He turned so that his left side was hidden in the darkness. “I must see Lady Trevayne.”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but everyone is asleep. Come back tomorrow.”
“I cannot wait until tomorrow.”
“I am sorry, my lord.”
“I’m her son. I’m sure she will see me.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” the nun repeated firmly, “but no one is allowed inside the convent after dark.” And with that, she closed the portal.
It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to smother the rage that bubbled up inside him, to keep from breaking down the door.
Wrestling with the beast struggling to break free inside him, he whirled away from the door and strode into the night.
He was at the convent door early the following morning. A different nun answered the bell.
“I need to see Lady Trevayne,” he said. “It’s urgent.”
“She is just now breaking her fast.”
He clenched his hands. “I’m her son. I’m sure she would wish to see me.”
“Very well.” The nun took a step backward, her eyes widening as she got a clear glimpse of his mask. “Just wait in there.” She gestured to a door on her left, then hurried down the corridor.
Erik entered the room she had indicated. It was a sitting room of sorts, with a fireplace, a sofa covered in a dark fabric, a low table, and several chairs. He assumed it was here that the nuns visited with family and friends.
He paced the floor, his steps restless, impatient.
“Erik.”
He came to an abrupt halt at the sound of his mother’s voice. He took a deep breath and then turned to face her.
“Mother.”
Lady Trevayne’s gaze moved quickly over her son. He had once been tall and strong and handsome. Now, a black mask covered half of his face. She noted the subtle changes in his posture, noted that his gloved left hand seemed malformed, as did the shape of his boots. His voice, too, was changed.
“Are you well, Erik?”
“Where is Kristine?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s gone. No one knows where.”
“Gone?”
Erik watched the color drain from his mother’s face, felt the first tendrils of fear twine around his heart. “She came here, did she not?”
“Yes.” Lady Trevayne sat down heavily, her shoulders sagging. “Charmion. She’s gone to Charmion.”
“What!” he roared. “Why would she go there?”
“She wanted to know what she could do to help you. She seemed to think she could persuade Charmion to lift the curse.”
“You told her?” He stared at his mother in disbelief. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“She’s your wife, Erik. Who has a better right to know the truth?”
He paced the floor, his right hand clenching and unclenching. “Why did you let her go?”
“I tried to talk her out of it, truly I did. I warned her that Charmion would have no pity, that it would be dangerous not only for her, but for her child.” Lady Trevayne gazed at her son, her arms aching to hold him, to comfort him as she had when he was a lad. “She loves you very much.”
Erik stared at his mother. “What are you talking about?”
“Kristine loves you. She told me so in this very room. Why else would she risk her life and that of her child?”
Erik closed his eyes. Could it be true? Did Kristine love him? And what if she did? It solved nothing.
“You are going after her, are you not?”
“Of course.” She had been gone for four days. He had no doubt that if she had reached Cimmerian Crag, she was being held there against her will.
“Hurry, Erik. My prayers will go with you.”
He took a step forward, then stopped. “I’m sorry I sent you away. It was wrong of me.”
“I should not have let you send me away when you most needed me,” his mother replied quietly. “That was wrong of me.” She smiled up at him, her eyes damp with tears. “Come, kiss me good-bye.”
“I’ll find her,” he promised, and bending down, he kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll send Chilton to bring you home.”
“There’s no need. I am content here.”
“Kristine will need you.” The words when I’m gone hovered, unspoken, between them.
“As you wish. Go with God, my son,” Lady Trevayne said. She watched him leave the room, and then she went into the chapel to pray.
She had a four-day head start on him. That was all Erik could think about as he raced back to Hawksbridge Castle. He wanted to hurry toward Charmion’s dark castle, but instead he swung by Hawksbridge, hoping, praying that he would find Kristine there, but it was not to be.
He stayed just long enough to change his clothes and arm himself, though he feared his weapons would be little protection against Charmion’s witchcraft.
Mrs. Grainger pressed a burlap bag into his hands as he went out the kitchen door. “She’ll be fine, I know she will.”
With a curt nod, he took the sack of foodstuffs and ran toward the stable.
Brandt and Gilbert had replaced Raven’s sweaty saddle blanket with a dry one. The stallion had been brushed, his hooves cleaned. Erik stuffed a bag of oats into one of his saddlebags, the sack of food into the other.
“We’ll be praying for her, my lord,” Brandt said as he handed Erik the reins. “All of us.”
Gilbert’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Godspeed, my lord.”
With a nod, Erik swung into the saddle. Kristine had won all their hearts, he mused as he rode out of the yard. Heaven knew she had his.
Leaving the manor grounds, Erik urged Raven northward, ever northward, his heart burning with a cold and bitter rage.
“Please, please, please . . .” Just that one word, repeating over and over again.
Please don’t let me be too late.
Please don’t let Charmion take her hatred for me out on Kristine and the babe.
If anything happened to Kristine, he would never forgive himself.
He lifted his left hand, the long black claws hidden beneath a leather glove. If anything had happened to Kristine, he would rip Charmion’s heart from her body.
As the morning wore on, dark clouds gathered overhead, blanketing the sun. Lightning slashed through the lowering skies. He heard the low roar of distant thunder.
Raven snorted and tossed his head.
A blinding flash of lightning sizzled across the skies, unleashing a torrent of icy rain. Erik huddled deeper into his heavy cloak. Driven by an ever-growing sense of urgency, he bypassed the shelter of a small town he passed along the way.