Erik forced himself to endure the witch’s scrutiny without turning away, though it was humiliating to stand there, without so much as a scrap of cloth to hide his nakedness. Hatred boiled up inside him, filling him, until he thought he would choke on it.
“It grows more difficult each day, does it not?” Charmion mused. “More difficult to maintain your humanity. Well,” she said brightly, “soon you won’t have to worry about it at all. You shall make a delightful pet. No doubt I shall have to keep you tightly muzzled at first, but you will soon learn your place, and if you don’t, why, then I shall destroy you. A wolf skin would look well in front of my hearth, don’t you think?”
Kristine backed away from the cell, sickened by the image conjured up by the witch’s words, by the evil laughter that filled the dungeon like thick oily smoke.
A growl rose in Erik’s throat, a horrible, inhuman sound filled with impotent rage.
The witch cackled with delight as he lunged forward, his left arm reaching through the bars, claws straining to reach her.
Horrified, Kristine watched Charmion taunt him, watched him throw himself against the bars in a vain attempt to reach the witch. Kristine looked away, unable to watch, found herself reaching for a heavy gilt-edged mirror. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she lifted the mirror and struck Charmion over the head with all the force at her command.
The witch gasped in pain, then crumpled to the ground amid a shower of broken glass.
“Erik, what have I done?” Kristine stared at him, a look of horror on her face. “Is she dead?”
Dropping to his knees, he reached through the bars to check the witch’s pulse. There was none. For all their power, witches were frail creatures. He quickly searched her pockets, looking for the key to the lock, but it wasn’t there.
“Kristine. Kristine!”
“She’s dead, isn’t she? I didn’t mean to kill her.”
“Kristine, listen to me. You’ve got to find the key or something we can use to break the lock.”
She nodded. Then, with a glance at the fallen witch, she turned and hurried down the corridor.
Erik stared after her, then blew out a sigh. Charmion was dead, and all hope of breaking the curse had died with her.
He swore softly as he ran his hand over the lock. If Charmion had cast a spell over it, he would never get out.
Minutes later he heard the sound of Kristine’s footsteps on the stones, and then she was there. She held up a large brass key. “I found it!”
Erik nodded. “Hurry, love.” He held his breath as Kristine slid the key into the lock. An eternity seemed to pass as he waited for her to turn the key.
His breath whooshed out in a sigh of relief as the lock opened. A moment later, he was out of the cell, holding Kristine in his arms.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Please, Erik, let’s get out of here. Now.”
He nodded, as eager as she to put this place far behind them. Hand in hand, they left the dungeon.
“Find me something to wear and pack us some food,” Erik said when they reached the top of the stairs. “I’ll go saddle the horses.”
“Hurry.”
“I will.” He walked through the silent house toward the front door, the hair along the back of his neck prickling. He could feel Charmion’s dark magic all around him. He paused in the hallway, his gaze drawn to a life-sized portrait of Dominique.
He stared at the painting, wondering how she had grown up in this place of evil witchcraft and still remained so pure and sweet. He knew there were witches who practiced white magic, just as there were others, like Charmion, who delighted in evil. Dominique had been born to be a witch, but she had refused to acknowledge the magic she possessed. He had never truly realized until now how difficult it must have been for her.
With a sigh, he touched a finger to her painted cheek. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “I never meant you any harm.”
Leave here. Hurry.
With a start, Erik glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Dominique standing behind him, so clearly had he heard her voice. But there was no one there.
Filled with a sense of urgency, he left the house and headed for the stable. Ten minutes later both horses were saddled and he was at the back door.
“Kristine?”
“Here I am.” She stepped out of the kitchen, a basket and a heavy cloak on one arm. “Here.” She thrust a pile of clothing at him. “Hurry.”
She felt it, too, he thought as he dressed, the need to be gone from this place as soon as possible. He wondered briefly whose clothing he was wearing and what had happened to the former owner.
When he finished dressing, he draped the heavy cloak over Kristine’s shoulders; then they hurried toward the horses. Erik lifted Kristine onto Misty’s back, stuffed the contents of the basket into the saddlebags, and tossed the basket away.
Taking up Raven’s reins, he swung onto the stallion’s back and led the way out of the yard.
He didn’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-One
They rode as fast as they dared down the narrow, winding trail. Kristine let the mare have her head, knowing Misty didn’t need her hand on the reins to follow Erik’s big black stallion. Tears blinded her eyes. She had killed Charmion. It didn’t matter that the woman had been a witch, or that she had planned to take Erik’s child, or that she had probably planned to kill Kristine, herself, once the babe was born. She hadn’t wanted to kill Charmion, and yet, at the time, it had seemed there was no other choice. She couldn’t have left Erik in that awful dungeon, couldn’t have left him there knowing what the witch had in store for him.
A shiver raced down Kristine’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold. She had never been given to violence, yet she had killed twice. No matter that the first time had been to defend her honor, the second time to defend Erik and her unborn babe. Murder was a sin, and the guilt of it weighed heavily on her conscience.
She lifted her gaze to Erik’s back. The dreadful curse had almost fully consumed him. Only the right half of his face, neck, and hand remained human. The rest of his body more closely resembled that of a man-sized wolf. And soon, too soon, the transformation would be complete and he would be lost to her forever.
What would happen to him then? What would he do? Where would he go? Would he stay with her at Hawksbridge Castle, condemned to live as a beast for the rest of his days? How would he bear it? How would she? And if he left . . . How would she go on, never knowing where he was, always wondering if he was dead or alive?