Page 90 of Beauty's Beast

“Please don’t shut me out of your life. Please let us spend whatever time we have left together.”

“It is not my intention to shut you out, Kristine, but … ” He took a deep breath. How could he explain it to her, this need to withdraw, to pull away from those he loved most in hopes that, when the time came, it would be easier to bid them goodbye? “Please, go and do as I asked.”

She stared up at him for a long moment; then, with a sigh, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Is there anything you need?”

“No.”

“Very well.” She smiled at him, trying to pretend that everything was all right, and then she hurried out of the room before he could see her tears.

Caddaric walked through the castle. Starting from the lowest dungeon, he made his way upward, until he reached the upper rooms. It was a vast place, Hawksbridge Castle, filled with ancient memories and old ghosts. Battles had been fought here. Children had been born within these walls, some had died. An unfaithful wife had been murdered. Prisoners had died in the cold bowels of the dungeon. A servant had plunged to his death from a tower room.

The spirits of those who had perished within these walls brushed over his skin, clinging like cobwebs. Life and death, fealty and treachery, love and hatred, joy and sorrow, courage and cowardice, all the threads of life were here, woven into a tapestry as old as time itself.

He listened to the voices, to the cries of the dead, as he walked from room to room, casting a protective spell over the castle and all those who dwelled within its walls. Only Erik was beyond his protection. Erik, who was enthralled to Charmion’s evil witchery.

Charmion. She would soon discover their absence from his holdings. He could well imagine her rage, knew she would pursue them, but to no avail. Unless she found a way to breachhis protective wards, she could do no harm to those who resided within the walls of Hawksbridge Castle.

He sighed, weariness overtaking him as he put the last ward in place, wondering, even as he did so, if his magic was strong enough to repel Charmion’s power.

In need of nourishment, he made his way down the long, winding stairway that led from the tower to the castle’s first floor.

A delicious aroma drew him toward the back of the house, into a large dining room occupied by an elderly woman clad in a severe black gown. She looked up, startled, when he entered the room.

Caddaric bowed in her direction. “Good afternoon, madam,” he said. “I am Caddaric Delapre.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “Your reputation precedes you, sir.” She offered him her hand. “I am Edith Trevayne, Erik’s mother. Please, join me. I have never met a wizard before.”

Caddaric sat down in the chair to her right, his hands folded in his lap.

“Would you care for something to eat?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

She rang a tiny silver bell; a moment later, a tall, thin woman entered the room. “Yes, my lady?”

“Judith, please bring Lord Caddaric some of that excellent roast beef we had for supper last evening, and a glass of wine.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Judith is a wonderful cook,” Edith remarked. “She’s been with the family for years. I don’t know what we would do without her.” She was babbling, she thought, talking of foolish, unimportant things because she lacked the courage to ask the question uppermost in her mind.

But he knew her thoughts. Gently, he took her hand in his. “My lady, I fear I can do nothing to help your son.”

“Nothing?”

Caddaric shook his head. “I’m sorry. Charmion’s curse is all-encompassing. There is no way for me to reverse it or break it.”

“You’re sure?”

Caddaric nodded. “Charmion is a most clever witch. Though it may be small consolation to you now, rest assured that I have done all in my power to seal your home against her dark magic.”

He squeezed her hand as tears welled in her eyes. Rarely had he felt so helpless or wished so fervently that he could ease the pain in another’s heart. Never had he felt such a need to offer comfort.

Impulsively, he rose to his feet and drew her out of her chair and into his arms. “Weep if you must,” he murmured. “Often it is the only thing that helps.”

She shuddered in his embrace and then, as if his words had unleashed the floodgates of sorrow, she began to cry.

And he held her close, one hand lightly patting her back as he murmured inane words of comfort.

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