“I will.” Bending down, Kristine kissed the older woman’s cheek. “Pray for us.”
“I shall. Mind my words, Kristine, stay away from Charmion.”
“Does she live nearby?” Kristine asked, wondering why the thought had not occurred to her before.
“She dwells at the top of Cimmerian Crag, less than a day’s ride from Hawksbridge.”
Kristine nodded. Cimmerian Crag was a familiar landmark, though she had never known that anyone lived there.
Lady Trevayne laid her hand on Kristine’s arm. “Stay away from her,” she warned again. “There is no way to soften that virago’s wicked heart.”
It was dark by the time Kristine returned to Hawksbridge Castle. She bathed and dressed, then went down to supper. Mrs. Grainger hovered over her. Kristine knew the cook was about to burst with curiosity but, being a servant, it wasn’t her place to ask where Kristine had been, and Kristine was not of a mind to explain.
She ate because it gave her something to do, because she would need her strength for the journey to Charmion’s dwelling.
She would leave in the morning and hope her courage didn’t desert her along the way. After dinner, she went into the library and sat in Erik’s favorite chair. The house seemed so big, so empty without him. Even when he had been busy in another part of the house, she had felt his presence, had known that, sooner or later, he would come to her bed. She had not truly realized how much she had looked forward to being in his arms until he was gone.
She moaned softly, aching for him, for what he must be feeling, thinking. Seeing him had explained so much—why he never left the estate, why there were no mirrors in the house, other than those behind locked doors, why he preferred wool to the fine lawn and linen shirts that were favored by wealthy men, why he had refused her touch. Her fingers curled into a tight fist as she thought of the nights she had yearned to touch him, to caress him. He had been wise to prevent her. Look how she had behaved when she saw him! Fainted dead away like some spineless ninny. Did he hate her for that? Heaven knew she hated herself.
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?”