The Beast (26 page)

“Is everything all right?” She brought the hat in front of her, lightly cradling it with gloved hands.

Doc quickly looked over, apparently unaware of her presence. “I’m afraid not, Belle. His Highness has a fever.”

“What does that mean?” Worriedly, Belle fiddled with her hat and noted Aleksander’s flushed cheeks.

“I do not yet know.” Doc ran his hand down to Aleksander’s wrist and gripped it. With his free hand, he withdrew a tin pocket watch and flipped it open.

Belle watched him; not speaking, not wanting to interrupt. Anxiety danced through her veins. There was so much she didn’t understand—so many questions she wanted to ask the Prince. Even now, in his slumber, he was a mystery to her. More than anything, she feared for his well-being. After all his deceptions, she still wanted him to be well.

“Belle,” came Henri’s voice from the doorway. She turned and he beaconed her into the hall. In a hushed voice, he asked, “How is he?”

“He has a fever.” She tried to keep her tone even; not show any of the fear she felt. “Doc is trying to figure out why.”

Henri nodded, glancing only briefly into the room. “I’ve been thinking, with all that’s happened, it’s time Jack swear his oath.” He looked Belle in the eyes, forcing her to stare back into his deep browns. “Tonight, if possible.”

“We can’t.” Belle turned away from Henri, unable to keep herself from watching Aleksander. “Not with his Highness taking ill. I shouldn’t have left him before.”

“You being here wouldn’t have prevented his fever.” When she only crossed her arms, Henri stepped closer to ask in hushed tones, “Do you have feelings for the Prince?”

Belle’s jaw dropped a little. Her heart palpitated. First Gastone’s reaction and now her father was asking her outright. Did they see something there when she didn’t fully know her own feelings?

With bated breath, she whispered, “I believe so.”

There was a moment of long, drawn out silence. Henri contemplated the side of her face, then looked at the Prince. He chewed his tongue. “The Prince’s actions would certainly indicate he has feelings for you.”

Belle’s racing heart seemed to agree.

“Your love will not be an easy one,” Henri said, though more to himself.

A smile danced on her lips as she imagined it. “But it would be grand.”

He nodded, almost like he conceded the point. “Grand loves aside”—Henri touched Belle’s shoulder—“there needs to be an Oathing Ceremony tonight.”

She turned to him finally. “Père, I cannot leave—”

Henri grasped both her shoulders.

“The future is uncertain, Belle. You are a Hunter
now
. We need you
now
. We do not have the men to spare. Not now, not after—” His voice caught on the loss he felt. Belle caressed his arms, feeling his pain as her own. Pursing his lips, Henri pushed down his sadness. “You’re their leader, Belle.”

Glancing uncertainly to watch Aleksander’s chest rise and fall with labored breath, Belle sighed. “Okay, tonight.”

The Hunters had been waiting outside for only a few minutes as the church was readied. This was something Belle had done for many Hunters; many Hunters who were no longer alive today.

The cathedral had been emptied and closed since only fellow Hunters and church clergy were allowed to witness the Oathing Ceremony. Outside, the fountain’s lantern was lit, glowing beneath a darkening sky. Word of the event spread quickly and many townsfolk had come to leave burning candles on the waterless fountain, offered with prayers for the new Hunter. Here they would wait for the final part of the ceremony to bring Jack outside.

Several villagers shouted to Belle, welcoming her back, and others wished Jack good luck. Belle stepped before the opened doors and waited for it to begin. Henri and the remaining semi-retired Hunters stood before the dais at the other end of the building. Wearing their finest clothes, their shoulders were back with top-hats under arms and sabres at their sides. Henri was at the forefront, standing next to Father Sinclair and other clergymen. Candles flickered all around them.

There was a noticeable absence with the loss of Franck and the others. A pang hit Belle in the chest when she again thought of missing their funerals. It would always be something she regretted.

Together, the waiting Hunters and clergymen began to sing. Baritone and tenor voices rang out, echoing off the marble in perfect accord. The Gregorian chant surrounded her as Belle walked past Friar Clemens and into the immense cathedral.

Gastone and Andre fell into step just behind her, walking side by side. Jack followed them, alone at the procession’s center. Then came Delano and Nicolas, with Jean at the back. The group’s matched strides were slow, gathered. They moved as one through the hallowed hall, letting the harmonious voices guide them.

Pride and honor swelled inside of Belle. She held her head high, leading her Hunters. With rosary in hand, the beauty of the cathedral, and the masculine voices humming through her, Belle never felt more connected to the divine. Whatever god or gods there were, she was certain they watched.

Drawing up before the other men, Belle locked eyes with her father. His lips quirked a slight smile and she was able to single out his voice from the others. The familiar sound wrapped her in warmth.

Her final position was just in front of Henri. Gastone took his place on her left, on the other side of the aisle. The song drew to an end, the men singing out a long and lovely
amen
. It was silent as the other Hunters filed in. And finally, Jack moved to stand before the dais between Belle and Gastone.

Father Sinclair led the ceremony. Speaking in Latin, he formed the cross over his chest and everyone else did the same. From there he went into an opening prayer similar to the way he began Mass.

When he finished, Father turned to Belle and asked, “Why do Hunters gather here today?”

She replied the same as she had several times before. “We bring you a faithful soul in hopes that he may be returned a Hunter.”

The Father nodded and turned his gaze to Jack. “Does he know the words to be spoken?”

“He does,” Belle replied.

“These words should not be said lightly. They are an oath to God, a creed to man.” Father said solely to Jack. His voice was loud, filling the church. His tone most serious. “They cannot be broken. As you stand before me, do you take heed of this?”

Jack breathed deeply. “Yes.”

The Father nodded and gestured to the floor. “Then kneel and speak.”

As though the very weight of impending responsibility rested on his shoulders, Jack lowered himself down to one knee. He bowed his head, gathering his breath, and began. “O Holy Angel, attendant of our wretched souls…”

They watched silently as Jack recited the holy words. Belle glanced at her Hunters and her eyes met Gastone’s. He didn’t react, but she knew his thoughts as surely as she knew her own. He was remembering the day they had taken the oath together. Gastone, Andre, and herself had all knelt as one and said these very same words. They would then stand by later as Delano, Nicolas, Jean, and others took their vows.

Each of them had been so proud and so ready to offer up their swords for the cause. They all had their own reasons for making the sacrifice, but each also understood the severity of the commitment. Belle remembered how the cold marble felt against her knees. How heavy the creed was as it fell from her tongue. More than anything she remembered how the experience had solidified a bond between her and the other Hunters. She was one of them; would always have their back and they would always have hers.

Light filtered through the massive stained glass windows, casting the room in vibrant colors that mingled with the warm candlelight. The light touched Jack’s face and fell over his golden locks. Watching, as he recited the creed, Belle knew Jack was experiencing the same thoughts and feelings that she had on her initiation.

Formed the holy trinity over his chest, Jack finished the oath, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.”

Jack raised his head but did not stand. From a velvet pillow held by a friar, Father Sinclair took an object. He stepped before the American and presented what would be Jack’s rosary.

“The church offers you this sacred item to honor you in this sacrifice.” Father Sinclair indicated the rosary. “Will you protect it, as it will protect your soul?”

Jack replied, “I will.”

“Then rise, Hunter. Take this gift and may your first act be one of remembrance.”

As commanded, Jack came to his feet and the rosary was placed in his hands. His gloved fingers ran over the gilded metal and Belle unknowingly did the same with hers. With no glance to them, the Father turned, leading Jack to the catacombs. There he will enter the Hall of the Hunters for the first time, and alone. In there he will read the nameplates, feel the silence, and pay his respects to those who came before.

This part of the ceremony is often the hardest for many. It’s a glimpse into their life as a Hunter. In their beginning, they see their end. Those laid to rest in the Hall of Hunters had performed the same ceremony, spoken the same creed, given the ultimate sacrifice, and someday the new Hunter will be put to rest alongside them.

At the thought of death, Belle’s mind flickered back to Aleksander—though he’d been there at the edge, keeping her anxious the moment she left his side. She looked at the windows as if she could determine by them how much time had past. Steeling her fears, Belle used the silence to pray for Aleksander; pray that he would live.

Jack soon returned, his expression solemn, and took up his previous position. Clasping his hands before him, rosary dangling from his fingers, Jack nodded his readiness to the priest. Father Sinclair then gestured to Henri, who came forward holding a velvet pillow of his own. Upon it were two custom revolvers. Belle was pleased to see that they were not made in the same style as her own, with long, curved handles. These were westernized to fit Jack’s particular tastes, with hard edges, short handles, and silver-plated.

“The Hunters offer you these weapons to protect you in this sacrifice,” Henri recited, holding the pillow out. “Will you use them always with honor?”

“I will.” Jack met his eyes, throwing meaning behind his words.

“Then, Hunter, take this gift and may your second act be one of preparedness.”

Removing the old revolvers he’d brought with him from the New World, Jack handed them to Gastone. He then picked up the first pistol offered by Henri. For just a second he admired them, then popped open the bullet chamber. Belle held opened her pouch of custom-made bullets and poured a handful into his palm. He then preceded to load his guns. As he finished, he snapped the chamber back into place, gave the revolvers a twirl around his fingers, and slide them into his holsters. Liking the feel of it, he flashed her a smile and a wink.

“Now, for the final offering.” Friar Sinclair held out a hand, directing them to leave the church.

Jack turned and led the procession back down the aisle. Friar Clemens was there with another, and together they opened the doors. Cold air tumbled in, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arm. The crowd outside had tripled in size. Every man, woman, and child huddled together with excited anticipation. They broke into cheers as Jack appeared. He tipped his hat to a few ladies, making them flutter and bat their eyes.

Standing in front, apart from the crowd was Marshall Baine. He was the official holster to the Hunters. He bred the Friesians, trained them, and chose each horse for each Hunter. He was in no way formal, wearing clothes for warmth and work. Monsieur Baine smiled with big lips that parted a thick beard. In one hand was the lead rope to a young, dark stallion. In the other was a crier’s bell. He rang it several times, calling the crowd to silence.

“The townspeople offer you this steed to guide you in this sacrifice.” Marshall presented the beautiful horse with pride. “Will you trust him, as he trusts you?”

“I will.” Jack rushed down the steps to meet the horse. He ran a hand over his forelock and stared in awe.

“Then mount, Hunter,” Marshall said more quietly and with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Take this gift and may your third act be one of camaraderie.”

Grinning, Jack took the reins. He shoved his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle. Immediately, he sat with more pride and confidence than Belle had ever seen from him on one of the spare horses.

“Good townspeople of Contefées!” Father Sinclair called from the top of the cathedral steps and all eyes turned to him. He raised a hand toward Jack. “I give you, your new Hunter.”

Boisterous cheers filled the air. Belle clapped obligingly, but already her thoughts were back with Aleksander.