Christopher and I sat quietly by the fire, enjoying cups of warm tea to fend off the terrible chill of the snowy Christmas night. Foxy was curled at my feet and Christopher had strewn several blankets over me, to ensure that my cold stayed gone. Warm inside and out, I was perfectly content with the quiet, even though a part of me pined for even one familiar Christmas tradition. I doubted that I would find such things here. Christopher was too busy scheming up ways for us to take Rosalyn’s spell book without her noticing.
“I could slip something into her wine, I suppose. I’m sure I could find something useful for that in her study, but…being that she’s well versed in the art of poison making…she may notice it.” Christopher huffed once more in exasperation. One more scheme denied.
“You’re thinking of poisoning her, now?” I asked, my eyebrows knitting together. “We just want to take the book, not kill her. Evil witch or not, I don’t want to murder her. If we tried that, we’d be no better than she is.”
“I was merely suggesting that we put her to sleep somehow, although a more permanent solution does sound enticing.”
I gawked at him in horror.
“I’m joking, Isabel.” He laughed softly, continuing his maddening pacing. He hadn’t stopped in hours.
“It wasn’t funny.” I scolded him, eyeing him woefully over the rim of my cup as I took another sip of my earl grey tea, enjoying the pine-like aroma of the steam. “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going. Please sit down; you’re giving me a headache, pacing like that.”
“Sorry.” He said, falling heavily into the couch I was sitting on. He was so broad, he took up most of it and our shoulders were touching due to the lack of space. He made no move to give me more room. I remembered that when I first came to the house, he’d almost been terrified at the prospect of even coming near me, let alone hold my hand, afraid that he’d harm me in some way with his beast-like strength. Now he was perfectly at ease with me, as if we’d known each other since the womb. I smiled quietly at my own musings. The only other person I had ever been this comfortable with had been my father. After he died, I never thought I’d find another kindred spirit. Life had certainly proved me wrong. “I have to come up with something, but I have no idea what will work. She’s always watching me like a hawk. She will notice anything that I do that is out of character.” He said. I watched intently as he raked his hand through his dark gold mane, tugging at it in frustration.
“Well, you’ve yet to suggest a plan where I’m involved. Are you trying to do all this yourself?” I asked, setting my tea cup and saucer down with a clatter. “I’m going to help. I won’t let you face this danger on your own.”
Christopher tilted his head back, letting it rest against the back of the couch. His thick hair cascaded over the back. He stared up at the ceiling a moment before letting his eyelids flutter closed. “I want to face it alone. I can’t allow her to discover you.”
“Do you really think that she’d kill me if she found out that I was here?” I asked, remembered something that Ashton had mentioned about the Craft family dying out.
“No, she wouldn’t kill you. That was another of my lies. Your Craft blood is far too valuable to her. She’d try to make you into one of them, as she did with your father and Ashton. She succeeded with her son, but not with Peter. I intend for you to follow your father’s example and steer clear of the Crafts as much as possible.” There was a seriousness to his voice that
“I’m more afraid of what she’d do to you if she discovered that you’ve been hiding me from her all this time. It’s your life that would be in danger, not mine.”
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The Beast's Ward
RomanceA retelling of Beauty and the Beast. After Isabel's father is lost at sea, she goes to live with a legal guardian, a distant cousin named Christopher Thorn. She learns that Christopher is not at all what he appears to be. His beastly form and rough...
