To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(22)

The deerhound hadn’t followed them into the library.

Alistair shrugged. “Probably fell asleep by the fire in the dining room.”

“But she’ll miss us,” Jamie said. “I’ll go get her.”

And he hopped up before anyone could say a word and scurried from the room.

“Jamie!” Abigail called. “Jamie, don’t run!” And she was off as well.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Halifax said.

He frowned at her in surprise. “What for?”

“They can be so impetuous.”

Alistair shrugged. He wasn’t used to children, but these ones were rather interesting to have about.

“I—” she began, but she was interrupted by a single shrill scream.

Alistair was out the door without waiting for Mrs. Halifax. He ran down the hallway. The scream wasn’t repeated, but he was sure it’d come from the dining room. Perhaps Abigail had seen a spider. But when he rounded the dining room door, he knew it was something else entirely.

Lady Grey lay by the fireplace as he’d predicted, but Jamie knelt over her, frantically patting her side, and Abigail stood still and pale with her hands pressed to her mouth.

No.

He slowly walked to the fireplace, Mrs. Halifax trailing behind. Abigail simply stared at him, silent tears running down her face.

But Jamie looked up as he neared. “She’s hurt! Lady Grey is hurt. You must help her.”

Alistair knelt by the old dog and placed his palm on her side. She was already growing cold. It must’ve happened as she slept, while they ate supper, as he’d shown Mrs. Halifax his library, completely oblivious.

He had to clear his throat. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Yes!” the boy cried. His face was red, tears glittering in his eyes. “Yes! You must!”

“Jamie,” Mrs. Halifax murmured. She tried to grasp her son’s arm, but he wrenched it from her grasp and threw himself on the dog.

Abigail ran from the room.

Alistair placed a hand lightly on the boy’s head. It quivered under his palm as the child sobbed. Lady Grey had been a gift from Sophia, many, many years ago, before he’d left for the Colonies. He hadn’t taken her with him; she had been a young dog back then, and he feared that the long sea voyage would prove too cramped for her. But when he’d returned home, broken, his life no longer what he’d thought it would be, Lady Grey had been here. She’d galloped down the drive to greet him, had stood with her paws upon his shoulders as he’d rubbed her ears, and she’d grinned, tongue lolling. She’d walked by his side when he’d wandered the heath, lay by the fireside as he’d written his book. Come to nuzzle his hand when he’d woken in the dark of night, drenched in sweat from hideous dreams.

Alistair swallowed with difficulty. “Good dog,” he whispered huskily. “That’s a good lass.”

He stroked her side, feeling the rough, cooling fur.

“Help her!” Jamie reared up and hit at the hand that had touched his head. “Help her!”

“I cannot,” Alistair said, choking. “She’s dead.”

Chapter Five

The beautiful young man led Truth Teller into the courtyard of the castle. An ancient knot garden lay here, formed of yew shrubs and decorated with statues of knights and warriors. A small cage of swallows was at one corner, the birds beating their wings hopelessly against the bars. In the center of the knot garden was a great iron cage. Dirty straw was scattered in the cage, and in the back huddled a large thing. It was a dull black color with rotting scales and stringy hair. It stood eight feet tall and had huge horns that curved down to its great shoulders. The thing’s eyes were yellow and bloodshot. At the sight of the young man, it leapt at the bars and snarled with a mouth filled with dripping fangs.

The beautiful young man merely smiled and turned to Truth Teller. “Are you afraid now?”

“No,” said Truth Teller.

His host laughed. “Then you shall be this monster’s guard.…”

—from TRUTH TELLER

She’d made a ghastly mistake. Helen stroked Jamie’s sweaty head that night and berated herself. Jamie had cried himself to sleep, desolate over Lady Grey’s death. On the other side of the bed, Abigail was silent. She hadn’t made a sound since that single shrill scream in the dining room. Now she lay on her side, facing away from Jamie, her body a slight lump under the covers.

Helen closed her eyes. What had she done to her darlings? She’d taken her children from the safety of their home in London, from all they knew, all that was familiar to them, and brought them to this strange, dark place where sweet old dogs died. Perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps she could’ve endured Lister and the hopeless, imprisoned life she’d led as his forgotten mistress, if only for the sake of her children.

But no. She’d known these last years that it was only a matter of time before she offended him in some way and she would wake up to find the children gone. If nothing else, that had been the primary driving reason to leave the duke: she could not live without Abigail and Jamie.

She opened her eyes and got up, drifting to the dark windows. The view was less than comforting, though. The ivy on the outside walls so overgrew the windows that the moon was but a glittering speck. There was a small table under the window that she’d made into a desk to transcribe Lady Vale’s fairy-tale book. She touched the papers there. She really ought to work on it some more, but she was too restless tonight.