The Heart of The Beast: A romantic adult fairytale revealing how the power of love can overcome the hardest heart. Susan Kohler
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they’re not sluts but were in fact pure maidens seeking desperately to preserve their decency,” Beauty shot back, angered by the man’s callousness.
“Tis highly unlikely, but of no real import.” The guard snarled before he asked crudely, “Tis very strange for one of the local sluts to just walk up to the gate as ye did. Did the Beast summon ye?”
“No, but he will wish to see me,” Beauty replied with all her dignity wrapped around her like a cloak sheltering her soul.
“Just how would ye be so certain of that?” The huge man leaned over to ask her, his foul breath hitting Beauty in the face. “The master likes his sluts to be beautiful.”
For her answer, Beauty silently pulled back her hood, letting him see her face for the first time. Without another word or question the shocked guard admitted her and summoned the nearest serf to take her to the Beast.
Walking behind the skinny, young peasant, a youth Beauty recognized vaguely as the son of one of her neighbours, she was led through the cobbled courtyard. She tried to ignore the catcalls and crude remarks the knight’s men directed her way. She kept her head high but her eyes lowered to avoid stepping into any of the filth, mud and horse manure thickly scattered on the smooth, worn cobblestones around the courtyard. Silently, much too frightened to speak, she held her head erect as she followed the lad into the castle, into the very lair of the Beast.
In spite of the day’s heat, Beauty shivered as she was led into the great hall, a huge, drafty room with high stone walls, huge beams in the ceiling, and straw strewn on the stone slab floor. There were various carved wooden chairs around the sides of the room, some with dirty brocade seats. In the centre of the room there was a long wooden dining table with great long benches along both sides. There was plenty of room around the great table for servants to move around freely when serving the soldiers and guests who dined there. A smaller, more ornate table and two large, wooden chairs, both carved intricately and having padded brocade seats were set on a raised platform near the end of the room. Iron stands with candles and wall-mounted torches provided faint, barely adequate illumination. An empty fireplace took up most of the end of the room, next to a long, winding, stone staircase.
Tapestries sewn with great detail and care by the former lady of the castle were hanging on two walls. They depicted either hunting and forest scenes or Biblical stories. Seeing the tapestries brought tears to Beauty’s eyes until she remembered her quest. The youthful serf quickly left the hall and Beauty stood, quaking and silent, before the great warlord himself.
The Beast stood, still and distant, leaning casually back against the end of the great table. He seemed relaxed as his arms were casually crossed and one knee slightly bent, but instinctively Beauty knew his careless demeanour was deceptive. He was as ready for action as a wolf was ready to spring on its unsuspecting prey. Beauty well knew she was that prey.
He wore a plain, white shirt of soft linen; it was loose with a soft open neckline that showed his lightly furred chest and billowing sleeves gathered at his wrists. The shirt was long, hanging almost to the tops of his thighs, and a wide leather belt circled his waist. He had leather boots that reached his knees. The thick leather gloves he used for fighting and his brown doublet were on the table beside him.
Although Beauty had seen him from a distance, she’d never been close enough to the Beast to make out his features or even his build. Beauty was shocked down to her bones at the sight of him. The man who ruled the land with such brutality, wielding his power with an iron fist and legendary cruelty was not ugly. He bore no resemblance to the ogre or monster he was said to be. To the contrary, he was very handsome! Breathtaking!
Tall and well formed, he was very muscular, without a trace of fat. He had long deep chestnut hair pulled back at his neck. His eyes were a deep, vibrant green, although they were cold and emotionless. He had a surprisingly young face with firm even features, and such a full sensuous mouth that in spite of her terror, Beauty felt a quiver run down her spine, a quiver that was not entirely born of dread.
The Beast never even looked at her; he stood motionless, seemingly at ease, waiting for her to speak before he finally barked, “Who in hell are you and what do you want?”
“M’lord, I am the sister of one of the lads you propose to hang this evening, and I have come to ask for your mercy,” she replied with deceptive calm.
“Haven’t you heard, lass? I have no mercy,” the Beast said coldly. “The two lads are thieves and deserve to die.”
“I don’t believe you. They’re just two lads who were accused. There’s no evidence, there’s been no hearing. You don’t even know which one is guilty, or even if either one is. You are sentencing two innocent young lads to death. It’s not right.” Beauty’s voice quivered. “And my brother Tom is so young, barely more than a boy.”
“I am the sole judge of what is right. The lads are both over twenty, certainly old enough to know the penalty for theft is death and they will indeed both hang as I have ordered.” The Beast was implacable.
“But, M’lord, I know my brother well. I swear before God, he is no thief,” she said meekly as tears formed in her eyes and ran silently down her face.
“Your brother is naught but rabble and all the rabble steal or would if they did not fear me enough and that is why the two lads will make such a good lesson. I care not which of them stole from me, or even if neither of them did the deed. They will serve me well as a warning of my justice and that is reason enough for me to hang them.” The Beast looked at her for the first time noticing her covered face and bulky, dirty clothes. “You’ll have to give me a better reason than your cries and protests that he is innocent to persuade me to show mercy.” His eyes raked insolently over her body, concealed as it was. “A much better reason.”
Beauty dropped to the floor and sobbed aloud for a while before gathering her wits. In an act of desperation, she reached out a hand and grabbed the Beast by his ankle.
“Please M’lord, I beg you. I will do anything, I will give you all that I have to save him. I need him, else my mother and younger brother will starve and also… ” her soft voice faltered, “I love him. What can I do?”
The Beast sneered at her pleading, but he reached down and pulled her roughly to her feet. “Love? What is that but a soft women’s word? I have never known of love and I do not believe in it.”
“You’ve never known love? Not even from your parents?” Beauty was so shocked she forgot herself, looking him straight in the eyes for a quick moment before lowering her gaze and adding, “M’lord.”
The Beast thought of himself as a very private man who had long closed himself inside a wall as thick and solid as those enclosing the castle grounds, and nearly as impenetrable. In truth, deep in the core of his soul, he hungered with an ache he would never acknowledge, even to himself. He hungered for just one person to see past the stern warrior to the man buried deep inside.
To be certain, he was not thinking of the peasant girl before him as that person. He thought of the girl as being worthless, of no more importance or intelligence than one of his dogs, but she was the first person ever to pose such a question to him, and almost against his will he answered her truthfully, surprising even himself.
Mayhap a dam broke deep inside his soul releasing a flood of buried emotions or mayhap he was angered by the nerve of the girl and just wanted to let her see herself as the weak fool she was, speaking of wasted emotions like love and mercy.
“I very seldom saw my parents when I was an infant,” the Beast scoffed. “From what I’ve heard, they hired a nurse to care for me. If care is what you’d call it.”
“What do you mean, M’lord?” she asked quietly, sensing that he was telling her things he had never spoken aloud before.
Beauty felt a pain coming from within this proud man and knew she had to tread lightly, not letting him see any trace of sympathy. Sympathy that he was sure to take as pity or weakness that he could use to his advantage.
“The nurse kept me swaddled. I was bound