. In spite of protests from Mrs. Martel, Mrs. Picard, and Hemsworth, she curled up in a chair in the corner of his room and watched over him as he slept, as though the only reassurance she had in the world was waking to watch his chest slowly rise and fall throughout the night.
He didn’t wake, though she did, occasionally, sitting there and quietly staring him for a little while before she reassured herself that he was all right.
He was. He had to be. He’d gotten hurt saving her, and that wasn’t fair, but he was going to be just fine, so it would be all right. She spent the night focused on him alone, never even glancing over at the windowsill, where a brilliant red rose was missing a few more of its petals than before.
Seeing his eyes open and look back at her a couple of hours past dawn the next morning was the only thing that settled the huge weight resting on her chest.
“Griffin!” She hurried over to him, catching his hand in hers again before he could try to sit up. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.” He grimaced, trying to sit up in spite of the restraining hand she had on his chest.
“You should stay still. You don’t want to pull on those stitches—”
“Callista.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly.
She sighed, knowing what was coming. Mrs. Martel had warned her: Griffin was a notoriously terrible patient, and he wouldn’t often consent to take care of himself for even a few days after an injury.
She was right.
“I’m going to be just fine,” Griffin promised her quietly. “Mrs. Martel gave me something to help me sleep last night, bless her, and I’m feeling just fine this morning.”
She folded her arms over her chest, staring him down stubbornly.
He took advantage of the fact that she wasn’t actively touching him to shove himself upright with only a small grimace of pain.
Callista’s eyes narrowed.
“See?” Griffin demanded. “Fine.”
“You aren’t fine! There’s a stab wound in your side, and your knee—”
“You aren’t going to be one of those hysterical females who falls apart every time I get injured, are you?” Griffin asked curiously.
Callista glared. “Hysterical female?” she demanded. “Do I look like a hysterical female to you?”
“Yes.” He slid his legs over the side of the bed.
“Don’t you dare try to get up on your own!” She would sit on him if she had to—though, knowing Griffin, he would probably just pick her up and carry her wherever it was that he thought he needed to go.
“There are some things a man just needs to take care of when he first wakes up,” Griffin pointed out patiently.
“That may be so,” Callista agreed, “but you’re going to wait for Hemsworth.” Who had only been convinced to go to his own bed last night after she’d assured him that she wasn’t going anywhere. At least she wasn’t the only person in the entire castle concerned with Griffin’s health—since he didn’t seem to be.
“I—”
“Ah. Good morning, Your Majesty.” Hemsworth chose precisely that moment to sweep in—perhaps because he had heard her voice as it went high and sharp. Well, good. Maybe he could convince Griffin to see sense.
“I am not going to be escorted to the bathroom like a small child!” Griffin snapped.
“Even if you’re behaving like one?” Callista demanded.
He bared his teeth at her and snarled.
She didn’t move—didn’t even take a step back. “The fact that your teeth are more impressive than mine does not change the fact that you’re going to accept assistance until I’m convinced that you’ve healed,” she informed him primly.
That was enough to make Hemsworth laugh. “She’s got you there, Your Majesty,” he informed him cheerfully. “So why don’t you just let me give you a bit of help, and you can take care of matters and tuck yourself back into bed?”
“I’m quite sure that I don’t need to spend the day in bed like an invalid!”
“Perhaps,” Hemsworth suggested, “we should take one argument at a time.”
Griffin growled again. Hemsworth looked no more moved than Callista was. Both of them were perfectly confident that no matter how frustrated he might be, he wouldn’t actually hurt either one of them.
It gave them a great deal of confidence that they might not otherwise have had—and as it turned out, they weren’t as far off the mark as Griffin would have liked them to be. He went white when he levered himself to his feet, his knee clearly screaming at him.
“Your Majesty,” Hemsworth began.
“I am going to the restroom,” Griffin said flatly. “If it kills everyone in this room.”
He made it; but it was clear that he was relieved to be back in his bed when the excursion was over, too.
Callista fluttered around him, gently tucking the covers back around him, propping pillows behind him so that he could sit up without quite so much pain. She was well aware that he was doing his best to conceal it—and equally well aware that he was failing.
“I’ll have to see if someone can dig out the crutches I used when I broke my leg as a child,” Griffin grumbled. “It looks like this is going to take a while to heal.” The words were said so grudgingly that it brought a smile to her face.
“I don’t think that particular set of crutches will do you a great deal of good,” she pointed out quietly. “You’re quite a bit taller now than you were as a child.”
Griffin made a face at her. “You aren’t supposed to shatter my illusions,” he informed her.
“Right. My apologies,” she teased. “I meant, ‘of course those crutches will be exactly what you need.’”
He stuck out his tongue.
Callista giggled.
He stared at her face, and she blushed.
“What?”
“It’s just—” He sighed. “It’s good to see you bouncing back all right,” he admitted. “I was worried that you might be upset by what happened, that it might have shaken you.” Head down, he admitted, “I didn’t want that to happen.”
“I’m all right. You got to them before they could hurt me.” She had a few bruises—bruises that, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t going to let Griffin see any time soon.
“Good.” He leaned back against his pillows, looking tired. She twined her fingers together, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his face.
“We could see if there are taller crutches in town,” Callista suggested softly, to hide the urge before he noticed it.
“I don’t know if that’s even possible.” He grimaced. “If you’ll recall, I am over seven feet tall.”
“It’s hard to see right now,” she teased.
That brought a smile to his lips. “Is it? I mean, I could stand up, if you need the reminder,” he offered.
“You just stay right there,” she shot back. “Hm…what about a craftsman? Could we have one made?”
“And give them what reason?” Griffin sighed. “The knee will be stronger in a few days, Callista. I’ll just have to be patient until then.”
“In pain every time you try to take a step until then, you mean,” she grumbled. “I could at least go see what can be done. It can’t hurt, right?”
“I don’t really want you going down to town on your own,” he admitted grimly.
“I’m not taking Hemsworth with me when you need him here.”
“I’ll be all right if you’re only gone for a couple of hours,” he coaxed. “And you’re right that the crutches would really help me.”
“I don’t want to leave.” She hadn’t meant to say that. It revealed too much of her heart.
He studied her face. “Are you afraid?” he asked cautiously.
“No.” She wasn’t—at least, she wouldn’t be as long as someone went down to the town with her.
She was brave. She wasn’t feeling particularly stupid this morning.
“Then go—and take Hemsworth with you,” Griffin encouraged her. “Perhaps between the two of you, you’ll be able to come up with something that will convince someone you need a crutch for a seven-foot-tall man.”
“Can I have breakfast with you first?” she teased.
He laughed. “I suppose we can arrange for that.” Since Mrs. Martel was standing in the doorway, a large tray laden with food for two in her hands, it wasn’t even going to be difficult.
Mrs. Martel cleared her throat softly. “I could go with Callista,” she suggested.
Griffin blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you won’t want to be without assistance if you do need to get up.” The look she gave him left no doubt how she felt about even the suggestion that he might try to get himself up. “So—so I’ll go with her, and take Martel as escort.” The words were soft, but gaining in assurance each time she said them.
“But you don’t ever leave the castle,” Callista pointed out quietly.
Mrs. Martel bustled around, placing the tray in front of Griffin and taking the lids off of serving dishes to give her a moment to collect herself before she said, “I’ve been afraid to leave.” Her voice was very small.
“Oh, come, now,: Griffin began.
“I know that the curse is based on love—that those who love you could not forget you. I understand it, Griffin, but I’ve still been terrified. So many others have left; and I can only imagine that the curse has grown stronger with the years that have passed, not weaker. What if my affection for you is no longer enough?”
“Your husband—”
“My husband doesn’t remember your name!” She set down a cup with more force than was absolutely necessary, sloshing orange juice over the side. “He calls you ‘my master’ and ‘the one up in the big house,’ as though we haven’t worked for the castle since we were teenagers!”
Griffin didn’t say a word, just looking at her in silence. Callista had the feeling that he wasn’t altogether surprised, in spite of the fact that her husband worked for the stables.
“But—” Mrs. Martel took a deep breath. “Callista doesn’t need to go by herself; and Bryan will go with us. He’s a good man, for all that he can’t remember you.” Her lips trembled a little as she reached out and gently patted the side of Griffin’s face.
“Hemsworth,” Griffin began again.
“It’s all right, Griffin.” Her lips firmed, even curled into something like a smile. “I can’t stay in the castle forever, after all.”
“You won’t forget me,” he informed her. “How could you? You were the first person to ever feed me solid food, remember?”
She laughed softly. “How could I forget? You spat it all over me, little imp that you were.”
“I turned out all right.” He reached out and picked up a piece of bacon—more, Callista thought, to have something to do with his hands than because he actually wanted it. “I think you worry too much.”
“And I think you worry not enough, so it’s likely that there’s truth somewhere in the middle.” She patted his cheek again. “I’m going to go down and let Bryan know. I think we’ll take the cart today, if that’s all right with both of you.” She curtsied to Callista, then Griffin.
“Take whatever you need,” Griffin said immediately.
“I’m comfortable with the cart,” Callista agreed. “I don’t think we’ll want to carry a great tree of a crutch back with us, if they can manage to make one.”
Griffin made a face at her. “You don’t have to go,” he informed her, more seriously than he had said the same to Mrs. Martel. “Those men—”
“Those men won’t be bothering anyone today,” Callista informed him. “And anyway, I’m not going alone, remember?”
Griffin didn’t look reassured.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Forgetting
“He’s going to fret until we come back, isn’t he?” Callista demanded with a sigh as she climbed into the cart—just a plain cart, the one used to go to the market, rather than Griffin’s more elegant carriage. She had tried to convince Mrs. Martel to take the latter, but the older woman had flat refused—had, in fact, looked so uncomfortable at even the suggestion that Callista had decided against pushing the issue.
“He worries about you when you’re gone,” Mrs. Martel pointed out softly. “Griffin has always been a good boy, and it’s clear that he cares deeply for you.”
“He asked for my permission to court me,” Callista admitted, blushing faintly. It was the first time she’d mentioned it to the servants—the first time she’d thought to, even though she knew full well that the curse trapped them just as surely as it did Griffin.
“I’d heard mention of that.” Mrs. Martel’s eyes sparkled. “And what do you think? I saw the way you looked at him when he was hurt—could you fall in love with him?”
Callista blushed brighter, but nodded once, a little hesitantly.
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Martel beamed. “I thought things might be going that way,” she admitted. “That you might be the one we’ve all been waiting for all this time, that is.”
“Do you really think he’s falling in love with me?” Callista hated that her voice sounded that vulnerable as she asked the question, but she couldn’t quite take the waver out of it, either.
“I think he is more in love with you than even he knows.” Mrs. Martel leaned over and patted her leg. “I’ve never seen him leap into action to defend a young lady quite like that before, you know.”
“Oh, well.” If they kept this up, her cheeks were going to illuminate the path beneath the trees until it was as bright as day! “I don’t think—I mean, most of the girls who have been here probably had the sense to keep themselves from being attacked in the woods.”
“Most of the girls who have been here would never have been able to move back and forth freely between the woods and the town,” Mrs. Martel corrected her gently. “Now, tell me—where is it you’re planning to go? I don’t know the shops in town as well as I used to.”
“There’s a carver over by the bookshop—I’ve looked at his work before. Some of it is beautiful,” Callista confessed.
“Indeed.” Mrs. Martel smiled. “And does he do fast work? Because what we’re asking of him isn’t easy.”
“I think he can.” Callista chewed on her lower lip. She was hoping that he could. She desperately wanted Griffin to be able to come downstairs for Christmas, and she knew full well that he would push himself to do it even if he wasn’t feeling up to it. He would insist that he was doing it for himself; but there was a very large part of the gesture that would be just for her, and she didn’t want him to cause himself even that little bit of pain if there was any way around it.
Mrs. Martel, sensing her dis
comfort, turned the discussion to other things: to Christmas dinner; to the decorations they were still planning for the house; to the gifts that she had hidden away for Griffin, planning to slip them beneath the tree on Christmas Eve.
“I hope he isn’t too worried about giving me a gift,” Callista fussed, chewing on her lower lip. “I know he’s not able to go down to town to choose something for himself, and honestly, I just—”
“Do you take pleasure in giving him gifts?” Mrs. Martel cut in.
Callista nodded, feeling that telltale blush slide across her cheeks again.
“Then can you imagine that he might take the same pleasure in giving gifts to you?” she prompted gently.
Callista blushed even harder. “I—”
“Let the boy fret a little,” Mrs. Martel told her warmly. “He’ll do wonderfully—Griffin always had a touch for that sort of thing—and it will bring him pleasure.”
“You promise?” Callista’s voice was soft. “Mrs. Martel, I know what everyone says—that they think I might be the one to break the curse—but you know I’m not really princess material. I keep thinking that sooner or later, he’s going to, I don’t know, wake up and see that, you know?”
“Oh, Callista.” Mrs. Martel squeezed her hand firmly. “Darling, at this point, no one gives a whit what you look like. Your heart—you have the heart of a princess, and that’s far more important than anything else.”
“I don’t look much like one.” There it was: the sticking point she’d tried to avoid even thinking about. It was, she knew, why all of her sisters had come first—why Erin and Millie had been given the chance, even though it would interfere with their careers, while she’d been closeted away at home.
“Then maybe appearances are deceiving, darling.” Mrs. Martel squeezed her hand again. “Ah—here we are.” She looked around, clearly taking in the sights. “It does look lovely, all fixed up for the holidays, doesn’t it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Callista agreed; but her heart wasn’t in the words. Just yesterday, she had been delighted to see all the town had to offer.
Today, she just wanted to get back to Griffin and reassure herself that he wasn’t doing something foolish in her absence.
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