I turn to him and manage to drum up a smile. In truth, he deserves more, but it is all I have for him.
He frowns at me, his expression one of concern. “You will be happy there.”
“I know. I am looking forward to seeing it, my new home.”
“Indeed? You have a look of one about to ascend the gallows. Why so forlorn?”
He misses nothing. “I am not forlorn. I am—nervous.” This is not entirely untrue, I do harbour reservations about the warmth of my welcome. Stefan married me having had no prior discussion with his family. He has not shared the details of his household with me, but I assume he has kin awaiting his return to their hearth, and some of those will perhaps remember the events of twenty years ago. Even if they bear no malice they will at the very least be surprised to have a new bride thrust into their midst, and I know of no reason to assume my welcome is assured.
“Why nervous? Richtenholst needs a duchess. You will do admirably.”
“I will try my best to fit in, my lord.”
“You will fit in, and it will be effortless. My people will adore you. I should mention though, I make that six times you have omitted to use my given name. You know the rules, you have continually disobeyed them, and therefore we have a problem. I intend to avail myself of the first opportunity to rectify it.”
A sensual smile accompanies his ‘threat,’ but even so, I am indignant. “But, I am not naked. I thought the rule just applied to the times we are alone and…”
“A fair point, and one I will take into account. But you are to receive a thorough spanking as soon as we are alone. And if you insist, I will deliver it whilst you are naked.”
My bottom tightens, my quim already starting to moisten. I lean back against him as he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. Under the heavy fabric of his cloak that is draped around the pair of us, he cups my right breast with his left hand. He continues to control his mount one-handed as he palms my curves, first one side, then the other, his gloved fingers scraping across my nipples. The caress is even more erotic for its roughness, and both tips swell to rub against my clothing.
“You will love your spanking, little one. When we arrive, and we are settled, you will come to me and ask me for it.”
“My lord?”
“Ah, how you love to live dangerously. Your bottom will be so sore and I vow you will sleep on your stomach for the rest of this sennight. But still, you will ask me for it. You will say please, and when we are alone you will lie across our bed and raise your skirts for me. You will lift your bottom up for me to punish. Won’t you?”
I do not answer. Indeed, I cannot answer. My head is whirling with sensuous images and my quim is wet. He can do this just with words, and with a casual caress. How much more can he accomplish when he sets his mind to it?
“Won’t you, Tally?” Stefan’s tone has firmed, the shift so subtle as to be almost imperceptible. But I know.
“Yes, sir. Stefan. You will spank me, and I believe I may love it.”
“Good enough, my lady.”
My first glimpse of Richtenholst comes perhaps an hour later as we round the grassy summit to the range of hills that lies between us and our destination. The countryside is spread out below us, a deep, fertile valley, the bountiful nature of this land obvious even in this inhospitable season. The keep itself dominates the landscape, perching halfway up the mountainside on the opposite side of the valley. The castle is constructed of pale sandstone, which takes on an almost golden hue in the fading winter light. A red pennant flies above it, flapping in the distant breeze. The light is still good enough to make out the moat that surrounds the keep, a sparkling ribbon of silvers and greys. Tiny ant-like buildings are scattered across the surrounding lands, close enough to draw on the protection of the castle whilst still proclaiming their proud independence.
“Do the villagers live outside the castle walls the whole year round?” At Hohenzollern only the most intrepid or the most foolhardy would venture far from the solid walls of the outer bailey.
“Many do, though they would be quick to seek protection inside were we to be attacked.”
“I see. They feel safe in their homes then?”
“Of course. This is a peaceful region and I intend for it to remain so. That is why I was persuaded to join Gerhard’s force when it became necessary to ride against Hohenzollern. The excesses of Princess Susanna had to cease.”
I do see that there was problem, and I can even appreciate the need for the solution which transpired, but I cannot let his mention of Susanna’s culpability remain unchallenged.
“You should direct your justice at Lord Eberhard. I have told you, the attacks on neighbouring provinces were none of Susanna’s doing.”
“The emperor and his court will determine the facts and take whatever action is required.” Already Stefan is spurring his horse on, quickening the pace now that his home is in sight. The rest of the column at our rear do likewise. All are keen to seek their beds this night. Stefan’s rough caress of my body ceases. He takes the reins in both hands as Hades breaks into an easy canter.
It is full dark by the time we approach the outer dwellings but the populace are at their doors to greet us. Their lord has been recognised in the distance, and they are glad to see him safe home. Occasional cheers ring out, spontaneous clapping. Stefan is liked and respected here, and again the image of Lord Eberhard comes to mind. He was despised and hated, but above all feared. Never would the peasants of Hohenzollern have interrupted their evening meal to see him safe home.
The great gates of the castle are opened to us as we grow near, the drawbridge lowered to offer access. We clatter across the wooden bridge and into the bailey where a flurry of grooms hurtles from the stables to grab the reins of our mounts.
Stefan flings his ribbons to one lad, who catches the flying strands with an alacrity that speaks of long practice.
“See Hades settled, Con, if you please.” Already my husband is swinging his leg from the saddle. His descent is agile, and moments later he is reaching up for me to slide into his arms. Once my feet are in contact with the flattened earth of the courtyard, he steadies me and turns me to face the castle entrance where it would seem his entire household is pouring forth to bid him welcome. The charge is led by two boys, aged perhaps nine or ten years, who bound whooping across the bailey.
Stefan steps forward and bends to encircle each one with an arm as they reach him, their own smaller limbs wrapping round his neck. He says something to each in turn, though his voice is muffled and I cannot pick out his words. The boys can though, and after the first flush of exuberance has passed they turn to face me, their features solemn.
Stefan straightens. “Alexander, Fabian, I have the honour of presenting to you Lady Natalia, the duchess of Richtenholst. My wife, and your new mama.”
The boys’ faces are agog. They look to each other, then at Stefan, their father it would seem, for confirmation of this incredible state of affairs. I share the sentiment. I have heard no mention up to now of sons, though I have never asked about Stefan’s family. Uncertain how to greet them, I settle for simply stretching out my hand.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Alexander, Fabian.”
Each boy takes my hand and shakes it, their manners impeccable. The taller one, Alexander, even overcomes his surprise sufficiently to execute a small though somewhat formal bow. He turns to his father, his expression one of discontent. My heart sinks; a resentful stepson is not a complication I had anticipated.
“Father, now that you have a wife, does this mean I am no longer required to aid you in removing your boots at night?” From the boy’s expression I do not believe he harbours any desire for a lightening of his responsibilities.
Stefan ruffles his hair, the gesture one of easy affection.
“Less of your insolence, lad. I’ll have need of your services for a good while yet so you will continue in your current duties and studies until Karl or I tell you
different. Unless of course Lady Natalia also finds herself in need of your assistance, in which case I trust I can rely on you to treat her with every courtesy.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” Reassured, I hope, that a new stepmama will not disrupt his relationship with his father, Alexander turns his attention to me once more. “What is your opinion of carrots, my lady?”
This conversation is not proceeding quite as I expected. I consider for a moment before answering. “I like them. Very much.”
The boy frowns and I wonder if I uttered the wrong answer. It would be a pity, but I had few clues to go on.
“I see. That is a relief as we have had an uncommonly good harvest this year and our storerooms are overflowing with them. We eat nothing else and I am heartily sick of carrot soup. Do you know any other ways to cook carrots?”
The culinary arts are not among my greatest strengths, but I fear this is not the time for needless humility. “I have some expertise in this matter. I believe I may be able to come up with something.”
My response appears satisfactory. Alexander nods and shifts his attention back to his father.
“I have practised my swordplay, as you instructed. I can best Fabian every time.” Alexander is seemingly no more inclined toward a humble disposition than I am. We should do very well together. I intend to work at it.
“You cannot!” The smaller boy tips up his chin, ready to take issue with such an outrageous claim. “I win at least half the time. And you only get the best of it at all because you are bigger than I am. I am faster, and more cunning.” The brave words are punctuated by a bout of frenzied arm waving, a mime of Fabian’s alleged expertise at swordplay if I am not mistaken.
His brother is less than impressed. “You are a baby. You should remain in the nursery with Clare, not totter around the lists, tripping everyone up.”
“Father, he lies! I…”
“Hush, is this any way to greet our new duchess?” Stefan crouches before the two lads, his expression stern. They go silent at once. “I will watch your practice in the morn and assess your progress for myself. Both of you.”
“Carrot soup indeed… That boy never thinks of anything but his stomach. Welcome home, my lord. And welcome to you too, my lady.” This last is delivered by a stout woman of middling years who has been hovering on the fringes of our small group.
Stefan rises to his full height again. “Thank you. May I present Lady Natalia, duchess of Richtenholst?”
The woman bobs a quick curtsy. Stefan continues. “Helena is our cook. Her husband, Otto, is my bailiff and between them they ensure our comfort here.”
As mistress of this household, however newly risen to that position, I expect I will have much to do with Helena and Otto, though my experience of running a large home and estate is limited indeed. I will be reliant upon their assistance. And their goodwill. I step forward to offer my hand.
“I am delighted to meet you, Mistress Helena. Perhaps you will have time to talk with me soon, to advise me on how matters are run here. I have much to learn about Richtenholst.” I have much to learn about everything, in truth, but I see no point in expanding on that.
Helena’s beaming smile seems genuine enough. “Of course, my lady, as soon as you are settled and rested. And fed.” She turns to my husband again. “Sir, we have prepared a feast in readiness for your return. If you would like to take your ease inside, food will be served in the great hall.”
“Thank you, Helena. We are more than ready for that.” He takes a couple of paces in the direction of the front steps, then stops. He turns to me, his hand outstretched.
“Come, Tally. I would show you your new home.”
I take his hand, but he just uses the contact to tug me to his side. There he loops his arm across my shoulders and drops a kiss on the top of my head. The careless gesture seems artless, but I know better. He has embraced me, kissed me in full view of his entire household, making clear the affection he has for me. My position here is assured.
Together we ascend the short flight of stone steps leading into the castle. I gasp at my first sight of the great hall, the vaulted ceiling soaring above us and the walls hung with thick tapestries. The stone has been rendered and lime washed to reflect light and increase the impression of space. The wall hangings lend colour and vibrancy, but the exposed walls are brightly painted in the reds, browns, and yellows of ochre. A huge fire roars in the grate on the far wall, the warmest spots around it already claimed by several large hunting hounds. The room is moderately warm despite its size and the inclement weather outside.
A table is set on a small raised dais at the end of the hall, and eight seats are arranged along it. The rest of the hall is furnished simply, a long table running the entire length, flanked by low benches on both sides. Servants are scurrying to and fro laden with dishes, plates, steaming bowls of food. They deposit these on the tables and rush off for more.
Much of the floor is covered in rushes, clean I note, apart from the end where the top table is situated, where clay tiles have been used. The room is amply lit by torches set into recesses in the walls. The overall effect is one of cosiness, a bustling, friendly home where all are busy, all are welcome, all are cared for.
Stefan leads me in the direction of the dais, nodding and smiling at the servants we pass, greeting each by name and accepting their smiles of welcome. Fabian and Alexander are hopping alongside us, each bursting with excitement at the return of their father, vying for his attention. He answers their eager questions, confirming that yes, Gerhard is at least seven feet tall, the moat at Hohenzollern was filled with ferocious beasts with huge teeth, and the imperial army was beset on all sides by fearsome foes. Even so, Gerhard, Stefan, and their brave armies prevailed, and have returned safe to their loved ones to feast on carrot soup.
At the mention of loved ones, Stefan halts. He steps onto the dais and scans the room as his sons seat themselves in the chairs which I assume they normally occupy. At a brief word from Stefan they move along one seat, to make space for me beside their father I assume. Stefan is still peering about, looking for something. Or someone.
His eyes light on the bottom steps of a spiral staircase opening into the hall at the far end. I follow his gaze to see a movement in the shadows there, a small figure almost hidden from view. Stefan smiles and turns to me.
“Please be seated, my lady.” He gestures to one of the chairs positioned at the centre of the table. I seat myself next to Alexander, who does not seem concerned at the new arrangements. “If you would excuse me for one moment please, my lady.” Stefan offers me a bow and strides from the dais.
He marches across the hall to the shadowy staircase, and crouches when he reaches it. A few seconds pass before the small figure steps forward into the light.
It is a tiny girl, no more than three or four years old. She stands before Stefan, shifting from one foot to the other, her nervousness very much apparent. At this distance I have no idea what words are exchanged, but eventually she steps forward to hug him around his neck. His arms fold around her and he stands, picking her up. He returns to the top table, the child clinging to him.
He takes the seat beside me and arranges the little girl on his lap. Her face is buried in the soft leather of his tunic, her tiny fingers curled into fists, which she has tucked under her chin. She turns her head just enough to stare at me, her dark eyes wide. She is impossibly pretty, but so timid it is painful. I attempt a smile, but this simply causes her to bury her nose against Stefan’s chest again.
“Clare, I would like you to say hello to my new wife. This is Natalia. I call her Tally and I think perhaps you can too.” He glances at me, his eyebrow lifted in inquiry.
This is a far less formal introduction and I sense some delicacy here. Stefan was sure of his sons, handled them with easy, gentle authority. With this little girl, he is on eggshells.
“Yes, of course. And I may call you Clare, I hope.”
I am talking to the back of her head, but
even so I observe what will have to pass for a nod. I press on.
“We will be friends, you and I. We will have to be, for we are girls in family of men and we must look out for each other. May I rely on you to help me if I get lost in this huge castle?”
Another brief nod, unmistakable this time.
“I am relieved for I had been worried. I will require your assistance, I am sure. And now, I wonder if you could tell me what is good to eat among all these delicious dishes. What is your favourite, Clare?”
The small head turns and Clare surveys the feast laid out before us. I have yet to discern a surfeit of carrots, but perhaps those are to come. The child considers the rich and varied fare, taking her time, then points to a plate of what I suspect may be apple dumplings.
“Thank you. I will start with those then. May I serve you a helping too, my lord?”
“Yes, if you would, Tally. Clare, would you like to take your seat next to Fabian?”
The little head shakes, and Clare buries her fingers in Stefan’s tunic.
“She has been naughty. Again. She broke your mirror. I told her you would be angry, and that she would be punished when you returned.” This from Fabian, speaking around a mouthful of pigeon pie.
Stefan’s warning frown suggests he has not appreciated Fabian’s intervention in the matter of the mirror. However this does perhaps explain the child’s reluctance to greet Stefan on his return.
“My mirror. I see. How did that happen, Clare?”
His tone is gentle, but even so Clare is weeping quietly. She clambers further up onto his lap, clinging to Stefan as though she expects to be hurled from his embrace at any second. In fact, his arms tighten around her. He strokes the back of her head and her shoulders, murmuring nonsense into her hair. It is clear he adores this little girl, mirror or no.
Eventually, with a last gulping sob, she stops crying. She turns in Stefan’s arms to lift her tear-stained face. Her mouth is still quivering.
“I am sorry, papa. It was dark, and it fell.”
The Conquered Brides Collection Page 31
