Beast of Burden Page 3

  There wasn’t much to say as Sascha gathered her meager collection of books, trinkets, and memories into a small bag. The day was dying fast, and her apprehension grew with every passing minute. Sera and Penny hadn’t said much to her, but she could tell they were talking about her current predicament. Every time she’d look up, one of them would be giggling or whispering or looking as if they were watching a man on his way to the gallows. Sascha could only choose to ignore them as she threw herself into her chores, knowing it would be for the last time.

  Her mind kept straying to Lord Marek. She’d seen him before on his rare evening visits into town. He rarely spoke, but she remembered his gruff tone and tactless candor. She’d only spoken to him once. It was shortly after she’d arrived and was still too small to do the heavier chores. Penny told her to take a decanter of whiskey and a glass to Lord Marek’s table. When she handed her both things, Sascha had known it was too heavy, but was eager to prove her worth. Just as she got to the table, the whiskey flask slipped from her fingertips and shattered on the floor at his feet. The entire room had stopped, expecting Marek to devour her on the spot, but as she remembered it, he only smiled warmly and helped her to her feet. She’d remembered that smile all these years, and that memory was the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears. Would he be as forgiving this time? What would her responsibilities be? Were there other servants or slaves in his castle? So many things to ponder and so little time to ponder them.

  Far sooner than she would have liked, Mr. Longwillow called her down to his wagon to take her through the forest and up into the surrounding mountains to where Lord Marek’s castle loomed over the village. Regular patrons of the tavern waved to her woefully as she exited the barroom for the last time, holding her head high.

  The winding path from town that led to Monkshood Castle was narrow and steep. For a few panicked moments, Sascha wasn’t certain the old mare was going to make it. She and Mr. Longwillow rode silently toward the mountains, neither wanting to speak for fear of relentless sobbing. It wasn’t so much that Sascha didn’t want to leave The Golden Goblet, but more that she feared the unknown. And there was no one to offer any reassurance whatsoever. Thaddeus was convinced that she was doomed and the more she thought on it, the more she feared he was right.

  “Just keep your head down and a civil tongue,” Thaddeus said. “You’ll be just fine, of course.”

  She smiled, thinking he was saying that more to reassure himself than her. “Yes, Mr. Longwillow.” She sighed wearily.

  “I’ll try to buy you back just as soon as I can,” he continued. “You’ll only be gone for a few months.” He was trying to sound positive, but she could hear the hopelessness in his voice.

  They rounded the last bend and Sascha got her first good look at Monkshood Castle. It sat tucked into the side of a sharp cliff that ended in a rocky drop to the rushing river below. Its towers of black stone looked glossy in the fiery sunset, reminding her of the sharpened teeth of a slain dragon. Surrounding the massive structure was a thick forest and network of gardens. It was beautiful and terrible, and something about it filled Sascha with the strangest sense of homecoming. It was surprising. She had expected to feel more apprehensive, but seeing the castle almost put her at ease.

  When they reached the path leading through the forest, Marek was waiting astride perhaps the largest black stallion Sascha had ever seen. At seeing his form hulking over them, she could feel Longwillow stiffen with fear. Even the old mare seemed to shy. Sascha was determined to show no such fear of him. She stiffened her jaw and held her head high.

  “You’re late,” Marek rasped, throwing his boot over the saddle and sliding to the ground with more grace than most men possessed.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Thaddeus stuttered. “The old girl doesn’t move as fast as she used to,” he continued, patting the horse’s flanks. “Especially over the rocky terrain.”

  Marek didn’t reply, but held out a hand to Sascha. “Come,” he ordered, his voice quiet and sure.

  She looked back at Thaddeus, her eyes pleading. He nodded and gestured for her to accept Marek’s hand. With a heavy sigh, she did, allowing him to help her step down off of the wagon. As he settled Sascha on her feet, she noticed the sparkling amber of his eyes that set off the rugged beauty in his face. She quickly examined his countenance for signs of his rumored scar, but saw none, only the sharp ridge of his cheekbones and the gentle point of his jawline.

  He led Sascha to his horse when Longwillow caught his attention. “Oh! Wait! Her things, my lord!” He reached behind the seat to grab her small sack.

  Without turning, Marek climbed astride the black stallion in a single deft movement. “She won’t be needing them,” he replied, pulling her into the saddle in front of him before riding off into the trees.

  ****

  Sascha shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as Marek pushed the horse at top speed through the overgrown wood. All was silent as the shadows fell, taking over the landscape, save the snorting of the horse and the swish of limbs whipping around them. Sascha brushed the leaves and hair from her forehead, trying to see her way down the path to where they were going.

  After several times of being blinded by her thrashing, Marek grumbled, “Get your hair out of my face or I’ll chop it off.”

  Sascha flushed with anger, but kept quiet and instead grabbed the mass of curls at her back and held it tightly. They turned down another bend in the path and she shifted again.

  “Sit still,” he said, pulling up slightly on the reins to slow the horse before she threw them both out of the saddle.

  “Stop holding me so tight!” she snapped, then drew back in terror, sure he was going to break her neck. He rode on in silence, but she noticed his grip eased slightly. They continued down the path a while longer before Sascha spoke again. “How much farther is it?” she asked.

  “Another half league,” was his short reply.

  She sighed and tried to relax. She wasn’t sure why she was so anxious to get to the castle, for she knew that once they got there, he would surely rape and kill her, throwing her body on the rocks for vultures to feast upon. After all, he’d said she didn’t need any clothes.

  Her body trembled as she willed the courage to speak again, knowing that she might not like the answer she received. But there was nothing for it but to ask. “Are you intending to kill me, my lord?”

  Marek chuckled softly. “Do you fear that I will?”

  “Yes,” she answered simply, keeping her eyes forward.

  He was silent for a few minutes more, letting Sascha drown in her own sea of uncertainty until they reached the black gates. He put her hands on the leather reins and closed her fingers around them. “Stay here,” he ordered before jumping down. He drew a key from the pocket of his heavy breeches. Sascha noticed a large lock holding the gates closed. It was sculpted from iron in the shape of a wolf’s head. She heard the lock click loose and the gate swung open. When he climbed astride the horse again, he pressed the key into her palm. “Keep this with you. It’s a skeleton key and it will open any lock in the house or on the grounds. Mind you keep it with you at all times.” He paused a moment, his hand still caressing hers.

  “What?” she asked, her mind a little flustered by the close proximity of him.

  “Don’t lose it,” he replied, his voice almost a whisper. “Or it shall be the worse for you.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She turned the heavy key over in her palm. Made of iron, like the lock, the head twisted in an intricate design, yet the key itself was thick. It looked almost crude in its construction. It was most unusual. She could tell just from the weight of it that the lock was practically unbreakable.

  With a shout of command, Marek spurred the horse into motion. They broke into a run as they burst through the gates. He pushed the horse faster, so much in fact Sascha found herself tugging at the horse’s mane in her fear. Suddenly, she felt Marek’s arms close tighter around her waist, holding her back against h
im just as the horse leapt over a blow down of old bushes and trees. The wind whipped around her face as they snaked down the garden paths at breakneck speed. Soon she closed her eyes, unable to watch anymore, and for a brief moment, she was sure that the stress of it all was going to make her pass out.

  Finally, they reached the castle, Sascha sighing with relief as he brought the horse to a rearing halt. A small, round woman was standing at the entrance waiting for them. Marek jumped down from the saddle and offered up his hand. Sascha stared at it, unsure what he meant. She looked at the ground, noticing how much higher it was than the step off of the wagon. Getting down was going to prove much more frightful than going up, and she hesitated. “Come on, girl,” he said roughly.

  “I’m...I’m not sure I can,” she replied, her voice trembling again.

  “What do you mean you can’t?” he asked, the annoyance obvious in his voice. “Just take my hand.”

  “I’ll fall,” she retorted, blushing that she was so afraid of such an ordinary task.

  Marek inhaled to admonish her, but a quick look from the old woman softened his expression. “You won’t. I’ll help you.” He sighed. Taking her around the waist, he pulled her gently from the saddle. She could feel the strength in his arms and shoulders as he righted her. It was exciting, and she blushed deeper.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, her eyes cast down, not wanting to meet his gaze.

  Grasping her chin between his fingertips, he tipped her face upward to look at him. She gasped at the slight pressure of his grip. Her heart raced as his amber eyes peered into hers. “As long as you are my slave, you will address me as such,” he said calmly. His voice didn’t raise, but she could tell from the tense set of his jaw that he meant it. She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his face. “Speak, girl!” he added more insistently.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He released her roughly and took her hand, leading her toward the doors. As they approached, the older lady curtseyed to Marek and smiled warmly at Sascha. “Welcome back, Lord Marek. We were starting to fear that you had lost your way in the failing light.”

  “Of course not,” he replied. He turned to Sascha and indicated that she should bow in respect for the old woman. She did so clumsily, having to hold on to his arm to keep from falling over in the grass. “This is Anya, my head-of-house.”

  “Hello, dear,” Anya chirped. “You look positively frozen.”

  Sascha smiled shyly and shrugged. Marek squeezed her hand painfully. “She spoke to you, girl.”

  “I am well, mistress,” Sascha replied, firing a cold glare in Marek’s direction.

  “Come with me, child,” Anya said, taking her hand gently. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Be sure she is groomed and dressed appropriately,” he demanded. “I will expect her company at dinner in one hour.”

  Anya bowed again and led Sascha inside.

  ****

  Marek watched as Anya led the girl into the house and up the stairs. He couldn’t believe it. Finally, after all these years of solitude and waiting, she had returned. Many nights had Isabella’s final words echoed in his head, making sleep a passing stranger.

  “I will return to you, my love.”

  It had been a promise he’d been certain would be impossible to keep. In fact, many times had he prayed for the angels to deliver her soul into Heaven rather than be trapped here. He’d never bothered praying for himself. Why would an intelligent God answer the prayers of a murderer?

  He inhaled deeply, taking in Sascha’s scent that still lingered heavy in the air. Not that he needed it. He’d been able to smell her since she’d been born. Jasmine flower and burning leaves. Just as he remembered. The scent enveloped him completely, making him weak. Suddenly, the familiar burning began under his skin, making it feel too tight for his body. He felt trapped inside, oppressed by this sudden animal lust. He knew that he would have to run, to expend some of the excess energy burning deep down in his bones.

  With long strides, he stalked through the corridors, turning down one after another, squelching the sconces that lit his way with a wave of his hand. The need to get out was becoming more insistent. He could feel the impending change starting to churn beneath his flesh. He finally turned down another hallway, this one devoid of any decoration or comfort. His boots echoed against the bare stone floors. The corridor was pitch-black, but Marek hardly needed any illumination. His eyes glowed like dying coals in the darkness as he raced toward his escape.

  He cast a quick look behind, making sure that no one had followed him. Seeing no one, he began pulling at his linen shirt, exposing his chest with a ripping of fabric then tossing it to the floor behind him. His heart beat faster, and the tickling under his skin urged him. He blazed down the corridor, throwing his clothes aside as he went until he stood nude in front of a large, oaken door.

  The change began as it always did, painfully. For twenty years he’d been this beast, and it hadn’t gotten any easier, though now he could change at will. With a guttural, agonizing moan, it began. Marek could feel his skin boil and split, black fur growing out of ever-widening gashes. His back arched painfully, forcing him to his knees. He felt burning knives stabbing all over his body as bones cracked and shifted. He screamed as his jaw dislocated, elongating to the squarish muzzle of the wolf. Claws broke through the ends of fingers and toes that formed into heavy paws. Though it was only seconds, the pain felt like an eternity, drawing a howl from deep in his chest as he burst through the door and into the forest below.

  Chapter 5

  Anya chattered in a constant stream all the way up the stairs and down the corridors leading to Sascha’s bedchamber. She kept expecting the old woman to lead her down a back stairwell to the servant’s quarters, but they continued up the curving staircase to a large hallway with a long rug of crimson down the center. Heavy sconces lit the way with a soft glow, casting shadows over large tapestries decorating the walls.

  “You’re welcome to go anyplace in the castle you like except down the back stairwell,” Anya continued.

  “Why not there?” Sascha questioned.

  Anya hesitated a moment, seeming to consider. “There was a fire down there many years ago. Lots of fallen beams and soot. It just isn’t safe, dear.” Sascha couldn’t be sure, but she thought that she almost saw Anya sigh with relief that she’d told such an airtight story. “Now,” she began, stopping in front of a tall, wooden door, “this is your chamber. That key you have around your neck will open it should you need to lock it. But we aren’t much for locking doors around here.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Sascha agreed. When the old woman opened the door, she couldn’t have been less prepared for what she saw. What she’d been expecting was somewhat of a cell like she’d occupied at The Golden Goblet, but what she found was a lavish suite. Thick, wooly rugs were strewn over the hard stone floors. One end of the room was occupied by an enormous fireplace that had already been lit, warming the room. A bed sat on the opposite side, so high that Sascha was sure she’d have to find a ladder to get into it. The bedclothes were piled high with jeweled coverlets and pillows. There was a tall window with a window seat near the fireplace, and the window beside her bed opened onto a wide balcony that looked out over the gardens. Tucked in the corner was a large vanity with a towering mirror and an arsenal of combs, ribbons, and clips lying on its surface. “There...there must be a mistake,” Sascha stammered. “These aren’t a slave’s quarters.”

  Anya smiled knowingly. “Well, child, there are many rooms and not enough people to occupy them. It just wouldn’t make sense to have you stay down in the scullery.” She moved about the room fussing, opening windows and throwing back curtains as Sascha watched. She pointed out the bath and the wardrobe. Sascha’s breath hitched when she found that the wardrobe was full of gowns, nightclothes, and underthings. None of them looked appropriate to one that would be expected to scrub floors.

  “Mistress—”

  “Please, dear,”
Anya interrupted. “Do call me by my given name. Anya will suffice.”

  “But Lord Marek—”

  “Is not here,” Anya replied with a sparkling eye. “Now, what was it you wished to ask?”

  Sascha stammered, not really knowing how to phrase the question. “What...exactly are my duties here?” she asked finally, blushing to the tips of her toes. She wasn’t really sure that she wanted the answer, but if she was to avoid the wrath of Lord Marek, she would have to do something.

  “I’m sure the master will tell you anything you need to know at dinner,” she replied, avoiding the question. An awkward silence followed as Anya turned down the bed, letting Sascha pace the room and run her fingertips across the fixtures. She made her way across the room to the balcony doors, opening them wide. She sighed in relief as the cool night air rushed against her face. The silence was broken when an unnatural howling echoed off the castle walls. Sascha shuddered, turning to look at Anya with alarm.

  “What on earth?”

  The old woman laughed nervously, coming around to close the doors and latch them. “Oh, don’t worry about that, dear. There are wolves in the forest.”

  “That wasn’t like any wolf I’ve ever heard before,” she argued, going back to the balcony doors. “What sort of animal…”

  Anya stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “Never mind that now, dear. You’ll catch your death of cold if you stand out there on that balcony jumping at shadows.” She smiled warmly, but the fire behind her eyes told Sascha it would be best not to push it. “Besides, we have to get you dressed for dinner.” She led Sascha around the bed to the bath.

  “That’s very kind of Lord Marek,” Sascha began, “but I really don’t feel much like eating tonight. I think I’d rather go to sleep.”

  “Oh, you’d best heed the invitation, love. The master doesn’t take kindly to his wishes being ignored.” She looked at Sascha pointedly until she looked away. “Come on. Let’s get you bathed and dressed.”