Beauty and the Werewolf by Mercedes Lackey

just closing a pair of massive metal-reinforced gates. The courtyard was paved, and swept clean of every vestige of snow.
    The Manor itself, despite being constructed to withstand a siege, was surprisingly attractive. Part of that might have been the stone-work; cream-colored granite veined with faint pink. Part of it was that the narrow slits of the windows had rounded edges, as did the edges of the roof; in fact, there wasn’t a sharp edge anywhere to beseen, and the placement of the window slits conveyed a feeling of welcome rather than of a prison.
    The King’s men were carrying her trunks into the building, via the main entry. The officer gestured to her, indicating that she should follow them. Limping, she did so.
    There was a very narrow entryway, clearly designed for defense, just inside the door. Stone below, stone walls, stone ceiling—and she thought she glimpsed murder slits in the walls and ceiling. With two more men with a trunk coming behind her, she limped as quickly as she could through it, and found herself in a room that offered the same welcome that the exterior of the building promised.
    She had only been in two Great Manors in her life; both of them had what had been called a Great Hall just inside the door. This was a Hall indeed, but it was not, in size, anything like those rooms. There was a huge fireplace to the right, and another to the left; the room itself was wide rather than deep, and the expanse of floor that could have been cold, had it been made of stone, was instead of warm, light-colored wood. The benches at the fire were made of a similar warm wood, the stone walls softened with tapestries and the whole brightened with oil lamps.
    In the middle of the Hall, opposite the entry door, was another door that swung open even as she stood there surrounded by four trunks—when she only recalled bringing two.
    Through that door came a young man about four or five years older than herself. He was not exactly handsome, but with a kind and thoughtful face that inclined her to trust him. That he was wearing spectacles, and a sheepish expression, helped.
    â€œThank you, Captain Malcom,” he said. The King’s officer saluted, and turned and left without saying a word, his men following him.
    â€œYou must be Isabella Beauchamps,” the young man continued,turning toward her. “You have a reputation for being very intelligent, so I suppose you have already figured out why you were taken away and brought here.”
    â€œTaken away, yes,” she replied, and shivered despite the warmth of the room. “I was attacked and bitten last night by what must have been a werewolf. I am being isolated until it is determined whether or not I was infected. Though why I was brought here—I don’t know. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”
    â€œWell, that’s easy to tell,” the young man told her, looking as if it was anything but easy to say. His expression was profoundly unhappy. “This is Redbuck Manor, I’m Duke Sebastian, and you are here because I am afraid that I am the werewolf that bit you.”

4
    BELLA STARED AT HIM, AT FIRST SUSPECTING HIM OF A very bad joke. He, in his turn, watched her with a wary expression in his grayish-green eyes. His dark hair was a trifle long, but he carried himself well. After a moment, it was clear that this was not a joke, that he was entirely serious. And he seemed entirely sane.
    Indignation bubbled up inside her.
    He stands in front of me and tells me that he is the one who bit me. Of all the nerve!
    Her ankle throbbed as she stood there and stared at him, waiting for him to say something else, because she was completely unable to speak right now. More than anything at this moment, her mind was a welter of emotions.
    Her initial impulse was to seize something and beat him senseless. Fury was her first emotion, fury at him for attacking her in the first place, fury that he was still free to