Beloved Beast

Chapter Forty-Seven

When Don entered his chambers, he was relieved to find Lucy deep into her ministrations, prepping the poultice and making a sling for Elle's arm to secure her shoulder. Her presence was like a balm to his anxious heart. Knowing that she was nearby and actively working to keep Elle alive was enough to alleviate the tension that knotted his insides.

            The maid lifted her head, glancing at him through unruly locks of hair before flicking with mild interest to the girl stepping out from behind him.

            "Oh my God," Esme rasped in alarm as she rushed to Elle's side, reaching out to clasp her hand.

            Don stepped further into the room, "Lucy, will you give us a moment."

            She dipped her head in acknowledgment, carefully set her supplies aside, and strode for the door. He waited until it creaked shut behind her before turning to peer at Elle's sister.

            Esme leaned over Elle's reclining body, her head and shoulders bowed, her small frame shaking with quiet tears. "I should have never left her," she murmured, sniffling. "She told me to run, and like a coward, I did. How could I do that? What kind of sister leaves the other to die?"

            "You would be dead if you hadn't," Don answered plainly.

            "It's my fault, you know," she straightened to look up at him, her watery eyes wide in her smudged face. "I led us into that trap. Elle wanted to turn back, but I wanted to be a savior." She hung her head, her face crumpling with fresh tears. "My whole life I've sought praise from others, even at the expense of my loved ones. A lot of the time, it was at the expense of Elle's feelings. You have no idea how terrible I've been to her, the things I have said and done, and then to lead her into danger only to abandon her ..."

            My sister has many admirable qualities. She has much skill in hunting and harvesting and commits to both in place of my father. I dare say had he ever desired a son; Esme would surely atone for it.

            "I doubt she feels the same," Don replied, recalling Elle's rendition of the sister before him.

            The girl snorted, "Even if that were true, I do not deserve her forgiveness."

            "Then you don't know your sister at all." He remarked.

            As if absorbing his words, it was a few silent beats before she asked, "What about the witch? Is she dead?"

            Don wished he could answer that, but he couldn't, not with confidence.

            Her throat muscles worked as she swallowed, a glimmer of fear flashing in her red-rimmed eyes. "Will she come for Elle again?"

            His jaw tightened to the point of pain, "Anyone who comes for your sister will have to get through me." He failed to mention that included anyone who was daft enough to stake a claim on what belonged to him. Killing the boy wouldn't plague his conscience whatsoever. He had already killed for Elle, and he would easily do it again if anyone thought to take her from him.

            As if privy to his possessive thoughts, "You should know, Elle objected to the betrothal to Abram." A small splayed across her lips. "She outright refused to marry him. I have never seen her defy our father like that, it was ..." Esme paused, her mouth broadening into a full-fledged grin. "It was fascinating to watch, but I imagine when you love someone as much as she loves you, you would do almost anything to fight for that love."

            Don stilled, his breath catching, "She loves me?"

            She angled her head to frown up at him, "You didn't know?"