Page 11 of Once Upon A Bear

Gideon leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, and Guinevere’s eyes widened. She really ought not to have been joking about it. Why had she said anything?

“I just wanted a family,” he said, the words partially muffled by his hands. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want a wife and cubs of my own.”

Then he froze, looking up at her in horror.

“And I can’t even say that I want children, because my thoughts have been affected to the point of me saying cubs instead.”

Guinevere felt her heart breaking a little on his behalf. She crossed the room, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it.

“We’ll figure this out,” she promised, using her best patient-soothing voice. “I promise you are not alone, and I will not stop until I have figured out how to help you.”

Unlike many of her patients, Gideon couldn’t quite make eye contact with her. He looked away and nodded once before abruptly getting to his feet.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly. “I have trespassed on your kindness for long enough. Have a good day.”

He whirled around and made for the door—but he shouldn’t be alone right now. Guinevere pulled her pot of porridge off the fire and hurried to follow him outside. “I was just thinking of going for a walk. We should walk together,” she said as she caught up to him.

“Why would you want to walk with me?” he asked, staring straight ahead. “I’m not fit for human company right now.”

Guinevere looked up at him steadily. He had been alone in this for far too long. She could see that now, and she would not let him carry the burden alone any longer.

“You are always fit for human company,” she said. “Because whether you are in your human form or not, you have a human soul, and that is what matters.”

And she would never let him forget it.

Chapter six

Gideon

Guinevere followed him out into the woods, and Gideon tried not to be upset about it. He didn’t want her to keep following him—he wanted to be alone so he could be miserable on his own—but perhaps it was better if he wasn’t.

He could practically hear his mother’s voice arguing that it was better. And as much as it might be unfashionable to say, Gideon often found his mother was right. As a child, that had seemed rather unfair, and as an adult, he felt as if he should have known that she was right all along.

“I hope you don’t mind me joining you,” Guinevere said brightly.

And as much as he wanted to be upset with her, he couldn’t be. “It’s fine,” he said gruffly.

He didn’t mean to be a bear when it came to dealing with people, but it came very naturally after so many years of being, well, a bear. “Thank you for joining me,” he attempted, and was rewarded with a smile on her face, so perhaps he wasn’t doing too badly after all.

“I hope that you weren’t offended by anything I said,” Guinevere ventured after a moment.

“No.” He stopped short, turning to face her. None of this was her fault, and he couldn’t have her thinking that. “I’m easily overwhelmed by too many things now,” he said quietly. “If I ever seem like I’m running away, it’s most likely not because of you, but because my nature is telling me it’s time to run.”

Guinevere grinned. “I don’t have the excuse you do, but I often feel the same way.”

And while it felt odd to be amused by the fact that he turned into a bear on a regular basis, Gideon barked out a laugh. Of course, it was also odd that he wanted to laugh with Guinevere when he’d recently wanted nothing to do with her, but he did.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at being human again.”

“Once we break the curse, you’ll be fine,” she said strongly, with all the confidence in the world. “You are made of stern stuff, and there is nothing that Lord Gideon Rendon can’t do.”

As much as he liked the way she seemed so sure of everything, he didn’t like what she’d said. “Please don’t do that.”

She frowned up at him. “Do what?”

“Call me by my title.” He shook his head. “You’re trying to break the curse that has trapped me for years, and I don’t want you calling me by my title while you do it. You somehow discovered the biggest secret of my life, that not even my mother has figured out, and it just feels odd for you to know that and to still call me by my title.”

Guinevere smiled softly. “I understand. I’ll just call you Gideon, then, unless I’m calling you something else,” she said, mischief sparking in her eyes. “Perhaps ‘the most magnificent beekeeper to ever keep bees.’ Will that suit you?”