Beast Lord: (Beauty and the Beast) (Tangled Tales Book 3) (2 page)

He killed them all, managing to save his brother, but in the process got grazed in the back with an arrow. Then another arrow embedded into his padded leather gauntlet and this one was on fire.

His squire shot out of nowhere, tackling him, and Stefan hit the ground hard, rattling his brain as he fell back against a rock, gashing his skull this time.

“Squire, what the hell are you doing? I’m not the enemy,” he ground out.

“I’m saving you from the flames.” Trumble proceeded to kick dirt at him next in an attempt to put out the flames of his tunic. Stefan pulled the flaming arrow from his arm and threw it to the ground in frustration. Then he coughed and wiped the dirt from his one good eye, seeing the man with the gold and blue ring hauling another man atop his horse. He couldn’t let him get away. There were still too many men to fight, but Stefan decided before he died he would do his best to take down their leader.

Getting to his feet, he jumped over the dead bodies and made a beeline for the man. But before he got there, his squire and brother tackled him to the ground.

“Let go of me, you fools!” he shouted.

“You’re the fool, Stefan,” said MacKay. “You’re already mangled and going to get yourself killed.”

“You’re going to bleed to death if you don’t get some help,” added Trumble.

Then came the sound of a trumpet and the announcement from a man near the gate.

“More troops approaching,” called out the soldier.

“Retreat,” said their leader with a wave of his arm, and they followed him out the gate, leaving death and destruction in their wake. When Stefan looked out the gate he saw a band of men on horseback coming through the woods with weapons raised. By the way the attackers dispersed, Stefan knew the men approaching were allies and coming to their aid. The enemy soldiers followed their leader, and when Stefan got to his feet, a wolf was licking his hand.

“Wolf, is that you?” asked MacKay from behind Stefan.

“Aye, it is our brother,” said Stefan, running his hand over the wolf’s head in gratitude. Then he heard his father’s voice next.

“Stefan, thank God you’re still alive. I was afraid we’d lost you.” Lucio de Bar made his way on foot, coming from inside the castle walls, not from the woods with the rest of the army. Lucio had dark hair, was in his fifties, and was a warlock. He was also the only one of the family who had any sort of magical powers – the rest of them were just cursed. “I tried to save Rapunzel, but Hecuba knew I was coming and transported out of there before I could stop her.”

“Father, the enemy is leaving,” shouted his brother, Arnon – Wolf’s twin. “Should we follow in pursuit?”

“Nay, let them go,” said Lucio waving his hand through the air. “There’s been enough death here today, we don’t need more bodies to burn or bury. Besides, we need to tend to the wounded.”

“I’m going to hunt down that bastard and kill him if it’s the last thing I ever do.” Stefan took a step forward and winced in pain. His face and head were split open, his clothes were bloodied and burned, and if the pain of his skin hadn’t been so horrendous, he wouldn’t have let his family stop him from going after the man.

“Arnon, have the men round up any survivors and bring the wounded inside the great hall,” his father gave the order. “Hugh – we need you in human form now.” At his words, the wolf hunkered down and started to shapeshift right there on the bloodied earth. Then the naked form of his brother, Wolf, got to his feet, taking clothes from his squire and donning them as he spoke.

“What happened, Stefan? And whom are you fighting? This doesn’t make any sense,” said Wolf, pushing back his long, dark hair that hung down his back, tying it back with a leather strip.

“Why did you follow us?” Stefan asked instead of answering his brother’s question.

“Hecuba is dangerous, and I really couldn’t let you face her alone,” said Lucio. “I had a feeling you might need help.”

“But we left over a sennight ago,” said Stefan, ripping away a piece of his sleeve to see the burnt flesh of his arm.

“Aye,” agreed his squire. “You would have had to have left right after us, or rode like the wind without stopping to rest.”

“It was a little of both,” said Arnon, dismounting his horse.

Stefan wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what was going on. “You didn’t trust me,” he said to Wolf. “You didn’t think I’d be able to keep your men safe.”

“Was I wrong?” Wolf shook his head in disgust, looking at all the dead men scattered over the ground. “I just lost some of my best warriors, and for what? We still don’t have our sister back. My warriors’ deaths were for naught. You didn’t protect them.”

“I’m a better warrior than you and Arnon put together,” said Stefan, so angry now that he pushed aside his pain. He wasn’t going to let anyone accuse him of not being able to protect the others. Blood continued to run down his face and he still couldn’t see out of one eye, but he wasn’t about to show weakness in front of his brothers who always saw him as the flaw of the family.

“You might be a great warrior, son, but you know as well as the rest of us that when it comes to leading an army you might not be the best choice.” Lucio looked the other way when he spoke, not able to look Stefan in the eye. That action told Stefan that his father was behind this issue of mistrust.

“That’s not true!” He wiped the blood away again, feeling lightheaded and like he was about to retch. He tasted the coppery tang of blood on his tongue from his lip that was split open.

“So are you saying you gave the command to attack, or were you waiting and being cautious again when it happened?” asked Arnon.

“A little of both,” MacKay answered for him.

“My God, it looks like I’ve lost over a dozen men under your command, brother.” Wolf scanned the grounds just shaking his head.

“It was the witch. She brought us here,” protested Stefan. “It would have happened to any of you had you been in my place.”

“It’s over now, so let’s take care of the dead,” said Lucio.

“What a waste of soldiers,” Wolf mumbled and followed his father.

The words reverberated in Stefan’s ears and a part of him died inside as he fell to the ground from the intense pain. He might have been cautious but he’d also fought like a beast today, but his family couldn’t see that. It was all Hecuba’s doing and not his fault, but they didn’t see it that way. If the witch hadn’t lured him here, none of this would have happened. If he lived, he swore from this day on his family would see a different side to him. He’d start being more like his brother MacKay. Reckless. He wouldn’t be so cautious but instead more eager to fight . . . like a beast.

Chapter 2

Lady Bonnibel Harcourt gripped tightly to the sides of the uncovered wagon as it crashed over rocky terrain, carrying her from the docks of Sandwich back to her home in Breckenridge in Kent. A guard escorted her from France, but she had no handmaiden with her since her father had said her betrothed would supply her with all she needed.

For five years she’d been living with her older sister, Claribel, in France, and for three years before that, she’d lived with her younger sister, Oribel, being fostered in Scotland, right after the death of their mother. But both her sisters were married and now her father told her it was her turn to get married. He’d decided to betroth her to Lord Tostig Armestead of Wickhambreaux. She’d never heard of the man and could only hope he was witty and young, and not old enough to be her grandfather.

She was already twenty, and way past marrying age. By right she should have gotten married at thirteen or fourteen, but her father had been so distraught by the death of her mother that he’d almost forgotten about her. She wondered if her father would even recognize her, and then again, would she recognize him? It had been so long. She hadn’t been home to Breckenridge in eight years now, and felt nervous about not only marrying a man she didn’t know, but also because when she’d left, she and her father were not on good terms. She hadn’t wanted to leave Breckenridge and certainly not before her mother’s body was even in the ground, but her father had sent them away quickly – and they hadn’t even gotten a proper goodbye.

“Driver, can’t you go faster?” she asked, feeling an urgency to get back home. The day had started out as sunny, and the ship’s journey across the channel had been smooth. But as soon as she’d stepped foot on the shores of England, the sky darkened. Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning flashed overhead. This had to be a bad omen of some sort.

She raised the hood of her cloak to cover her long, blond hair. When it started to drizzle, she tucked her book beneath her cloak. Le Roman de la Rose, or The Romance of the Rose was her prized possession, given to her by her mother while she still lived in Breckenridge. It was an allegorical poem speaking of the art of chivalric love, told in the form of a dream. The pages were colorfully illuminated with such beauty that even some of the beastly animals inside were fascinating to look at.

Books were not common, and most books consisted of recordings of wars, battles, births and deaths. The clergy had more books than anyone, and they were written and illuminated by the monks in the monasteries. The Romance of the Rose spoke of courtly love and secret gardens, and she hoped her marriage to Lord Wickhambreaux would enable her to find love like the dream written about in the book that she now cradled in her arms. Truth was, she didn’t want to get married. Marriage frightened her – or at least marriage to a man she didn’t know. She planned on talking her father out of this betrothal and convincing him to let her decide for herself whom she would marry, all in good time.

“We’ll be there soon, my lady,” said the dockman who was serving as her driver. “But are you sure you want to go to Breckenridge Castle?”

“Of course I’m sure. It’s my father’s castle. My home. Why wouldn’t I want to go there?”

“When is the last time you visited?”

“It’s been eight years. Why do you ask?”

“Things have changed in the past eight years, and the castle might not seem . . . quite the way you remember it.”

“What are you saying? I’m sure it’s just as grand as it was when I left.”

“Don’t be so sure,” the man mumbled under his breath, making Bonnibel feel uncomfortable.

“Please hurry, and I advise you to hold your tongue. If you say anything else like that about my home, I shall have my father flog you for such insolence.”

“Yes, my lady.” The driver whipped the horse and the cart jerked forward and she almost fell backwards off the seat. The guard reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her.

“My lady, be careful,” said the guard. “You don’t want anything to happen to you – especially right before the wedding.”

The driver drove like he was possessed, and rain poured down upon them. A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a crash of thunder that shook her to her very soul. Something was wrong, she could feel it in the air. And the closer they got to Breckenridge, the more she wished she had stayed in France.

* * *

“Ow, that stings like a bloody wasp, now give me some more whiskey.” Stefan gritted his teeth as his squire, Trumble, pulled the needle through his skin and knotted and broke off the thread. They were crowded into the great hall along with Stefan’s brothers, father, and the wounded soldiers.

“All done,” said Trumble, surmising his handiwork and nodding his head.

“I don’t know why you had to be the one to stick me with needles.” Stefan took the bottle of whiskey MacKay handed him and downed a good portion. The burning path of fire to his belly helped to counteract the throbbing pain in his head and the constant burning sensation of his arms.

“I’ll go back to Tavistock and get my healer,” suggested Lucio.

“Nay!” Stefan took another swig of whiskey, swallowed it down, and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t need anyone else seeing me looking like this.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lucio.

“Tell me, father, how do I look?” Stefan gently raised his burned arm laden down with ointment, and used his fingers to test the swelling of his face. He still couldn’t see out of his eye, and had ordered Trumble to cover it with a patch. His face and head were full of stitches, and one side of his face felt like it was swollen twice the size of the other half.

“You look –”

“Frightening,” Arnon answered for him.

“I would have gone with ugly as a buzzard,” said Wolf with a chuckle.

“I think saying you look like a beast pretty much sums it up,” added MacKay, only making him feel worse.

Stefan groaned. He wanted to die, and almost wished he would. But his anger for the man with the gold ring with the blue stone was what kept him alive. Revenge. Hatred. Anger. All the things that drove a person forward. Or insane.

“You look like a strong, brave warrior that just came from battle,” said his father.

“I’ll never look handsome again,” said Stefan, too miserable and insecure to look in a mirror.

“You never looked handsome to begin with,” said Arnon.

“I wouldn’t talk,” snapped Stefan. “At least I don’t have green skin and warts!”

Wolf laughed.

“Or fleas,” Stefan added, and that shut Wolf up too.

“Hey, I wasn’t a frog for that long,” said Arnon in his defense. “I spent more time as a wolf, and I was a much better looking wolf than Hugh.” Hecuba’s curses took a toll on the brothers, and while Arnon had been cursed twice, he no longer carried either of his curses. Wolf, however, wasn’t so lucky.

“Not so,” rallied Wolf with a slight growl that sounded vaguely canine. “And for the record, I’ve never had fleas.” He scratched an itch at the back of his neck as he said it, and that made MacKay bust out laughing.

“I’m just glad I haven’t been cursed by Hecuba,” MacKay told them.

“Don’t say that too loud.” Their father looked over his shoulder. “You never know where – or what she is. She could be listening right now. You don’t want to tempt her.”

“Tempt her?” Stefan threw down the empty bottle and the glass smashed against the cold stone floor. “If I ever see that witch again, I’ll strangle her with my bare hands. It’s her fault I look like this, and I’ll never forget it.”

“And it’s your fault my men are dead,” added Wolf. “I can’t forget that either.”

“Boys, stop the quarreling,” ordered Lucio. “We need to find out why that band of men attacked, and who they were. We need to be ready to fight them off if they should decide to return.”

“They were after something,” said Wolf. “But what?”

“We can’t even ask the men of the castle,” said Stefan’s squire. “It seems the ones that weren’t dead ran in fear thinking we were going to kill them.”

“Then maybe we can ask the servants,” said MacKay. “Some of them are emerging from their hiding places now that the battle is over.”

“Have my men burned the dead bodies yet?” asked Lucio. “With that many, there was no way to bury them all.”

“They have,” answered Arnon. “But the strangest part is that we didn’t find anyone amongst the dead that looked to be the ruler of the castle.”

“I think I can answer that,” said Stefan. “The bastard who hacked at my face took the ruler of the castle with him.”

“Question the servants at once,” said Lucio. “We need to find out if the attacker could be holding him for ransom for some reason.”

“I’ll post some more men at the gate and as lookouts atop the battlements,” said Wolf.

“Maybe I can have some of my men fix up this deathtrap before anyone gets hurt,” added Arnon.

As the men all discussed their plans, Stefan felt disgust growing within him. His head pounded and his stomach churned, and the amount of whiskey he’d downed made his tongue loose enough to say what needed to be said.

“Nay!” He stood up and almost fell over from being so dizzy. Grabbing on to the edge of the wooden trestle table, he steadied himself.

“Sit down, Son,” said Lucio. “I’ll transport back to Tavistock and get the healer and be right back.”

“I said, nay!” he shouted, his jaw clenched so hard that he could feel the blood pounding through his veins. “This is my castle now, and you will all leave and not return unless invited.”

“Brother, you’re not thinking with a clear head,” said Arnon.

“I’m serious. I don’t need your help, your men or your comments. You all have castles and domains of your own, now go back to them and leave me be.” A sharp pain went through the back of his head, and when he touched it, blood saturated his hand.

“I think he’s serious,” said Wolf.

“You’re damned right I am.”

“If we leave you here alone, you’ll die,” said his father.

“Then so be it,” he growled. “I said go! And take your men with you.”

“Stefan, why don’t you lie down and rest and we’ll talk about this later,” said Arnon.

Anger filled his pores and Stefan felt that beast inside him coming to life once again. He reached out and flipped the heavy trestle table over and it clattered to the ground. His brothers jumped out of the way.

“That table usually takes several men to move,” MacKay pointed out.

“What’s happening to you?” asked Lucio.

“Mayhap I’m stronger of a warrior than any of you think,” Stefan retorted. “Now I’ll tell you again – this is my castle, and I’ll make the decisions. And the first decision I’ve made is for all of you to leave!” He reached out and kicked the chair and it slid across the floor.

“Boys, mayhap it would be better to give him some time alone,” said Lucio. “I’ll go if that’s what you want, Stefan, but I will be back with the healer to tend to your wounds.”

“Nay! Trumble will stay to do that.”

“I will?” asked Trumble, his voice sounding shaky. “I mean – I will, my lord.”

“I don’t have a castle to go to,” said MacKay. “I’ll stay too, and when you’re healed, we’ll continue our search for our sister.”

“Both your sisters,” said Lucio. “Ella has been away too long and we should have gone after her as well.”

“MacKay can stay. For now,” said Stefan. Now the rest of you – take your men and leave.”

“I’ll leave a dozen of my warriors here – for protection,” said Lucio.

“Nay. I’ll not be blamed for the deaths of any more borrowed soldiers. I have a castle now and I’ll acquire my own soldiers.”

“Hah!” laughed Arnon. “No respectable knight would step foot in his crumbling, broken down castle.”

“Then I’ll hire mercenaries,” said Stefan.

“Then let me give you some gold to pay them,” said Lucio, his hand going to the pouch at his waist.

It was all Stefan could do not to explode at this moment. He felt as if he were being patronized, and he didn’t like it.

“I told you – I can take care of it all myself. Now leave!” he shouted so loud, that it echoed off the walls of the great hall.

“Come on, let’s leave him in his misery,” said Arnon, heading for the door.

“I wouldn’t leave any more of my soldiers here now if you begged me,” said Wolf, following right behind him. “And I’m taking back the ones that lived through this ordeal.”

“I’ll be transporting back to Tavistock,” Lucio told his sons. “Stefan – beware. Not only for those who attacked here, but for Hecuba as well. You’re not ladled with one of her curses yet, but since you’re now vulnerable, she’ll probably strike.”

“I’m not vulnerable, and if you don’t leave now, I’ll be the one to strike.”

“You always did have the temper of your late mother,” said Lucio with a shake of the head. Then he raised a hand in the air and was surrounded by a bluish fog and quickly disappeared.