Taming The Beast. Heather Grothaus

make it stop,” she said loudly. No one could hear her any matter over that terrible shrieking. At any moment, she expected Lord Tornfield’s hounds to add their voices to the noise. It would have improved the tone immensely.

      At last the torture was over, and Michaela could almost hear the relieved sigh of the guests before they broke out in ridiculously exaggerated applause for the obscenely wealthy Lady of Osprey.

      “My God, they must be deaf,” Michaela muttered. Then she gasped as she felt a tug on the back of her hair. Michaela spun around on her stool.

      Shadowed by the curtain Michaela also hid behind stood a beautiful girl, perhaps ten years old, with long, shiny blond hair pulled away from her forehead and cascading down her back. Big, wise brown eyes gave her the look of a gentle woodland doe, and her impish smile brightened her otherwise pale face. She was nodding enthusiastically.

      “Oh, hello,” Michaela said.

      The girl’s smile grew a bit wider. She pointed at the curtain, indicating the guests gathered beyond, then tugged at her ear.

      Michaela couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, if they weren’t deaf before, I daresay they are now.”

      The girl covered her mouth with both of her hands, and her eyes crinkled merrily.

      “I am Michaela Fortune.” She held out her hand and the young girl immediately took it, sinking into a curtsey. “Who are you, pretty one?”

      The girl smiled at the compliment then pointed at the crowd again. She drew her pointer fingers away from each other on her upper lip, then placed a hand on her flat chest.

      Michaela thought she understood. “Lord Tornfield is your father?” The girl nodded, obviously happy that her pantomime had been successful. “Well, how do you do, Lady Elizabeth?”

      The girl curtsied prettily again, and Michaela wondered at her lack of speech. She had heard of mutes, but never met one, and decided not to bring up the matter lest the fragile-looking child be humiliated.

      Michaela knew all too well how that felt.

      “Are you forbidden from the feast?” she asked instead.

      Elizabeth shrugged, and then pointed past Michaela, her eyes wide and her mouth shaped into an O.

      It appeared as though Lady Helltongue was preparing to torture the guests with another butchering of voice. Michaela groaned and dropped her head, her hands covering her ears.

      “Can one wish oneself deaf, I wonder?”

      Elizabeth Tornfield covered her own ears and bent at the waist, her mouth open in a silent guffaw and Michaela giggled. But she and her new young friend were spared from the lady’s imminent screeching by Alan Tornfield himself.

      “A moment, if you please,” he interrupted with a handsome bow in Lady Osprey’s direction. “I have an announcement before the festivities continue.” Alan stepped onto the dais that held the lord’s table with only a slight wobble and then smiled broadly at the crowd.

      “I feel I must take this opportunity to address the sad news of our liege, Lord Magnus Cherbon’s, passing, more than a year ago.” Not even a murmur of sympathy answered the announcement, and Michaela was not surprised. It was no secret that all within the demesne had detested the Cherbon Devil and his greedy, merciless rule, and most had looked upon his death as a blessing. Elizabeth inched closer to Michaela’s side and peeked around the curtain at her father as he continued his speech.

      “Our lands have been without a master for too long a time, and so it is with a happy heart that I follow such sadness with a bit of a miracle: Lord Cherbon’s son, my cousin, Roderick, is expected to return from the Holy Land any day, to take his father’s place at Cherbon Castle.”

      At this, excited murmurs raced through the hall. Michaela caught only snippets of exclamations.

      “Roderick, Lord Roderick!”

      “So handsome…”

      “…not at all like his sire.”

      “However,” Lord Alan said crossly over the animated whispering, “due to some rather…devastating injuries he suffered while on his pilgrimage, and dare I say, lameness of body”—the crowd gasped—“as well as terms of the inheritance set forth by Magnus himself, it is possible that the bequeathement of the demesne could fall”—Alan paused, and the crowd seemed to lean forward eagerly—“to none other than yours truly.”

      The hall erupted in surprised shouts and applause, and Lord Tornfield’s smile was not a little prideful. He let the praise go on for several more seconds before raising his hands for silence once more.

      “While I am, of course, saddened by the losses my cousin has suffered, I feel that tonight is a cause for celebration and merry-making. After all, it could only be a matter of weeks before I am removed to the northern part of our lands.” The crowd responded with a collective moan. “So! Let us make the most of our time together with a bit of sport—a competition, if you will, of song. I shall grant a boon to the most accomplished singer.” The crowd cheered. “We have already gratefully received Lady Juliette’s offering.”

      Lady Juliette smiled widely about the guests and gave a saucy wink.

      “Who dares challenge her?” Lord Alan looked over those gathered. “Oh, come on. Who will give it a go?”

      For the better part of an hour, more than a score of guests, male and female, took their turn in the fun of the challenge. None were truly accomplished in their talent—a few even deliberately mocking themselves by singing bawdy limericks or reciting silly lines of verse—but none were nearly as bad as Lady Juliette, Michaela was relieved to hear. She and little Lady Elizabeth enjoyed each performance, hidden away behind the curtain, dancing each other in a circle with joined hands.

      The most recent contestant, a young man of good family, took his bow amidst roaring laughter and applause and Lord Tornfield claimed the dais once more as Michaela fell back onto her stool panting and giggling.

      “Oh, well done, well done!” he laughed, and raised his ever-present chalice in salute of the young man. “Who else? Who will be next? We can’t let the fun end now!”

      Michaela felt a tug on her hair again and turned to see Elizabeth pantomiming a palm away from her open mouth. Then she pointed at Michaela.

      “Oh, no. I think not.”

      Elizabeth gave a mock pout then clasped her hands before her chest in a plea.

      “Before all these people? They would devour me whole, Elizabeth. I haven’t the talent for—”

      “Lady Michaela Fortune shall sing!”

      Michaela’s stomach dropped into her bottom as her mother’s warbly voice rang out through the hall.

      “My daughter, where is she? Michaela?” Agatha’s calls sounded ever closer, and Michaela could already hear the snickers and whispers from the crowd. “Michaela?”

      Elizabeth gave her an unexpected—and surprisingly forceful—shove, and Michaela sprang from behind the curtain, stumbling, stumbling, catching herself with one outstretched hand, nearly standing, before at last sprawling facedown on the flagstones.

      “Oh, Michaela, there you are, dear,” Agatha said in delight.

      The guests made no effort to quell their laughter.

      Then Agatha was at her side, pulling her daughter up by the arm. “Here we are, do get up, dear—and what has happened to your gown? No matter. Go on then, you have such a lovely voice.” Then she leaned in close to Michaela’s ear to whisper, “Think of the boon, Michaela! Mayhap a bit off the taxes….”

      “Oh, yes, Pudding—give us a song!” someone from the crowd goaded.

      Michaela was very aware of her soiled dress, of Lady Juliette smirking in her direction, and of her mother’s reminder of the Fortunes’