Chapter 10: Defeating Fear
Oh dear! Oh dear! Marmion, who had been a servant in the Castle de Beaumont since childhood, thought to hiself as he burst through the front doors of the castle. Oh dear! Oh dear! I must warn the master! Oh dear!
He ran through the entrance hall and up the stairs. Once he had made the landing he rounded the corner and . . .
"BAH! DO YOU MIND? WHY DON'T YOU WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING? WHAT IF I HAD BEENCARRYING SOMETHING?"
He had slammed into Cogsworth, who now appeared none too happy. In fact, he appeared nearly as though he was about to pull Marmion over his knee.
Marmion thought there was no time to apologize. Instead, he violently jabbed his finger at the air from which he had just run.
"What is it, Marmion?" Cogsworth asked. "Is there somebody outside the door?"
Marmion nodded his head violently. Actually, that person had not yet come to the door when he had started running. He had, however, seen the carriage as it came over the bridge. Immediately, upon seeing the family seal on the door of the carriage, he knew who was coming to visit the Castle de Beaumont.
"Well," Cogsworth scolded, "Why haven't you invited them in?"
Marmion tugged at his hair. That's right; he could get in a lot of trouble for not letting them in- especially this guest.
Marmion nearly tripped as he tore back around and started back down the stairs, but as he reached the middle of the case, he suddenly remembered why he had not stayed around to open the door in the first place. He turned around again. This time, he whizzed by Cogsworth, who muttered to himself, "I swear! Some of these servants would surely lose themselves without me around to keep track of them."
Marmion continued running until he made it to the room he was looking for. He struggled to catch his breath as he pounded loosely and heavily on the door.
"Come in!" he heard a voice invite from the other side.
Marmion pushed open the door and slipped inside the library. He saw his master sitting at his desk, scrawling deliberately with his quill.
"Yes, what is it, Marmion?" Adam asked when he noticed the short servant standing before his desk.
Marmion desperately jabbed his finger at the air, pointing towards the door.
"Is there somebody here to see me, Marmion?" Adam asked.
Marmion nodded.
"Alright," Adam said as he stood up and began walking away from his desk. "Thank you, Marmion."
Marmion nodded as though to say "you're welcome". . . No, wait!
Marmion skidded right into Adam's path and pushed up at his shoulders.
"What is it, Marmion?" Adam asked, puzzled, noticing the presence of fear in the shorter man's eyes. "Who is here to see me?"
Marmion thought for a moment. How was he going to say this?
Finally, he pointed directly at Adam and then pretended to pull at an imaginary beard hanging from his own chin.
Adam now looked more confused than ever.
Marmion pointed at his master again, but then stood on his tiptoes and held a hand over his head, palm-down.
The anxiety within Adam rose. Now he understood. There was somebody here to see him, but he should not hasten to answer the door.
Adam entered his bed-chamber to find Belle laying their newborn son down in his crib. He did not want to be telling her what he had now to tell her, not because he thought it would upset her- although it might- but because he also wished that what he was about to say was not true.
He walked over to stand beside where his wife stood at his son's crib.
"Belle," he began.
"Shhh," she replied, holding a finger of warning up to her husband's lips. "He's sleeping."
Adam looked into the crib. He could not help but produce a fraction of a smile as he looked upon the innocent face of the sleeping infant and the curled position of the child's fingers and toes as his tiny lungs puffed in and out.
"Sorry," Adam whispered, turning back to Belle. "It's only that I have something to tell you that you're not going to like."
"What is it?"
"Well . . ."
He realized that he was probably more displeased about this than her, but the fact did not make it any easier to utter out loud.
"My father is here," he revealed.
"What?" Belle replied, hoping that what she thought he had said had just been a distortion caused by the fact that he was whispering.
"Belle," he repeated, pulling her gently away from the crib so he could say it a little louder and more clearly. "My father is here."
"Why?" Belle felt herself saying before she could even think about it.
This was not a good time. She did not desire to meet Adam's father- ever. But especially not now. Not when a new edition had just been made to the family. This precious new child surely did not need to be here to face a risen tension.
"I don't know," Adam replied. "And I don't know if he is here for a visit or if he is here to stay, but I really wish he was not here at all."
"Me too," Belle replied. "Why don't you just tell him to leave?"
"I can't, Belle! This is still legally his castle."
"If it were up to me, he would have given up all rights to this property when he left his only son here without apologizing for making him feel worthless."
"I know how you feel, Belle, and I appreciate your thoughts, but I really have no say in this. My father is a lord. Though I may be his son, and you my wife, we are not the law."
"I know," Belle said. "But why is he here now? And after so many years? He could have at least sent us a warning."
"Belle, I don't think he even knows that you exist. I never sent him word that you and I were married."
There was a knock at the doorjamb (since Adam had not closed the bedroom door). Adam and Belle looked to the doorway to see Cogsworth standing there with an urgent expression on his face.
"I'm sorry, Master," Cogsworth said, "but your father wishes to speak wi-ITH-"
Cogsworth clutched at his pained stomach, for a ruthless hand had just thrust him to the side. His back also throbbed in pain, for he had been slammed into the doorjamb. He struggled to hide his resentment as a rather tall man pushed past him and entered the room.
Belle recognized the man at once, though she was sure she had never seen him in her life. He was rather handsome, tall, and slender, but with a broad chest and shoulders. He looked like a much older version of her husband. His features were much the same, with the exception of a few age lines and wrinkles, the presence of a beard, gray hair, and- most noticeably- the difference in eye colour. Her biggest clue as to the stranger's identity was, however, the fact that Adam seemed to stiffen upon the man's appearance. Belle could feel the sensation in her own bones, although she and Adam were standing apart. It must have been the closest thing to enduring rigor mortis while still breathing.
Belle and Adam said nothing as the man stomped pompously into the room, appearing quite smug. In fact, if Belle could not see, she would have sworn that Adam's face was turning blue from lack of oxygen.
"Where is my grandson?" was the first thing the elderly man said.
Adam and Belle still said nothing. Belle did not want to reply. Adam knew that he would end up spewing his emotions if he dared to say a single word. This was the worst nightmare he had ever faced. His future was with Belle- with happiness. He did not need the dead pain of his past to resurrect itself and return to haunt him; especially when his happiness had been manifested into a physical form and was now standing at his side- so vulnerable out in the open.
The strange man searched about the room with his eyes until they paused and rested on the crib that sat at the foot of Belle and Adam's bed.
"Ah-Ha! This must be him, then!" he called as he stalked over to the child's bed.
"Father!" Adam tried to warn as he watched him reach into the crib. "He's sleep-"
"WAAAAHHHH!" the child bellowed, now having been startled awake.
"Hah!" Lord Beaumont chortled as he held the child out and looked him over as though for inspection. "This child has a quite strong set of lungs. That's a good sign."
Belle walked over and stared down Lord Beaumont with intense heat.
"Ha!" he chuckled rudely. "What is the matter with you?"
"Give me my child!" Belle demanded with her arms ready to receive the infant.
"Alright! Alright!" Adam's father said. "Don't be hysterical! I wasn't going to harm him!"
He handed the still wailing child over to Belle, who gently bounced the child and hushed him to calm silence.
"Father," Adam said as he approached. "Please do not be so brash with my wife."
"Oh, so she is your wife!" Adam's father remarked.
"Yes, of course," Adam replied. "And the child is my youngest- my only son, Tyrone."
"Tyrone," Lord Beaumont began. "That is a decently powerful name. I pray he will be able to take my place as Lord Beaumont after I have passed on. Of course, that is why I'm here. I want to make certain that he is raised properly."
Adam looked back at Belle, and she at him, as she made a disgusted sound and placed Tyrone back in his crib. Now they both knew the goal of Lord Beaumont's visit. They also knew that, no matter how long it lasted, it was not going to end well- not if things were to be well thereafter.
"Master Claude," Cogsworth broke in, having taken note of the irritation of his younger master and mistress, "Perhaps you would like me to show you to your room. I'm sure you are still tired from your-"
"Good lord, Cogsworth!" Lord Beaumont spat, "I am not so old that I have forgotten where my room is! My hair has not even fully greyed. Besides, I will decide when I wish to go to my room- not you!"
"Yes, Master Claude," Cogsworth replied smartly. "You decide."
He bowed and disappeared from the doorway.
"Father, how did you hear of our son's birth?" Adam asked once Cogsworth had disappeared.
"You'd be surprised by how well word travels through this country," Lord Claude de Beaumont replied.
"But did you not hear of the birth of each of our daughters after they were born as well?"
"Of course I did," Lord Beaumont replied. "Oh, how the women love to gossip about baby girls!"
"Did you then not wish to see your granddaughters as well?"
"I was much too busy. I am an important man, you know."
"Yes, of course, Father," Adam replied. "But are you now not busy?"
"Of course I'm busy. I am still Lord of this province, you know. I only thought the welfare of my only grandson to be more important. They say that it's not what you take with you, but what you leave behind you, when you go."
Adam made a decidedly futile attempt to reason.
"But what if you leave a mess for the province because you were not there to take care of it? Would that not be a horrid thing to leave behind to any successors?"
"Well, I think it also important to make certain that you do not ruin my successor, just as you've ruined everything else in your life."
"WHY-" Belle began in defiance, but her husband held up his hand to stop her.
Unfortunately, Claude noticed Belle's anger and took it as a chance to pester her.
"Oh, I see," Claude began. "You got yourself a feisty one. I like my women with a little fight in them also. Perhaps you did inherit something of value from me."
He lifted his hand as though he were about to pinch one of Belle's cheeks, but Adam pushed down his arm.
"Please, Father," Adam said, trying to remain calm.
He did not want to start a loud argument. Not here in front of the child. Still, Adam did not have to look deep within himself to find that he was sufficiently annoyed.
"Please, Father," Adam said. "You can say anything you wish to me, but please be respectful towards my wife."
"She has not respected me."
"She has said nothing to you."
The two men stared into each other with flat expressions for the following seconds, as though trying to read each other without words. Finally, the elder of the two stretched and emitted a loud yawn.
"Well," he said, turning away and walking towards the door, "I think it is time for me to take a little snooze. It has certainly been a long trip. Where is Cogsworth?"
Lumeire did not want to go into the dining room. It was quiet now, but he knew it would not be for long. The tension had been pulled so tight that it could break at any time. He did not want to go in there, but he knew that if he did not go now, he would have to later.
He let out a deep sigh as he picked up the tray and pushed through the door. They were sitting around the table- the master beside his wife, his three elder children along the other side, his father- in- law on the other side of his wife, and his father at the end. None said a word. Even the girls who were normally full of giggles- not even they dared to say a word. And, as Lumeire entered, not a person stirred.
Lumeire thought of asking how the hors d'oeuvres and soup had been, but once he had opened his mouth he found himself closing it again. So strange. He had not been in the midst of such tension for such a long time. He felt this situation so unnatural and forced.
"Thank you, Lumeire," Adam said as though Lumeire had just notified him about the death of a dear friend.
Lumeire turned back and nodded without his familiar smile as he carried the soiled dishes back to the kitchen.
Adam and Belle looked down at the food that had just been set before them. Suddenly, they did not feel so hungry. The children must have felt quite the same way as they only fiddled with their utensils. Lord Beaumont, on the other hand, had begun shoveling down food immediately. In fact, for a few long moments, all that could be heard in the dining room was the sound of his chewing. That is, until Maurice decided he could no longer handle the silence.
"So," he began, really just speaking for the sake of speaking. "You traveled here all the way from Versailles. That must be quite a trip."
"Yes, actually," Lord Beaumont replied as he lowered his glass. "It is quite a trip, though this province is one of the closest ones in relation to the capital."
"I wouldn't know," Maurice chuckled. "I've never been."
"Yes, I know."
The conversation was again turned to stone. Maurice, discouraged, turned to his food and began eating.
Adam hated this. But why? His father was here. This was what he had always wanted. He looked over at the man sitting at the end of the table, so rudely present. That's when he realized that he did not want this, not at all. But he needed this. He needed to see the man he could have become right before his eyes.
Suddenly, Claude pushed his plate towards the center of the table and wiped his face one last time before laying his napkin on the table as well. He was done eating. Adam, Belle, and their children had not touched their food. Maurice had eaten only about a quarter of his plate.
That's when Bridgette let out a high-pitched giggle. Gigi laughed as well.
"Stop tickling her, Gigi!" Adele shouted. "You're going to make her choke on her food!"
"But she isn't eating anything," Gigi replied.
"Well you're going to make her sick to her stomach."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are. Remember what happened last time?"
"That time she only got hiccoughs."
"Yes, but they were really unnerving."
"It wasn't my fault!"
"Yes it was!"
"Nuh-uh!"
The two arguing girls froze with a start. Their paternal grandfather had stood up and banged his fists on the table.
"CHILDREN SHOULD BE SILENT UNLESS SPOKEN TO!" he boomed.
The two girls who had been arguing felt their little hearts aching with fear. Adele could feel tears edging in, but she was far too frightened to cry. Bridgette, on the other hand, was far too young to understand the concept of holding in tears. Thus, she busted out in tears.
Belle stood and walked over to pick up her wailing child.
"Shhh. You are fine," she cooed as she rocked the little girl back and forth in her arms.
She turned to look at her father-in-law, who currently stood with a smug grin on his middle-aged countenance.
"You should be ashamed of yourself!" she shot at him. "Frightening innocent children like that!"
"Oh, I do apologize," Lord Beaumont replied smartly, "I forgot to say that females, no matter what age, should not speak unless they are ordered to."
"YOU- YOU-"
"Belle!" Adam interrupted. "We should leave now."
"BUT-"
"Come along," he said as he whisked her away, the children following behind.
"Why did you stop me, Adam?" Belle inquired as she pulled back the covers on her side of the bed.
"I did not want you to start something unnecessary," he replied. "It's really not worth it when you're dealing with him."
"I can tell," Belle sighed. "But, just the way he frightened our children- why did you not say anything?"
Adam watched her stern, unfaltering expression as she climbed into bed. He knew, quite well, the right answer to that question. He just did not wish to admit it. He could not bear to hear himself say it.
"I already told you," he heard himself saying instead. "It's just not worth it."
"Our children aren't worth it?"
"They were not in any real harm."
"Yes, but they do not deserve to be shouted at like that."
"Do not worry," Adam said as he blew out his candle. "I'll speak with my father in the morning."
He rolled over, not wishing to think about his current situation any further.
"Adam?" he heard his wife call to him in the darkness.
"Mmm-hmm?"
"I don't want him here. It's not good for me. It's not good for our children. It's not even good for you."
"I know," he replied. "I know."
And as he nodded off to sleep, he thought of the real reason he did not wish to speak with his father- the horrible man. And he knew that fear would keep him from initiating that conversation in the morning.
The three eldest of Belle and Adam's children hid in Adele's room the next day. They were far too terrified to come out. They had emerged that morning, but upon meeting their grandfather in one of the corridors, they were warned to stay out of his way with a kick and a scolding. When the three girls did not come down for lunch, Belle began to worry.
"Girls," Belle said as she entered Adele's bedroom. "Did you not hear me calling for you?"
"Yes, Mother," the two eldest girls said in unison.
They were sitting by the window, staring out at the dreary day outside. Rain pattered at the glass like tiny ghost fingers. Thunder rumbled on the slow-running breeze and lightning briefly lit the dark grey sky at intervals.
"Why have you not come down for lunch?" Belle asked.
"Because we are not hungry," Adele replied.
"I'm hungry," Gigi said. "I'm just far too frightened of Grandfather."
Belle nodded. She was disappointed indeed that her husband had not addressed the problem at hand. How long would this go on? They could not possibly live beneath this hateful presence forever. Would Belle have to take the children back to Petitteville? Back to the place she had lived in her adolescence? This castle was her home, but it seemed to now be ruled by an unwelcome tyrant.
"I'm sorry, girls," Belle said, sitting down at the edge of Adele's bed. "I know he frightens you. But you still need to eat."
She thought for a moment.
"What if I have lunch brought up here? What if we all eat together on the floor?"
"Like a picnic?" Gigi said.
"Exactly," Belle said, beaming, already feeling her spirits glowing brighter. "Just like a picnic, only indoors. Let me go get your brother. He's probably waking from his nap right now."
Belle helped Mrs. Potts bring some of the lunch that had been prepared upstairs. The girls were so excited. This was a new idea to them. Adele had never eaten lunch in her bedroom before. And none of them had ever been to a picnic indoors or on a rainy day. They felt so excited about the whole thing that they almost forgot the reason they were doing it.
Belle spread out a blanket and had the girls sit down as she passed out plates, utensils, cups, and saucers. She served them from the dishes that had been brought up. After filling their cups with tea, Belle lifted her own.
"Alright," she said. "Let's say cheers!"
"Cheers!" chimed the two elder girls as they clanked their glasses against their mother's.
Then there was a knock at the door. Belle sat down her cup and stood.
"Adele, Gigi, watch your little sister and brother until I come back," Belle said, motioning to the baby boy who had fallen fast asleep at the center of Adele's bed.
"Yes Mother," Adele and Gigi replied.
Belle opened the door.
"Belle," Adam said from the other side. "Why have you and the children not come down for lunch? Is there something the matter?"
"Yes," Belle replied. "But can we talk about it in the next room?"
"As you wish."
Belle followed Adam into the room next door, which just happened to be Gigi's room. When the sun showed itself the brightest in this room, the colours seemed to force themselves into one's mind, causing one to forget everything else. Bright pink and purple designs cascaded down the walls. Giant roses and fleur-de-lyses. Even to a total stranger, it would have been face-slappingly apparent that this was a little girl's room. It was about that time of the day right now. But with the clouds darkening the sun, only flits of crystalline reflections flitted on the walls.
"Well," Adam said. "What is it?"
"It's your father," Belle replied. "The girls are terrified of him. How long is he going to be here? The children cannot live like this. Neither can I."
Adam sighed.
"I know," he replied. "I have been trying to avoid him as well. It seems that nothing I say or do is right when it comes to him. It's always been that way."
"So you haven't spoken to him?"
"No. Not yet. . . . But I will. I just need to find the right words to say. I can't just say 'get out'."
"Well if you won't, I will," Belle replied, appearing as though she was about to storm through the door to do as she had said.
"No. Wait," Adam said, holding her shoulders. "Don't do that. Trust me. I'll think of something."
Belle looked up at him with stern indignation. She could tell by her husband's demeanour that nothing was going to be done. However, she felt she must at least give him a chance.
"As you wish," she yielded, her expression relenting. "I will leave this in your hands."
I can do this. I have to do this. I have to do this for my family . . . I can't do this. Adam, why must you be such a coward? Only because he is your father? Adam thought as he paced about, back-and-forth, back-and-forth outside his father's bedchamber.
"I know," he said to himself, pausing in his stride for a moment. "I'll just imagine that he's some stranger- maybe even a clown . . . Oh wait, I hate clowns . . . But picturing him as a clown will make it easier to- Oh, never mind! What was I thinking?"
He began pacing again.
"Hmmm . . . Be brave. You have to be a man," he said to himself. "Just like Belle would want you to be. Wait, that's it!"
He stopped again.
"I'll just think of her. Belle is always able to lend me more courage."
He turned and knocked on the door. He waited. Listened. There was not a stir. He knocked again.
Why no answer?
Adam rested his head against the door. He had to do this. And if he was going to do this, he had to do this now.
He took another breath, grasped the door handle in his hand, turned it slowly, and forced the door open.
He slowly lifted his head, surprised that nobody was shouting at him. When the interior of the room was in view, he was filled with both disappointment and relief. No one was there. It was a sign. He did not have to do this. At least not now.
Belle did not feel like sleeping. She felt more like reading. Thus, she made her way from her bedchamber down the stairs. Through the night-darkened corridor, she found her way to the great oak doors of the library. She swung aside their heavy presence and walked into the wonderful parchment-scented air. But something was amiss. She could smell it as well as the books. And there, at the back of the room- the faint glow of a fire.
"Bonjour?" Belle's voice echoed. "Is there anybody in here?"
No one replied.
"Cogsworth?" she called. "Lumeire? Adam?"
She cautiously walked towards the sofa that sat before the fireplace. Once she had reached it, she rounded to see who sat there.
She gasped when she found who sat there. She nearly lost hold of her candle. The library's guest noticed.
"You might want to take care," Claude de Beaumont sneered. "You don't want to set the house on fire."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Lord Claude," Belle said with mock deference. "You startled me."
Claude chuckled.
"But I thought you were brave."
"Excuse me?"
"You seemed more than ready to fight me the other night," he grumbled. "But the truth is you are just a frightened child."
"I am not afraid of you, Lord Claude. Of that I will assure you."
"Well then," Lord Claude started. "If you are not frightened of me, I suppose you will sit down."
He patted at the cushion beside him. Belle did not feel comfortable at all. Not with the mocking fashion in which he now glared at her.
"No thank you," she replied as calmly as she could. "I am going to find a book to take back to my room."
"No no," Lord Beaumont replied. "I insist. Have a sit."
Belle could hear the terseness already rising in his voice. She knew that this was not going to end well.
"I said no thank you!" she replied as she began walking away.
She believed the argument to be at its end, but then came the rough feeling of large hands on her shoulders, forcefully turning her around to face her tormentor.
"I DO NOT CARE MUCH FOR PEOPLE WHO DO NOT DO AS I SAY! ESPECIALLY NOT WOMEN!" Claude shouted into her face.
Belle nearly screamed. She did not like screaming in place of action, and this is the only thing that kept her from doing so.
Her shoulder blades and spine shuddered in a torrent of pain as she was thrown violently upon the floor. She heard her candleholder thud nearby. She saw that the candle had snuffed itself out as she watched it roll beneath the sofa. She knew her eyes were ablaze with terror as the old man sneered down at her.
"This is your place," he said. "Remember that and perhaps you will survive."
Belle's veins rushed red with anger. Before she could think of what she was doing, she had brought up her foot and kicked Lord Claude right between his loins.
"AAAAAAAOOOOOOWWWWW!" he screamed in pain as he curled inward and collapsed to the ground.
Belle saw this as her chance to get away. She rolled over, pushed herself upward, and launched herself off the ground. She was running. Running. She was going to make it! She was nearly back at the door before-
"AAGGH!" she gagged.
"You know," she heard Claude's voice rasp, his hot breath taunting at her ear. "I have never cared much for women who read."
Belle struggled for breath. She could feel the oxygen dying, turning black, in her blood. She was suffocating. His arm was wrapped around her throat. His other arm was twisted obscenely around her stomach, pinning her body against his. She felt disgusting. She knew he could feel her pulse pumping heavily through her veins. And that made it all the worse.
Belle tried to conceal her thirst for air, inhaling desperately through her nose as Claude forced her violently around to face him. She burned into him, her eyes ablaze with utter hatred. He noted her anger, and this gave him the energy to twist his face into an evil grin. This was what he wanted- to make her suffer.
Belle violently brought up her knee into his gut. She was hoping for another chance to get away but, as he reached to soothe his pained stomach, he slammed Belle to the floor. Before she could crawl away, he was on top of her. His hands were detestably wrapped around her neck. Again she struggled for breath. As her enraged vision blurred, she looked directly, for the first time, into those black, pitiless eyes of his. How strange it was that, though his son favoured him in so many ways, he should be so unlike him in all the ways that were important. Instead of having his son's sweet yet insecure personality, this horrid man was completely sure of himself and dastardly. And from where did his son inherit those amorous blue beams one called eyes? There was no colour in this man's eyes. They were more dull and lifeless than rotting wood. In fact, the tiny reflections of light within them showed more like squirming maggots within the black.
As Belle thought of this, she struggled to escape. She could not move her legs, for his knees were digging into her thighs. She tried to bring her fists up across his face, but he quickly released her throat and snatched her wrists agonizingly into one hand. He then brought his free hand across her face several times, each time smacking more loudly than the last. She continued glaring at him with hatred. She was helpless. She could not fight back this man who was much larger and stronger than she. However, she was not going to submit to his blows- not completely.
"THERE!" He shouted with one final slap. "MAYBE A FEW GOOD SLAPS WILL DO YOU SOME GOOD!"
He took one of her hands into his free hand. He forced her arms down painfully to the floor.
"Now," he said, looking down on her. "Maybe you will treat me with some respect."
No. She had not lost. She could not possibly have lost. This dead man, his soul devoid of life, could not possibly have more strength than she, but she shouldn't have done it. It was a foolish thing to do. Yes, it was foolish, but what else could she do? Yes, without thinking, she had spat in his face. He looked down on her with great indignation. Now she knew she should have at least pretended to let him win.
"WHY, YOU WENCH!" he bellowed as he pulled her hair so hard that her neck began to involuntarily bend in one direction.
She struggled to slap at his face, but he continued to beat down her hands so hard she was surprised they were not broken. She struggled to bring up her legs, but he was still kneeling on top of them.
Then, the cruel lord taunted her without saying a word. Disgusting! He was running his fingers through her hair.
She did not want to do it, but it was her final hope. As her vision began to blur, she used what could have been the rest of her breath to force out a scream.
Adam did not want to go back to the bedchamber he shared with his wife. He did not want to bring her the news of, yet, another failure. He knew he would have to gain the courage, lest his children should face the same torturous childhood as he. This knowledge should have been enough to grant him the strength to kill a lion with no weapons, but something still held him back. Was he really no more than just a frightened child inside?
Perhaps this reading session would help to at least calm his nerves. He never read alone unless his mind was in turmoil. He preferred to read aloud or listen to Belle- mostly listen to Belle. She could make any story sound interesting. Those beautiful lips. That sweet, sing-song voice. That contagious enthusiasm. How could a person possibly be bored when listening to her?
So he headed down the stairs, hoping to find peace. After wading through the dark, only partially lit by the candle he carried, he finally reached the heavy doors of the library. Immediately, as he pressed his hand against the doorknob, he heard a terrible noise.
Belle!
He knew it was she who had screamed. How he knew this, he did not know.
Without thinking about it, he threw the door open and bolted into the urgency-reddened atmosphere of the library. There he saw, on the floor, not ten feet away, was his father strangling his wife- and with her own hair pulled around her throat!
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" he shouted, completely forgetting who was strangling his wife.
That didn't matter anyway. All that mattered was that she was in danger.
"I am disappointed in you, Adam!" Claude shouted without looking away from the woman he was torturing. "You call this bitch your wife, but you have never beaten her into submission."
Adam could feel that feeling again- that rage that should soon manifest itself as the worst pain ever. No. It was not going to take him over this time. He did not need to lose control. He was going to take care of this matter now-with his own hands.
Claude's grip of Belle was released as a painful blow met his jaw. The other side of his head thudded deafeningly to the floor. Belle sat up, her lungs pained with full function coming back into them as she gasped loudly. Claude looked up, rubbing at both sides of his face, as he met his son's eyes with his own.
"Ha!" he scoffed, trying to stifle his sense of surprise. "That was a good blow, Son. Now help your old man off the floor."
"Never," Adam struck back.
"So, you've decided to turn against me, just as you did when you killed your mother."
Adam could feel it. His blood was boiling within his veins. He fully understood that he had never really been the one to blame. He would just have to prove it to himself by taking this daemon on as a man.
Adam drew his sword from his sheath. He prodded slightly at Lord Claude's chest with the point.
"Get up," Adam growled.
Claude flashed his teeth with a chuckle.
"GET UP!" Adam repeated, his voice rising on the strain of a drunkard.
Claude slowly rose from the floor, still with his amused grin.
"Oh, I see. You want to play swords," he taunted as he drew his own sword from his side. "Just don't blame me if I accidentally harm you during our game. I'm afraid I only have a blade of steel."
Adam said nothing. His face remained as determinedly still as stone.
Both men bowed and tapped their swords together. And within the next moment, their swords were clanging furiously against one another. Adam forced Claude backwards toward the back of the room. Adam was much younger, but he soon realized his opponent could move just as quickly and as shrewdly as he.
Adam took a strike at the older man's throat, but then, the next thing he knew, the old man had leapt over him and was aiming his blade at him from up on a table. Adam followed, leaping with supernatural force. His father smirked smartly and continued to swing his blade. Adam found it harder to dodge his blows than he originally believed. Adam struck back, but Claude leapt over his blade and landed back upon the table. As he did so, the legs of the table buckled and the top came crashing down on one side. Adam was easily befuddled and fell backwards against the floor.
Claude stood over him, ready to take a swing at his jugular. Adam barely missed it, rolling out from beneath the sharp edge. However, he did not escape the blade completely unscathed. He had been clipped at the shoulder.
This was the trigger. Adam could not loose. He looked back towards the doors of the room to see his wife ambling towards him. He was overjoyed to see her moving. Still, he had to win-if only for her honour.
His blows were even more deliberate now. Quickened with fury. He grunted with each movement, feeling that each release lightened his restraint.
His father taunted, but he couldn't hear him. Adam just knew he was letting off hot air. Soon, however, the reason for Adam's not hearing him changed. Finally, Claude's taunting had halted altogether. Adam had pinned him into the corner. Claude was not revealing his terror, though he was sure Adam could hear his heart beating as loudly as it was.
Claude raised his sword again, though he knew his efforts were futile. He closed his eyes, believing this blow to be the last. Instead, however, he felt his weapon being knocked from his hand. He looked back up into his son's eyes. He knew he had been beaten, but he was not about to let anybody know that he was aware of this fact-especially not Adam.
"So," the old man said with a smirk. "You're finally going to do what you've always wanted to do. You're finally going to kill the last member of your family. Ha! Too bad it has taken you this long."
Adam's arm was shaking. Was he really about to do this? He raised his sword to his father's chest. For a long time, neither man said anything. Adam pressed the edge of his sword more forcefully into his father's sternum. Claude closed his eyes again. He was sure he knew what was coming. A bead of sweat dropped from Adam's brow as he drew another breath from the hellish air and-
Lord Claude opened his eyes to the sound of his son's voice addressing his wife.
"Belle," Adam said. "What do you think? Should I let this louse live?"
Belle walked forward so that she could see around her husband. With serious loathing, Belle looked down on the corpse her husband had cornered. How pathetic he appeared as he stared up at her now!
Claude dreaded every following second. Adam's gaze had not left him. The point of the blade still stung at the center of his chest. He was sure it was going to be run through his guts as soon as Belle made her decision-perhaps even before.
Adam waited. Personally, he did not care whether Claude lived or died. The man was no longer of any concern to him. All that mattered was that Belle was able to stand and to breathe. This man was no longer his father. Not in his eyes. Not since he had dared to lay his hands upon her. Pull at the silken hair, the sense of which Adam so cherished. Still, Adam was not quite so sure that he wanted to run him through with his blade. However, if Belle so chose, he would not have hesitated to do so.
Finally, Belle decided.
"No," she said, having turned her head away, sick from the sight of the visage that so disgusted her. "I just want him out of my home."
Adam closed his eyes, considering what he was about to do.
"Get out," he said as he sheathed his sword. "Leave now and I never want to see your miserable face around here again."
"But no one has yet won this fight," Lord Claude replied. "Why not kill me and be done with-"
"Because your blood is not worth the stain it would leave on my carpet," Adam retorted, bending over to pick up Claude's sword. "This is my house now. You are not welcome here. That is enough for me."
Claude stood up and walked over to his son. Adam knew that he did not press further because he did not wish to run the risk of Belle changing her mind.
"May I at least have my sword back?" he asked, holding out his hand.
Adam turned around and strode before the fireplace. Before Lord Claude could stop him, Adam had tossed the weapon into the fire.
"Be my guest," Adam replied with a smug grin.
Claude fumed, clenching his fists.
"CURSE YOU!" he roared as he stomped out of the library.
Adam turned back to Belle.
"Belle," he said as he approached her. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," she replied. "Are you?"
She nodded towards the trickle of blood at his shoulder.
Adam turned his eyes toward it.
"It's just a scratch," he replied. "Besides, I know a woman who is rather skilled at tending to wounds."
Adam grinned at her. Belle just stared at him, trying to keep from smiling. She was beginning to become uncomfortable with the fact that he always seemed to be getting hurt for her sake. But the longer she looked at him, the harder it became to deny him a grin. Even in the worst of times, he was able to appear unbelievably adorable.
Adam took Belle under his arm as he started to lead her out of the library. All that was troubling them had been dealt with. Now it was time for rest. Wait . . .
"Adam," Belle said as they walked.
"Yes, Dear?"
She had thought of something that seemed strange to realize during her time of peril. Nonetheless, the thought had popped into her mind.
"Who was the man in that portrait I found torn in the west wing that night?"
"Why do you ask?" he replied, genuinely curious.
"Well," she said, looking up into his deep blue eyes. "The man in the portrait was too old to have been you before the spell. I mean, unless you were just an extraordinarily mature-looking eleven year-old. All this time, I thought it was a portrait of your father. But now, after seeing how dark and lifeless your father's eyes are, I realize that I was wrong. The initial reason that the portrait caught my attention was because the sitter had such mesmerizing blue eyes."
Adam laughed out loud. Oh, how ridiculous he was going to feel after he told her!
"What's so funny?" Belle asked.
"It's just that," he started, "the sitter in that portrait was me."
"Oh," Belle said, still confused. "You were quite a distinguished child, then."
"Oh no, Belle," Adam chuckled. "I was always tall for my age, but I did not look like that at eleven.
"That portrait was done on my eleventh birthday. The painter and I quarreled because I did not like the way he was making me sit. That's when he made a suggestion-he would try to depict me from memory. As I stormed off, I joked that he could paint me as I would look in ten years because that seemed to be how long he was going to take to paint the stupid thing.
"It seems he actually took my suggestion to heart. It's so funny, though, because he wasn't so far off."
"But why did you tear it up?"
"Because, after I was cursed, I could not stand to look at any depictions of myself. It was too depressing. You see, I thought I was going to be a beast forever. Thus, the portrait depicting a future version of myself bothered me even more than all the others."
"Oh," Belle said.
That's all she could say.
"It's too bad, actually," Adam said as they began walking again.
"Yes it is," Belle said. "The artist did a really good job capturing your eyes and your handsome features."
"Actually," Adam said. "It's too bad because, if I would have kept that portrait, I could prove that I had met a clairvoyant."
Belle chuckled as they walked through the library door.
"That old man made me look dead in that portrait! And do you know what's so curious? I'm going to die someday!"
Adam gripped his hair in mock-fright as he uttered the last part.
This made Belle laugh even louder.
"Adam, where would I be without your sense of humour?"