The Yuletide Woodsman Page 4

  I did as he instructed, and sat back down on the sofa, thinking it was the safest option being I now couldn’t see anything. Prince Vargar let out a small moan of relief as he removed the hood and stood from the bed. The soft sound of creaking springs exaggerated in the darkness.

  “Are you hungry? Would you like some tea?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” I replied. Reading for so long had made my throat a little prickly.

  I listened as he navigated the room, assuming he was heading towards the bell by the door to call for Eleanor, but was surprised when I heard the clinking of china cups and the general activity of tea-making.

  “You can make tea?” I asked

  “There’s a small kitchen unit here, in a recess in the wall. I can see enough in the dark to get by.”

  “You must have incredibly good eye-sight.”

  He sniffed a laugh. “Yes, I guess that is one upside to the whole wretched curse thing.”

  “What happened to you?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

  The sound of the tinkling metal spoon against china was the only answer I received. I felt the small warm draft of his approach and jumped when his hand took mine, to guide me to the cup.

  Sensations assaulted me. Hard, grainy skin, hair and sharp nails. The touch was brief. Too brief to fully to translate to an image in my head, or at least an image I was willing to accept.

  Perhaps he noted my reaction but he moved away swiftly and I heard the slight creak of the bed springs as he sat back down.

  “What did you think to my library?” he asked with a mixture of immense pride and deep sadness. “Isn’t it wondrous?”

  “It’s one of the most beautiful spaces I have ever been in,” I replied, as my heart cracked painfully with sympathy. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have such vision and to be trapped in the darkness.

  “Thank you. It was all I lived and dreamed for almost half of my life. One day, I hope I shall be able to see it once more.”

  There was nothing I could say to that so I sipped my tea, trying to identify the slightly strange flavours bouncing around my mouth. It wasn’t like the black tea we had at home but it wasn’t unpleasant either.

  “Would you tell me about the village?”

  That question again. Little I could do except tell the truth. “I don’t come from the village,” I said, clearing the sudden thickening in my throat.

  “You don’t… I did wonder how you could read when… Then how did you? Oh, please tell me she didn’t…?”

  There was a flurry of movement as his feet scuffed across the floor.

  “She took me from my world yesterday, and told me I was a gift for you.”

  The atmosphere turned heavy. “I felt him approach and flinched as he took my chin in between his finger and his thumb. “So you are not from our world? You are not touched by our curse?”

  His shift in attitude caused panic to surge. It was as if I had clicked a switch. I shook my head within the confines of his fingers.

  “Then, I guess, cherie, no one is going to come looking for you.”

  Despair flooded me. He was a socio-path. I’d been an idiot for letting myself believe everything was going to be alright. Everything was going to be far from alright.

  “Let me go,” I snarled.

  He laughed and this time it wasn’t the friendly laugh of the man who had made me a cup of tea just a few moments ago. It was the laugh of someone with all the power. I was still reeling from the dramatic change in him. He dropped my chin and to my relief, he moved away from me.

  I’d grown used to the darkness over the hours I’d been there, and like a fool, I had let myself relax, but now my instincts were high and I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I edged towards where I believed the door was located, hating the fact he could see me stumbling and looking panicked. Eventually, my fingers found the bell and I pressed it, desperate for Eleanor to come and collect me.

  “Leaving so soon?” he mocked.

  I didn’t know what game he was playing, and I sure as hell didn’t know the rules. I hoped he could see the look of defiance on my face as I glowered in the direction of his movements. Saying a silent thank you to whoever was listening, I heard the patter of Eleanor’s feet hurrying towards the door.

  “Such a pity you’re leaving, and just when things were getting interesting. Be sure to come back soon.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As I walked back along the corridors of the castle with Eleanor, my mind raced with the thousands of pieces of information I had absorbed over the last few hours. I tried to make sense of the chaos, of the impossibilities. Prince Vargar was a man of two sides, one a gentleman, and one a beast. That was the secret Queen Morag tried to conceal in the dark dungeon beneath the castle.

  My heart had still not calmed from the sudden turn of events that had taken place between the prince and I. He had been so charming and erudite one moment, and then so full of menace the next. What would he be tomorrow? Prince Charming or the beast? Either way, I would have to endure his company or suffer Queen Morag’s wrath.

  “Did you know the prince before his… affliction?” I asked Eleanor, who had yet to meet my eyes since she had come for me.

  She had seen my distress clearly enough, couldn’t have failed to see the tears streaking my cheeks, and yet she had not mentioned it. She had not spoken at all, and I despised her a little for it, which made me feel even more wretched for the girl was Stag’s sister and I suspected as much of a prisoner as I was. Perhaps she had even been Prince Vargar’s play thing before my arrival.

  Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t like to talk about the times before,” she replied.

  I wasn’t prepared to take that as a satisfactory answer. “But when you were growing up, you must have seen him?”

  She stopped mid-stride and grasped my arm. “Neve, I told you yesterday that you need to stop asking questions.” She glanced around, fearful someone should be listening. “We’re not allowed of times before and that suits me fine. Everyone thinks the prince is dead, and we’ll all be dead soon enough anyway, so what’s the point.”

  “Pardon! I’ve been dragged here against my will, gifted to a … whatever Prince Vargar is, and you tell me to stop asking questions—and then you drip feed me even more mysterious bits of information like everyone is going to die! I think I have a right to ask as many bloody questions as I want.”

  Eleanor went rigid and fell silent, eyeballing me hard. I stared back with determination. Eventually, she cracked.

  “Okay,” she said with resignation. “I’ll tell you what I know and then you’ve got to promise to ask no more questions of me. If she finds out I’ve spoken to you about this, Queen Morag will whip me.”

  “I promise,” I said, reaching out a hand to touch her arm. She flinched before it made contact and I snatched it back.

  “The village were told Prince Vargar died as a result of a wolf attack. That’s why Queen Morag has ordered all wolves be killed on sight, but it doesn’t matter how many wolves the villagers kill, two more come in their place and so the woods are now full of them and the village grows smaller by the year as the wolves prey on our weak and vulnerable. We are all cursed. Cursed to have lost our prince, cursed by the wolves who come and come. The seasons no longer change and… all the women have stopped having children.”

  “What caused the curse?”

  “Prince Vargar and his friends were out hunting when they killed the Wolf Witch’s son. She placed a hex on us, and it has afflicted us all in one way or another—to speak of it only increases its power, which is why I don’t want you to ask me to ever talk about it again. Now you know everything and you can stop asking questions.”

  “If two wolves come for everyone that is slain, then why are people still killing them?”

  Eleanor sighed with exasperation. “Because Queen Morag pays enough flour to bake bread all winter for a single wolf pelt, and so the hungry people take their chances.
An empty belly makes the head soft.”

  I ran my hand over my furrowed brow. It was all lunacy. A perfect spiral of self-destruction.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” Eleanor said quietly. “But she doesn’t seem to care about sense, only vengeance for whatever happened to her son.”

  I recall the touch of his hand on my skin. The hair, the nails—beast like. Wolf like. Was it possible? I snorted a laugh at the insanity of such an idea—that Prince Vargar had been bitten by a wolf and turned into a… werewolf? Maybe it was possible—as possible as being kidnapped and whisked away to a fairy tale world.

  The sound of approaching footsteps stopped any more of Eleanor’s revelations and she began pacing towards the approaching figure.

  As we rounded the corner, we bumped into a man I had not yet seen. He was shorter than me and dressed finely in black and gold velvets. His silver hair matched his flamboyant moustache.

  “Monsieur Bernarde,” Eleanor squeaked nervously.

  “Eleanor,” he replied sternly whilst eying me up from head to toe. “And you must be the girl.”

  He said it as if I was something he found on the bottom of his shoe but nevertheless, I extended a hand politely, knowing that first impressions counted and I needed to make as many good impressions as I could. I didn’t know who might be of use in my future escape attempts.

  Monsieur Bernarde did not take up my offer and so I dropped my hand to my side and felt the sliding disappointment of adding one more enemy to the list.

  “Queen Morag is looking for you, Eleanor. She’s hungry and cook seems to have gone walkabout.”

  “I’ll see to it, Monsieur Bernarde,” Eleanor said, dipping her head.

  He nodded with satisfaction. You may take her with you. I’m sure an extra pair of hands will be useful. He didn’t look at me before he turned on his heel and flounced off in the direction he came. Unlike Stag, Monsieur Bernarde was not ‘a good man in a wicked situation,’ he was a wicked man who found his situation good. I shuddered with distaste and went to ask Eleanor more about him, but the look she gave me warned me not to push it. She had answered enough of my questions for one day.

  *

  The kitchens were not too far away and they were pleasantly homely compared to the rest of the castle. Soft worn wooden counter tops, and the heat from the large open fire added to the feeling of sanctuary.

  Eleanor indicated to a basket covered with a red and white checked cloth, which she informed me held the fresh bread, which I should organise into several slices of toast, using the stove top. I was grateful for the momentary distraction. There was something comforting about conducting such a normal task.

  Eleanor busied in the cold cupboard, pulling out a large jug of soup, which she transferred to a heavy metal pot before suspending it from the metal frame above the fire.

  A commotion at the door caused me to turn and see Stag, stamping snow from his boots as he broke into a warm grin of greeting. It was dark outside, the night having closed in early with the weather.

  “Eleanor! I missed you at lunch.”

  “Yes, Queen Morag had me cleaning the throne room.”

  Stag looked around the room and asked, “Where’s cook? Isn’t she supposed to be prepping dinner”

  “She’s gone walkies,” Eleanor said, rolling her eyes.

  Stag’s gaze fell on me and he dipped his head in bashful greeting. “Neve, it’s nice to see you.”

  I felt the unexpected flush of a blush on my cheeks. “Hi.”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “So far, so good,” I replied honestly.

  “Do you want some soup?” Eleanor asked her brother. “It seems cook at least had the sense to prepare something before she disappeared, which might save her one or two lashes of Queen Morag’s whip.”

  He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “That would be great. It’s been even colder than usual out there today and cook only gave me bread and water for lunch, hard cow that she is.”

  I sniffed with sympathy. The guy had been out chopping wood in the freezing air all morning, he’d at least deserved a hot meal. Now I felt a little less sympathy at the thought of cook being punished.

  Eleanor explained she had to see to Queen Morag first but she would be back as quickly as she could, then we would eat together. I watched as she gathered together the soup, bread and a cheese selection and placed them on a tray, ready for the Queen.

  I knew Stag was watching me as his sister was preoccupied, but I couldn’t trust myself to look at him without blushing even more and I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

  With Eleanor gone, the kitchen grew smaller and there was no avoiding him.

  “So rumour has it that cook is having a thing with the blacksmith,” Stag declared as his eyes twinkled with mischief.

  I smiled. The thought of anybody having any kind of loving and warm relationship in such a bleak place seemed unfathomable. “I guess you find love where you can,” I replied, my eyes meeting his and then dipping.

  “Are you harmed?” he asked, approaching me and lowering his voice.

  I shook my head.

  “I’m so sorry I had to bring you here, Neve. Please trust me when I tell you I had no other choice.”

  I nodded. I got it. With Eleanor here, Stag couldn’t take the risk of displeasing Queen Morag without creating a threat to his sister’s life. “I understand,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

  He stepped closer and I felt my body stiffen. The heat of him. The smell of him. It was enchanting. I didn’t fully understand the energy coming from him, it was like a sweet poison; dangerous and yet possibly irresistible if I didn’t hold onto my self-control. This, whatever it was, was attraction; that inexplicable draw towards another person. The senses betraying the mind. The body making its own quiet demands. It was ridiculous; I barely knew the guy, and he’d sold me out, and yet here I was, my breath deepening, my eyes widening, and everything narrowing down to one point—his dark brown eyes that glimmered in the half light and spoke a language I was yet to understand but so desperately wanted to know.

  “Has she told you why she wants you?”

  I nodded and met his gaze. “For Prince Vargar.” And it was then that the horrible realisation hit me that it wasn’t just for my reading skills that I had been selected. Eleanor had told me the curse had stopped the women having babies, but I could have a baby—I was untouched by their curse for I wasn’t from their world. Was that the real reason I had been brought here?

  Stag’s frown deepened. “But Prince Vargar is dead.”

  At that moment, Eleanor returned, stomping into the room, muttering something far from complimentary about Queen Morag. When she saw her brother standing so close to me, she pulled up on her feet and flashed him a look of question. She hadn’t heard our conversation, but she knew something was between us and her face cocked to one side with curiosity.

  Stag stepped away and leaned against the worktop, pulling his chin between his fingers as he mused on what I had told him. I tried to relax my body and not look as guilty, or distressed, as I felt. I’d known as soon as I’d seen the expression on his face, that I had just told Stag a secret I wasn’t meant to—one even his own sister had not shared.

  “Everything alright?” Eleanor asked with suspicion.

  “Fine!” Stag and I said simultaneously. It didn’t take a genius to know things weren’t.

  “Queen Morag unhappy about her soup?” Stag asked, hopeful of changing the subject.

  A baby! My head was reeling. But surely Queen Morag must have feared that Prince Vargar’s baby would also be… monstrous.

  “When is she ever happy?” Eleanor said, before clamping her hand to her mouth, fearful she should be overheard.

  Eleanor’s paranoid behaviour unsettled me; she behaved like there were spies everywhere, and yet I’d seen no evidence. Aside from Monseiur Bernarde and the mysterious lusty cook, I had yet to see any other staff in the castle.
>
  Eleanor busied in the cupboard, and pulled out a wooden box of salt, from which she spooned a couple of heaps and placed them in a bowl before heading out of the kitchens again, not failing to give us both the eye as she did.

  As soon as she was gone, Stag rounded on me, his body close again, and my heart inexplicably quickening as it had before.

  “Have you seen him—the prince?”

  “Prince Vargar?” I nodded as by brow knitted together. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Stag asked, his hands grasping onto my arms and his gaze growing more intense. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he’s…” my words trailed off. “It’s complicated.”

  “But he’s alive?”

  I snorted a laugh, more through nervousness than anything else. “Of course he’s alive, he’s just…” I didn’t know why I was being so free with all of this information when it was so obviously a secret. If Queen Morag should find out I had told Stag, then she would take my life to the next level of horror.

  “He’s what?” Stag urged.

  I beckoned him close in with my hand and told him how I suspected that somehow, the wolf attack had infected the prince with some kind of disease; a disease that had turned him part wolf. His jaw slackened with disbelief.

  “I don’t like this, Neve, I really don’t like this,” he said, letting go of me and raking his hand through his hair, which today, he wore down, adding even further drama to his height and colouring. “I had no idea that’s what she wanted you for when I brought you here. I thought she just wanted another maid or…” His brow pulled together tightly.

  “I think she hopes I’ll have his baby,” I blurted out, still trying to process the idea.

  “What? This is…insane! She expects you to,” he paused, gulping down embarrassment, “you know—with him?”

  I closed my eyes against the heat of humiliation spreading across my chest.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I think that might be part of it. She’s not said anything.”