The servant looked at her gently and said, “I sent the word to Nate about your brother but I was torn apart by it. I both hoped and feared that you would come, Beauty. I fretted over it all day for I knew of no other way for Tom’s life to be spared, but it breaks my heart to see you come to such a state. I feel as if I’ve failed your father.”
“Seth, my old friend, that’s not true,” Beauty told him gently. Her quiet acceptance of the situation had increased as soon as the Beast was out of sight. “Do you disapprove of me?”
“I disapprove of the situation, lass, never of you,” Seth told her gently. “I will strive to help you in any way I can.”
“Thank you, Seth.” She gasped as a thought hit her. “How is it that you had to ask which Tom should be released? You know my brother well.”
The servant shrugged, “I hoped the Beast would be so blinded by your beauty that he would do just what he did. I took a chance that he would let both lads go. The other poor lad had no one to save him. It worked, did it not?” The servant winked as he held the barn door open for her.
A short time later, after a tearful exchange with her brother, Beauty returned to the great hall and presented herself to the maid, Gwyneth. She soon found herself in the knight’s great bedchamber, a large room that seemed to be barren except for a fireplace, a wardrobe against a wall, a small table, a mirror, a chair and a great big bed. There was a large fur rug on the floor in front of the fireplace.
The bed seemed to Beauty to take up all the room. It was a four-poster, made of rich dark wood and covered with deep intricate carving. There was a deep feather mattress, crisp linen sheets, and great piles of fur coverings for warmth and comfort.
The fireplace was already lit against the evening chill. A large metal tub was brought into the room and placed before the fireplace. Men had been ordered to bring hot water to fill the tub.
The maid had brought a silver platter of food with her, tender meats, bread and ripe fruits. She ordered Beauty to eat as they waited for the tub to be filled. Beauty’s nerves were stretched so tight that her stomach rebelled at the thought of food but she had not eaten since early morn. She was hungry and she knew she would need her strength to get through the night ahead. Flashing a grateful smile at the maid, she picked at the food.
When she’d eaten all she could force down her tight throat, Beauty stood beside the tub, submitting herself to the dubious ministrations of the maid. The maid was a middle-aged woman, maybe forty, dressed in a plain, straight grey dress, with white lace at the neck and cuffs. Her brown hair was lightly streaked with grey, and pulled severely back into a tight bun. There was no welcoming light in her soft brown eyes. She seemed to take Beauty’s presence in the castle as just another distraction, a source of still more chores to be done.
She barely spoke to Beauty, and when she did, not in very civilized tones. She barely let the two men finish pouring boiling water into a large metal tub before she stripped Beauty’s clothes right off her body, ripping them, and silently pointed at the steaming bathtub.
Without a word Beauty stepped into the water, visibly flinching at the scalding heat. She gave control of her body over to the austere servant who bathed her, scrubbing her vigorously and roughly all over. The maid then washed and rinsed her long hair. Beauty stood as the maid dried her with a rough towel. The maid towelled her hair, then brushed it dry. Lastly, she rubbed scented oil over Beauty’s skin, frowning as she noted the calluses on Beauty’s hands.
Finishing her silent inspection, the maid finally spoke to Beauty.
She asked coldly, “Who are you Lass? And why are you here?”
“I’m just a peasant from the village,” Beauty answered softly, shyly. “And I’m here to save my brother’s life.”
“Your brother was one of the lads who was supposed to be hanged?” The maid was surprised, muttering, “Queer business that.”
“How so?” Beauty’s interest was piqued and she forgot her nudity.
“Tis a bit of a mystery how the theft came to the master’s attention. No one actually saw the theft and no one noticed any grain missing, so who told the head guard? ’Twas Gerrin himself told the tale to the master,” the maid puzzled. “Anyway that’s not what I was asking you. Who are you?”
“Just one of the villagers. They call me Beauty,” she replied calmly.
“Tis fitting enough,” the maid chuckled almost against her will. “But it’s not your given name, I’ll wager, and you are not just one of the village maidens.”
“I lived there before tonight,” Beauty asserted, uncertain just what this woman knew about her. “In the village.”
“Sure lass, if that’s what you want me to believe.” The maid paused. “Be ye a virgin?”
“Yea.” The reply was soft and nervous, the truthfulness of the claim written all over Beauty’s face.
“Have courage, lass,” the maid said softly. “Many of the stories you’ve heard about my master are not true. He’s a rough man to be sure, but he’s a good man inside. I believe he has love and mercy locked away somewhere inside him but he doesn’t know it yet.”
“How can a man not know when he holds human emotions deep inside his soul?” Beauty puzzled aloud.
“He was raised not to show any emotion at all, except anger and ferocity. Any trace of humanity was soon thrashed out of him. He needs a strong woman who can show him the secrets of the heart, one who can teach mercy to the Beast. ’Tis a job that will take a great deal of inner strength.” The older woman looked Beauty over carefully and poured her a glass of dark Spanish wine.
Her manner gentled and her tone softened. “You just may be the one.”
“What one?” Beauty refused to see the woman’s point and ignored the proffered glass.
“God’s truth, the woman who can tame the Beast!” The woman smiled softly as Beauty gasped. “It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever tried. Take the wine.” She paused until Beauty did so. “You’ll need the courage of a legion of fighting men and the patience of a saint, and all the endurance you can muster. You might be able to do it though. I’ve a feeling.”
“Why would I try to tame the Beast? Right now, I just want to survive the night,” Beauty said softly, sipping the rich wine. “I want to serve the Beast well enough so that he doesn’t regret the bargain we made.”
“Someone has to reach his soul, to find the man within. With courage, you will be the one. Me name’s Gwyneth. Seek me out in the kitchen in the morning if you need aught. And drink at least one more glass of the wine before he comes to you, maybe two, but no more,” the maid told her softly before putting a soft, sheer gown of linen and delicate white lace over Beauty’s head and leading her to the bed. “Two or three glasses may help ye, but any more would truly make things worse.”
The maid waited for Beauty to get into the bed before she stepped out into the hall and ordered the men in to empty the tub. Alone in the huge bed waiting for the Beast to come to and take her, Beauty was more than nervous, she was truly scared. She sipped a second glass of wine as she looked within herself, deep into her heart and soul. She decided that the only way she could keep her promise to the Beast and her own self-respect was to accept the promise she’d made, within her own heart and mind at least, as a marriage vow.
After she spent time with the Beast she knew she would be ruined, far too much in disgrace to ever marry another man anyway. To her, for the sake of her sanity, this had to be a marriage and she would honour it as such even though there was no priest and even though to the Beast it would be a mere dalliance. Her resolve was firm as she came to a kind of peace within her own mind. As the maid had suggested, a third glass of wine helped.