She thought of all Lady Trevayne had said, all Erik had said, and knew she couldn’t run away, couldn’t hide inside the house. She would go to Charmion and beg the witch to lift the curse.
She felt a sense of calm, of resignation, as she made her decision. She had failed Erik once. She would not fail him again.
She rose early the following morning. Sneaking out of the house, she went to the barn and saddled Misty, then led the horse outside to the mounting block.
She was congratulating herself on getting away, unseen, when Brandt rounded the corner. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he blinked up at her, obviously surprised to see her out and about so early in the day.
“Good morrow, my lady,” he said. He covered a yawn with his hand. “Why did you not tell me you were riding this morning? I would have had Misty ready for you.”
Kristine smiled brightly. “I felt like an early ride, that’s all. There was no need to bother you when I can saddle my own horse.”
Brandt nodded, then yawned again. “No trouble at all, my lady. Next time you come, wake me up.”
“I will.”
“Enjoy your ride,” he said, and walked past her into the barn.
Touching her heels to Misty’s flanks, Kristine urged the mare into a canter. Charmion lived at the top of Cimmerian Crag. If she hurried, she could be there before nightfall.
Chapter Fifteen
Erik stayed away for four days before returning to the hunting lodge. He knew as soon as he entered the dwelling that she was gone. There was a hollowness inside, a feeling of emptiness.
He stood before the fireplace, his heart as cold as the ashes in the hearth. Why, of all places, had she stumbled upon this one? It had been the one place where there were no memories of Kristine to haunt him, but that was changed now. He could smell her scent all around him, had only to close his eyes to picture her sitting on the settee, lying in his bed, kneeling at his feet as she washed the blood from his wounds. But the memory that tormented him most was the look of complete and total horror on her face when she’d seen him for what he was.
A moan rumbled low in his throat, deepening to a growl. He stared at his left hand, at the thick pads, the long claws. He would never caress a woman with that hand again, he mused, nor lift a glass of wine.
He would never hold his child. . ..
Throwing back his head, he let out a long, anguished cry that emerged from his throat in a wolflike howl, echoing off the walls and spilling into the night. A moment later, he heard an answering howl from the woods, where it was picked up by another, and then another, until the air rang with the melancholy sounds.
He went to the window and stared out into the night, and knew he had to go back to Hawksbridge Castle, had to know that Kristine had made it safely home.
He had to see her just one more time, had to know that she would be well and truly cared for. How many times, he mused ruefully, how many times had he promised himself just one more time? But this would have to be the last.
Heavy-hearted, he swung into the saddle and started for home.
“Gone? What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know, my lord.” Mrs. Grainger took a step backward, alarmed by the rage blazing in Trevayne’s eyes. “Brandt was the last to see her. He said she went riding day before yesterday. She never came back. I sent Gilbert to the lodge to tell you, but there was no one there.” She twisted her apron in her hands. “I’m sorry, my lord. We’ve looked everywhere.”
“She didn’t say anything to anyone?”
“No one here, my lord.”
Had he driven her away, then, frightened her so badly with his monstrous appearance that she had fled Hawksbridge? She had no family, no friends. Where would she go?
“My lord?”
“What is it?”
“She went to see your mother.”
“What? When?”
“The day before she disappeared. She asked me how far it was to the convent at St. Clair. I never dreamed she would go there alone.”
He was gone from the room before the woman finished speaking.
Outside, he swung onto the stallion’s back and urged the weary horse into a gallop. His mother! Why had Kristine gone to see his mother?
The convent was locked up tight when he arrived. Refusing to be thwarted, he rang the bell, then pounded on the heavy wooden door until someone came to answer it.
A woman peered at him through a small barred window cut into the door. “Yes?”
He turned so that his left side was hidden in the darkness. “I must see Lady Trevayne.”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but everyone is asleep. Come back tomorrow.”
“I cannot wait until tomorrow.”
“I am sorry, my lord.”
“I’m her son. I’m sure she will see me.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” the nun repeated firmly, “but no one is allowed inside the convent after dark.” And with that, she closed the portal.
It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to smother the rage that bubbled up inside him, to keep from breaking down the door.
Wrestling with the beast struggling to break free inside him, he whirled away from the door and strode into the night.
He was at the convent door early the following morning. A different nun answered the bell.
“I need to see Lady Trevayne,” he said. “It’s urgent.”
“She is just now breaking her fast.”
He clenched his hands. “I’m her son. I’m sure she would wish to see me.”
“Very well.” The nun took a step backward, her eyes widening as she got a clear glimpse of his mask. “Just wait in there.” She gestured to a door on her left, then hurried down the corridor.
Erik entered the room she had indicated. It was a sitting room of sorts, with a fireplace, a sofa covered in a dark fabric, a low table, and several chairs. He assumed it was here that the nuns visited with family and friends.
He paced the floor, his steps restless, impatient.
“Erik.”
He came to an abrupt halt at the sound of his mother’s voice. He took a deep breath and then turned to face her.
“Mother.”
Lady Trevayne’s gaze moved quickly over her son. He had once been tall and strong and handsome. Now, a black mask covered half of his face. She noted the subtle changes in his posture, noted that his gloved left hand seemed malformed, as did the shape of his boots. His voice, too, was changed.
“Are you well, Erik?”
“Where is Kristine?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s gone. No one knows where.”
“Gone?”
Erik watched the color drain from his mother’s face, felt the first tendrils of fear twine around his heart. “She came here, did she not?”
“Yes.” Lady Trevayne sat down heavily, her shoulders sagging. “Charmion. She’s gone to Charmion.”
“What!” he roared. “Why would she go there?”
“She wanted to know what she could do to help you. She seemed to think she could persuade Charmion to lift the curse.”
“You told her?” He stared at his mother in disbelief. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“She’s your wife, Erik. Who has a better right to know the truth?”
He paced the floor, his right hand clenching and unclenching. “Why did you let her go?”
“I tried to talk her out of it, truly I did. I warned her that Charmion would have no pity, that it would be dangerous not only for her, but for her child.” Lady Trevayne gazed at her son, her arms aching to hold him, to comfort him as she had when he was a lad. “She loves you very much.”
Erik stared at his mother. “What are you talking about?”
“Kristine loves you. She told me so in this very room. Why else would she risk her life and that of her child?”
Erik closed his eyes. Could it be true? Did Kristine love him? And what if she did? It solved nothing.
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“You are going after her, are you not?”
“Of course.” She had been gone for four days. He had no doubt that if she had reached Cimmerian Crag, she was being held there against her will.
“Hurry, Erik. My prayers will go with you.”
He took a step forward, then stopped. “I’m sorry I sent you away. It was wrong of me.”
“I should not have let you send me away when you most needed me,” his mother replied quietly. “That was wrong of me.” She smiled up at him, her eyes damp with tears. “Come, kiss me good-bye.”
“I’ll find her,” he promised, and bending down, he kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll send Chilton to bring you home.”
“There’s no need. I am content here.”
“Kristine will need you.” The words when I’m gone hovered, unspoken, between them.
“As you wish. Go with God, my son,” Lady Trevayne said. She watched him leave the room, and then she went into the chapel to pray.
She had a four-day head start on him. That was all Erik could think about as he raced back to Hawksbridge Castle. He wanted to hurry toward Charmion’s dark castle, but instead he swung by Hawksbridge, hoping, praying that he would find Kristine there, but it was not to be.
He stayed just long enough to change his clothes and arm himself, though he feared his weapons would be little protection against Charmion’s witchcraft.
Mrs. Grainger pressed a burlap bag into his hands as he went out the kitchen door. “She’ll be fine, I know she will.”
With a curt nod, he took the sack of foodstuffs and ran toward the stable.
Brandt and Gilbert had replaced Raven’s sweaty saddle blanket with a dry one. The stallion had been brushed, his hooves cleaned. Erik stuffed a bag of oats into one of his saddlebags, the sack of food into the other.
“We’ll be praying for her, my lord,” Brandt said as he handed Erik the reins. “All of us.”
Gilbert’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Godspeed, my lord.”
With a nod, Erik swung into the saddle. Kristine had won all their hearts, he mused as he rode out of the yard. Heaven knew she had his.
Leaving the manor grounds, Erik urged Raven northward, ever northward, his heart burning with a cold and bitter rage.
“Please, please, please . . .” Just that one word, repeating over and over again.
Please don’t let me be too late.
Please don’t let Charmion take her hatred for me out on Kristine and the babe.
If anything happened to Kristine, he would never forgive himself.
He lifted his left hand, the long black claws hidden beneath a leather glove. If anything had happened to Kristine, he would rip Charmion’s heart from her body.
As the morning wore on, dark clouds gathered overhead, blanketing the sun. Lightning slashed through the lowering skies. He heard the low roar of distant thunder.
Raven snorted and tossed his head.
A blinding flash of lightning sizzled across the skies, unleashing a torrent of icy rain. Erik huddled deeper into his heavy cloak. Driven by an ever-growing sense of urgency, he bypassed the shelter of a small town he passed along the way.
An hour later, he reined the stallion to a halt, giving the big horse a much-needed rest.
Dismounting, Erik patted the weary horse on the neck, then paced back and forth for a few minutes to stretch his legs. Taking shelter under a tree, he braced one shoulder against the trunk and closed his eyes.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by a half dozen men brandishing weapons. They wore the drab clothes of peasants.
“We’re here fer yer money, yer lordship,” said the man standing directly in front of Erik. He wore a ragged cloak, a dingy white shirt, trousers in need of mending, and a black top hat cocked at a rakish angle. It added a rather incongruous note to the rest of his attire.
“And yer horse,” added a tall, skinny lad with a mouthful of rotten teeth. “’Tis as fine a piece of horseflesh as ever I’ve seen.”
Pushing away from the tree, Erik lowered the hood of his cloak. The men gaped at him when they saw the mask.
“Looks like he’s one of us!” exclaimed a short, stocky man wearing a tattered jacket, and a stocking cap.
A few of the men laughed nervously.
“Why the mask?” Rotten Teeth asked.
“That’s my business.”
“I’m afraid not, yer lordship,” Top Hat replied. “Take it off.”
Erik shook his head. “No.” He tensed as the man in front of him cocked his pistol. The other men did likewise.
“Take it off.”
“No.”
“Stubborn, ain’t he?” Stocking Cap said. He drew a knife from inside his shabby jacket and ran his thumb over the blade. “I could maybe persuade him for ya.”
Top Hat nodded. “Have at him, Harry.”
Harry grinned, exposing a row of crooked yellow teeth. Tossing the blade from hand to hand, he swaggered forward.
Erik took a step backward. He should just take the mask off, he thought. No doubt the sight of his face would scare the devil out of them, but he could not bring himself to do it.
“The mask,” Harry said, pointing at it with the tip of his knife. “Take it off and show us what yer hiding.”
Erik reached into his pocket and withdrew his purse. “Take the money.”
“We will,” Top Hat said. “Have no fear of that.”
“All in good time,” Harry said. Grinning, he reached for a corner of the mask.
Rage boiled up inside Erik. It spilled out in a growl as his hands closed around Harry’s throat. Lifting the man off his feet, he hurled him away as if he weighed nothing at all.
Top Hat yelled, “Kill him!” and fired his pistol.
Erik reeled backward, his hand clutching his right shoulder. The other men fired their weapons as well. One ball struck him in the left arm, another struck him low in the left side. With a roar of pain and rage, he lunged forward, but the men scattered like chickens before a fox.
He saw one of the men spring onto Raven’s back. Leaning out of the saddle, the man grabbed Harry’s arm and swung him up behind him in the saddle, and then they were gone.
Soaked to the skin, his wounds bleeding profusely, Erik sank to his knees.
“Kristine.” He murmured her name as darkness descended on him. “Kristine . . .”
He woke slowly, frowning into the darkness, his nostrils filling with a sharp feral odor and the scent of smoke. He started to sit up, only to fall back as pain splintered through his arm, side, and shoulder. A low whine sounded to his right and when he turned his head, he saw a huge gray wolf sitting beside him, pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth. Moving just his eyes, Erik glanced to his left. A black wolf sat near his feet; another slept curled up at the side of the black wolf.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He turned toward the voice with a start and saw a woman kneeling beside a small fire near the back of the cave. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“Erik Trevayne.” He struggled to sit up, only then realizing he was naked. He didn’t mind the lack of his clothing, but he felt vulnerable without the mask. “Where are my clothes?”
“The robbers came back after you passed out and took them, but don’t worry.” A smile crept into her voice. “We took them from the robbers.”
He knew without asking that the men who had accosted him were no longer a threat to anyone. “And my horse?”
“He is being well cared for, have no fear.”
“What is this place? Where am I?”
“You’re safe, for now.” She raised a slender hand and made a sweeping motion that encompassed the cavern. “I live here.”
“I’ve told you who I am. Now, who are you?”
“I am called Valaree.”
“And you live in this cave? Why?”
She rose to her feet and walked toward him. She was a tall woman, with wais
t-length black hair and luminous brown eyes. She wore a loose-fitting white robe that seemed to glow in the dim light of the fire.
“How do you feel, Erik Trevayne?” She peeled back the bandages from his injuries, then bent down and sniffed the wounds. Nodding, she replaced the bandages.
He let out a long sigh. The transformation was spreading. His body was in constant pain as muscle and bone and tissue fought against the Change. But there was no need to tell her that.
“I feel fine, all things considered. Who are you? How did I get here?”
“All in good time, Erik.” She went back to the fire and picked up a bowl and spoon. “You need to eat to replenish your strength.”
She sat beside him and offered him a spoonful of thick, dark broth. He hesitated a moment before swallowing it.
She lifted one brow in wry amusement. “Afraid I’m going to poison you?”
“It doesn’t make much sense for you to save my life only to drag me in here to poison me.” He regarded her curiously for a moment. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Should I be?”
He lifted a hand to the left side of his face. “Most people would be repelled by this.”
“I am not most people.”
He nodded. There was no doubt of that. He glanced around the cave, at the wolves sitting patiently nearby. He had the peculiar feeling they understood everything that was being said. “Are the wolves your pets?”
“Pets?” She laughed at that, a deep husky sound that reminded him of distant thunder. She stroked the gray wolf’s head. “This is my father. The pretty black one is my mother, and the sleepy one is my sister, Elsbeth.” Valaree cocked her head to one side, her gaze studying him intently. “What happened to you? I’ve never seen anyone trapped in the midst of the Change.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She offered him another spoonful of broth. “You’re one of us, are you not?”
“One of you?”
“Never mind.” Frowning, she fed him the rest of the thick soup. “You should rest now. You will feel better after a good night’s sleep.”