Beast and Beatrice

Chapter eleven - Beatrice

  Beatrice lay there on the rough pallet, fretting. Her throat felt rough after that purging. She had sipped some more water to try to soothe away the nasty aftereffects but it was still difficult to swallow. She was exhausted and yet she was nowhere near sleep. She was angry with herself. She had panicked, like a stupid, brainless twit. The man hadn't meant her any harm. He had been trying to prevent her from causing herself harm. If he hadn't acted so quickly, well, she hated to think what might have happened. And how did she repay his heroism? She pressed him for answers and made him so uncomfortable he dashed out the door to escape her.

If only she had curbed her tongue. Reigned in her curiosity. But no. Mentioning his injuries had sparked a reaction she told herself she should have expected. He was obviously a strong man, trying to remake his life after a tragedy. And what does she do? Remind him of what must have been a horrid time in his life. Point out all his flaws and then interrogate him. The man couldn't escape fast enough.

  It was obviously a painful, difficult subject. His scars were pretty extensive. His injuries must have been disabling. And yet he seemed to have overcome his limitations. They didn't seem to interfere with his mobility. For a big man, he seemed to move about with agility and purpose. His only true handicap was his inability to speak, although, she realized the man wasn't completely mute. He could make some sounds. He certainly could snore. And that shushing sound he'd used to calm her. But, unfortunately, actual words seemed to be beyond his scope of abilities. And now, thanks to her frenzied panic, their only means of communication was shattered.

  Beatrice rolled up onto one elbow and frowned at the bits of slate littering the floor by the clothes chest. The mess was completely out of place here in this tidy, organized room. She couldn't simply leave it to Gilbert... Mr. Lourson to clean up the destruction she had wrought. Determined to do something to atone for her earlier blunder, she rose and moved to kneel beside the chest.

  It was then she noticed the books piled there. Beatrice yearned to pick one up and read. She had always had an affinity for literature but she was almost afraid to touch these as she recalled the reverence Gilbert had used when setting them aside. They must be very precious to him. Each one was leather bound and well worn, embossed with gold lettering across the cover, some faded with age and handling but still legible. Titles like Gulliver's Travels and Robinson Crusoe she immediately recognized as beloved favorites. She had often read them for her own enjoyment. She'd also read them aloud to her nephew and nieces. The children adored hearing the stories and often begged for more. A smile tugged at her lips at the thought.

  A man who treasured books was almost unheard of in Beatrice's understanding. Neither her father nor brother ever read anything simply for the pleasure of reading. It was her mother who found great enjoyment in disappearing between the pages of a book and she passed that love of literature down to Beatrice. She decided she would study them more closely after she cleaned up the broken bits of slate.

  Cautiously, she picked up the largest pieces and stacked them in a pile. Now, if only she could locate a broom. With this idea in mind, she climbed to her feet and began a search about the room. It took several minutes of scaling the perimeter of the room before she finally noticed the broom standing beside the lone stool at the table. As she moved to retrieve it, her eye was drawn to the beautiful little cupid sitting there. She leaned closer, marveling at the fine detail and lifelike appearance. It really was a masterpiece. A work of art sculpted by a truly skilled artisan. What a marvelous dichotomy this man was. One would never guess a man of his massive size and rugged appearance was capable of creating such artistic sorcery.

  It was then voices echoed from outside. The words were indistinguishable but the tone was unmistakably loud, angry and strident. That couldn't be Gilbert. But who else would be out there? Beatrice moved to the door and cautiously eased it open. She peaked around the edge and softly gasped in shock.