Castle of the Wolf

by Sandra Schwab

  His mother put her hand on his arm. “Fenris, dear…”

  With an impatient sound, he shook her hand off and continued to glare at Cissy.

  It occurred to her that she would be forced to wed this lout if she wanted to hold on to the castle, if she wanted to start the new life she so craved. Her heart sank. How could she bear to be married to a man who even snarled at his own mother?

  An unpleasant smile twisted his lips. “That silenced you, didn’t it?” Turning, he snapped at his parents, “Will you please get her out of here!”

  Cissy straightened. She had not come this far to be thwarted by a man who didn’t even know the basic rules of polite behavior. She took a deep breath and forced her voice to remain calm. “According to the papers I have in my possession, my father came into possession of Wolfenbach several years ago.”

  His snort broke the uneven sounds of his steps as he walked back toward the door from whence he had come. “Impossible.”

  “Fenris…” his father began.

  “He came into possession of it in the autumn of 1811.”

  That brought the man to an abrupt halt. He whirled around so fast that for a moment Cissy thought he would lose his balance. And then she watched, her heart in her mouth, as he strode toward her, his eyes blazing green fire.

  “No!” He grabbed her shoulders, shook her. “No, that’s not possible! You’re lying!” He breathed heavily, as if he had run a mile, and dark color splashed across his cheeks. “No!” He shook her again, and his fingers gripped her hard enough to hurt.

  “Are you mad?” she gasped, horrified by this unexpected reaction. She had certainly managed to rattle him. “Let go of me!” Sudden fear cramped her stomach as she tried to fight against him. But he only dug his fingers deeper into her arm.

  “You’re lying!” he snarled, and in that moment he indeed looked like a demon wolf, wild and feral and totally out of control.

  Panic constricted Cissy’s throat. “Let go of me,” she whispered.

  “Fenris!”

  Cissy caught sight of the horrified faces of his parents. They had taken hold of his arms and tried to pull him away from her. Yet the more they pulled, the more he tightened his grip.

  “You’re lying! Go on, admit it!” He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. A vein pulsed at the side of his neck, straining against the skin. “You’re lying!”

  “Fenris!”

  “I am not!” she shouted, and shoved at his chest. Her heart hammered in her ears, and tears of shock were running down her cheeks. “I am not!”

  Breathing heavily, he finally let go of her and took a step back. He shook his head. “You’re lying,” he muttered. “Lying!” He brushed the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “Fenris…” His father put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and took another step back.

  “You’re lying.”

  “What is the matter with you?” With shaking fingers, Cissy clumsily wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You must be mad! Mad!” Shivers gripped her whole body.

  “Oh, my poor girl.” The Gräfin put an arm around her shoulders. “My poor child.” She rubbed Cissy’s arm. “Everything will be all right, I promise.”

  Yet Cissy did not avert her eyes from the woman’s crack-brained son. “I am the mistress of the Castle of Wolfenbach now,” she whispered. “I am.”

  Fenris’s face twisted. “You’re lying.”

  “She is not, son,” his father finally managed to cut in. The old man looked sad and tired, as if weighed down by an invisible burden. “We have never told you, but sixteen years ago, Wolfenbach was indeed sold to Lord Hailstone.”

  Fenris von Wolfenbach’s head whipped around. His mouth opened, yet for once no sound emerged. He shook his head.

  “Yes, it’s the truth.” Graf von Wolfenbach nodded and gave his son a sad smile. “Hailstone had no use for the property, so we could continue using it just as before. Just as if it still belonged to our family.”

  All color drained from the young man’s face, leaving it deathly pale. “No,” he murmured. “No!” His expression changed, became imploring. “No, Father, no. Not Wolfenbach.” He looked at Cissy, swallowed. “No, it cannot be.” He swallowed again, and something like desperation flickered over his face. “No.” He shook his head.

  “I am sorry.” The Graf patted his shoulder. “I asked my old friend Hailstone for help and he agreed to buy the castle when it was sold.”

  Which would also explain her family’s money problems—the fact that her father could only afford one season for his only daughter, that George had to give up all thoughts of a tour through Europe.

  Cissy closed her eyes.

  In 1811 her father had bought a castle to help a friend. Why?

  She opened her eyes and caught Fenris von Wolfenbach’s glittering stare. He looked as if he might be sick any moment. Or burst into tears.

  Abruptly he turned away, and with awkward strides hurried out of the hall.

  Graf von Wolfenbach heaved a deep sigh. He wiped his hand across his brow before he turned to Cissy with a weary expression. “I am so very sorry, my dear. I had not expected my son’s reaction to be so…so intense.” He shook his head. “It has come as a shock for him.”

  “I would like to go to a room and freshen up,” Cissy whispered. Inside, she was still shaking, tiny shivers running through her flesh and bones. Wearily, she closed her eyes. Why did her life have to change? She yearned to seek refuge in her father’s library, to bury her face against his housecoat and breathe in the scents of pipe smoke and old books. But…

  Never, never again.

  Cissy shuddered.

  She was all alone.

  ~*~

  The room she had been given looked as if it belonged in Sleeping Beauty’s palace: dust everywhere, and old cobwebs adorned the corners, hung in thin, gray vines from the four-poster bed. In one corner stood a small stove, ashen-colored with dust and dirt. On the floor in front of it, the footsteps of the servant who had brought her to this place were clearly visible. After wrestling with the stove, he had finally apologized and promised to get some firewood.

  For now, it was so cold in the room that ice flowers bloomed on the cracked mirror on the wall. They partly hid black splotches of old age, which resembled pressed spiders.

  Cissy shivered and wrapped her pelisse tighter around herself. She couldn’t help herself—she felt as if she were caught in a particularly nasty gothic novel. A derelict castle, a maniac master—well, ex-master, who had, upon the housekeeper’s inquiry, sent his guest to what was obviously one of the most run-down rooms in the whole bloody castle! The only thing missing now is a skeleton in the closet or a ghost coming through the wall while holding its head under its arm.

  Well.

  Even without the skeleton and the ghost it was bad enough. The heavy hangings on the bed were riddled with holes. Here and there were glints in the dark material, as if it had been shot through with golden thread. “Hm.” Her interest roused despite herself, Cissy stepped nearer. She could just discern a golden floral pattern in the dark background. But time had destroyed the delicate pattern; the golden thread had become unraveled or had, in places, totally disappeared.

  The tip of her boot clonked against china.

  Cissy looked down.

  The chamber pot. Cracked, too, a handle missing. China the color of old ivory, and depicted on it an Arcadian scene in pink, which reminded her of French wallpaper.

  She squatted down.

  “I bet it was once a rather nice chamber pot.” As she tugged at the remnants of the handle, the pot slid out from under the bed—and revealed its ghastly contents: the remains of a half rotten mouse.

  With a shriek, Cissy fell onto her behind and scrambled backward. Now, here’s the skeleton at last. Sighing, she picked herself up and rubbed her aching derrière.

  She scanned the room, tapped her foot on the floor. “How the heck am I supposed to sleep in this hellhole tonight?�
� Her voice echoed ominously from the walls. “So this crack-brained fellow thinks he can wear me down like this? Ha!” Agitatedly, she brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face.

  Once more she looked around the room. She clicked her tongue, wriggled her nose; and then, a slow smile spread over her face. The cabbage-headed dod wants a fight. Gingerly, she sank down on the corner of the bed. He shall have his fight. She folded her hands primly in her lap and awaited the servant’s return.

  ~*~

  Almost an hour later she was shown into a dark-paneled drawing room, to where the Graf and the Gräfin had retired. The sight of her travel habit caused them to raise their brows. Yet instead of commenting, the Graf just cleared his throat and asked gruffly whether she would like some refreshments. He indicated a plate holding a selection of small cakes, and continued, “Wouldn’t you like some Prussian coffee to warm you up after your…um…journey? Rambach, bring a cup for Miss Fussell. Miss Fussell, this is Rambach, my son’s butler.”

  The old, white-haired man sketched her a bow. “Gnädiges Fräulein.” The way he squinted at her made Cissy suspect he was terribly nearsighted.

  She sat down on one of the large red armchairs. Giving the butler a small smile, she folded her hands in her lap. “Rambach, when you get the cup, would you please tell the housekeeper to come and see me?”

  “Gnädiges Fräulein?” He looked at her blankly.

  Her smile intensified. “The housekeeper. I would like to talk to her.”

  He threw a cautious glance at the Graf, then nodded very slowly. “Yes, gnädiges Fräulein. Immediately.”

  The von Wolfenbachs exchanged a look. When the door had closed behind the butler, the Graf cleared his throat and harrumphed several times. “You…um…wish to talk to the housekeeper?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Keeping the smile firmly fixed on her face, Cissy reached for one of the little cakes. She had run her father’s household for over a decade, and she would be damned if she would now let the servants of her new home get the better of her! Courage, Celia, courage.

  While she munched on the cake, she forced herself to uphold her cheerful countenance and pretended it was absolutely normal to sit there still in her rumpled traveling clothes. However, the conversation remained stilted. The Graf and the Gräfin appeared to be embarrassed, and small wonder with such a bugbear of a son! The Gräfin asked her about the journey, and Cissy told a little about her time with Mrs. Chisholm.

  Eventually, the door opened and the butler returned in the company of an elderly woman. In fact, it was the woman who had run away shrieking when she had spotted Cissy in the courtyard. “Gnädiges Fräulein.” The butler made a stiff bow. “Frau Häberle, the housekeeper.”

  Frau Häberle curtsied. “Gnädiges Fräulein.” Nervously, she twisted the hem of her apron through her fingers.

  Oh, this promises to be interesting! Cissy still held on to her bland smile, even though she wished she weren’t there all on her own. It would have been nice to have a familiar, dear face to look at, to draw reassurance from. And yet…

  You’re no longer a child, but a grown-up woman. You have to take care of yourself.

  Indeed.

  And she would start by asserting her authority with her new servants. She subtly straightened her shoulders. “Frau Häberle.” She gave the woman an amiable nod. “I believe we’ve already met, haven’t we?” She watched how a soft blush tinged the woman’s cheeks, and for a moment she could almost sympathize. But then she remembered the state of the room she had been given and all sympathy fled. Her tone became chillier. “I understand it was you who assigned a room to me?”

  “I …” Licking her lips, the housekeeper threw a look at the Graf and Gräfin. What she saw there obviously acted as encouragement, for her hands fell to her side and she lifted her chin. “Indeed. After consultation with the master, gnädiges Fräulein.”

  After consultation with the master, indeed. Cissy raised her brows. The lout! She folded her hands in her lap and smiled some more. “I see. That explains it then,” she said kindly. “You were laboring under a misconception. For you see”—she leaned a little forward and lowered her voice as if divulging a great secret—“I am now the mistress of the Castle of Wolfenbach. Isn’t that so, Graf von Wolfenbach?” She turned to him.

  The man cleared his throat, shifted on his seat. “You are quite right, my dear,” he finally said.

  “See?” Cissy focused her attention on the housekeeper once more and gave her an even kinder smile than before. “And this means that I expect my room to be cleaned and tidied this afternoon and my travel chest brought in. I want to sleep on a clean mattress tonight, with a fresh pillow and featherbed, for I don’t care much for mice nests. I’m sure you understand. And make sure the old drapings are taken down, too. If you can’t substitute them for something more fitting today, that is quite fine. But else”—she looked the housekeeper up and down—“as I said, I expect to find the room cleaned by this afternoon, else I’m afraid I’ll have to look for a new housekeeper—and other servants.”

  Color came and went in the housekeeper’s face. “Gn-gnädiges Fräulein?”

  “That is all, Frau Häberle.”

  After the two servants left, the room was very quiet. “Frau Häberle has been in our family’s employ for the past forty years,” the Gräfin finally broke the silence. “I am sure there is no need for such harshness.” Gentle reprimand rang in her voice.

  Cissy steeled herself to meet the woman’s gaze calmly and with no outward sign that her heart was beating faster than normal. She did not want to alienate the Wolfenbachs any more than the servants, but after her inspection of what was supposed to be her new living quarters, she knew it was imperative to take up the reins fast.

  Or rather, to wrest the reins from that blunderheaded churl, Fenris von Wolfenbach.

  She had to suppress a shudder as she remembered how he had stared at her, snarled at her, how he had gripped her, totally out of control. For a moment she had thought he would actually throttle her. The warning of the innkeeper’s wife flitted through her head. “He’ll rip you apart and tear you to pieces, he surly will!”

  Not so fast, she thought. Not so fast…

  She shook her hair back and met the Gräfin’s gaze unflinchingly. “Oh, I can assure you it was necessary. Quite, quite necessary.”

  ~*~

  “She did what?” Fenris whirled around to stare at his friend and valet, his anger so intense that he thought his head might burst any moment.

  Johann grimaced. Fenris had met him during the war, and they had stuck together during those horrid months Fenris wished he could erase from his memory. When he had returned home, Johann had followed him and stayed on as his valet.

  “She threatened to dismiss Frau Häberle. And apparently everybody else, too.”

  “The hussy!” Fenris growled. “How dare she—”

  “Well, if the castle really belongs to her now…”

  With a vile curse, he turned his back on his valet. Breathing heavily, he leaned on the windowsill and stared outside. The dark bulk of the forest was broken by the bull’s-eye pane, and each bulge showed a little piece of snow-covered green with a startlingly blue sky overhead. Closing his eyes, Fenris wearily lowered his head.

  “Wolfenbach gone,” he murmured. “They even lost the castle because of me. All because of me.” Bitterness constricted his throat and viciously cut into his insides like the slow twist of a knife that had been thrust into his belly. And this time even the legendary Wolves haven’t been able to protect their own…

  “Damn it all!” His fists hit the stone. He didn’t care that the impact jarred his arms. If anything, he welcomed the physical pain. For if it were bad enough, he might forget the pain inside, the pain and the guilt, which had been his companions for more than a decade. “I won’t let her take the castle away from me. In fact…”—he slowly turned around, and his lips lifted in a terrible smile—“in fact, I will make her regret the hour sh
e set her foot over my threshold.”

  Interlude

  An agitated murmur rippled through the stone. They pricked their ears, listened. Watched. Someone new had entered their realm.

  They caught the sharpness of recent pain, but beneath…oh, beneath—there was something else. Something they hadn’t seen or felt in a long time. Something they had yearned for, hoped for. Something they wanted to keep for themselves.

  Stone shifted.

  And they would keep it.

  Would keep her.

  Forever…

  …and ever…

  …and ever…

  Chapter 5

  By late afternoon, Cissy’s room was moderately clean and warm. The cobwebs had been removed, as had the holey bed drapings and the rodent skeleton. The cracked chamber pot had been replaced by a whole, creamy white pot, and the bedding smelled and looked clean.

  For dinner with the Graf and Gräfin, Cissy could finally change her clothes. While she straightened her wraparound stays, it occurred to her she would need to hire a new maid soon.

  She sighed.

  She missed Evie—the easy chatter, the softly rolling Yorkshire accent. She hoped the girl would find a new place instead of staying with Dorinda. There were a number of respectable families in the neighborhood she could work for as a maidservant. Or just as a normal housemaid.

  Cissy rubbed her forehead.

  She should have made sure Evie would get a nice new place. But then, she didn’t have any rights in regard to her former servants—her father’s former servants. Now they were George’s. George, George, why must you have such an atrocious taste in women? She shook her head and finished putting on her dress.

  ~*~

  The demon wolf of Wolfenbach did not show up for dinner. It was just his parents and Cissy. For some unfathomable reason, they dined in the drafty Great Hall, and even though the table stood next to the stove, Cissy could still feel the chill of winter seep through her woolen dress. Note: Wear more petticoats in the future. Or better, find another dining room!