Castle of the Wolf

by Sandra Schwab

  Chuckling, he turned his back to the view and leaned against the balustrade. “Everybody and their auntie have heard about that condition by now, Liebchen.” The corners of his mouth lifted and his eyes twinkled.

  Liebchen.

  He had such beautiful eyes. Green like the forest, green like the trees whispering in the wind.

  The breeze lifted a strand of Cissy’s hair and blew it across her cheek like a lover’s caress. What she imagined a lover’s caress to be like. She shivered.

  Leopold’s smile widened, then he reached out and carefully placed the stray lock of hair behind her ear. His knuckles brushed over her cheek. Gasping, Cissy took a step back. Painful heat flooded her face, and her breasts… Again, she shivered.

  Her breasts tingled and strained against the confinement of her stays. Was it only a few days ago that she had told Mrs. Chisholm that she was quite aware of the realities of life? Nothing, nothing, had ever felt like this.

  “Don’t,” she croaked, but wasn’t quite sure whether she was telling her misbehaving bosom or the man in front of her. “Don’t.” How vulnerable she suddenly felt! Delicate. As if she were made of fine glass.

  Leopold’s smile dimmed. “I apologize, I…” He spread out his hands, and for a moment he reminded her of a sad puppy. “I was taken away by your beauty, the sweetness of your face.” His voice lowered. “Your loveliness,” he breathed gently, softly, and Cissy felt her heart melt.

  These were the sweetest words a man had ever said to her. He had called her beautiful. Beautiful. A tousled Greek god, who surely was besieged by countless women—sophisticated women, not brown Yorkshire mice like her—this golden god thought her beautiful.

  And suddenly, she felt beautiful, despite her drab, black dress with the old-fashioned cut. Her heart lifted, jumped, as if it could fly straight out of her breast. She could no more stop the foolish smile spreading over her face than stop breathing. “I forgive you.” She held out her hand to him. “Friends again?”

  His face lit once more. He took her hand, and through the glove she could feel the heat of his skin, the strength in his fingers. “Friends,” he agreed. But then he turned her hand so it was facing palm up, and with deft fingers undid the first button at her wrist. Her breath caught in her throat when his thumb stroked her sensitive skin. “Friends,” he repeated. “For now.” With a mischievous smile he raised her hand and pressed his lips to the small strip of skin he had exposed.

  Tingles raced up her arm, spread through her body and made her bones sing. “Oh my,” she breathed, and all thoughts of impropriety fled.

  “Lovely,” he murmured against her wrist, and his words vibrated along her nerves to the marrow of her bones.

  Gasping, she pressed her wrist to his mouth, and with a soft laugh he bestowed a last, lingering kiss to her wrist before he straightened and buttoned her up again. He looked at her, and she drowned in the green of his eyes. So, so green… She swayed a little, trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind.

  Not prepared for the realities of life…

  She inhaled sharply to clear her head. Leopold’s cheek dimpled.

  “The loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  ~*~

  Over the next few days Leopold showed her around the castle, and she felt more and more comfortable in his presence. He showed her all the nooks and crannies she had seen before, but now she saw them through his eyes. He told her about the duel that had been fought on the central staircase in the pallas centuries ago, brother fighting brother, until they both had lain bleeding at the foot of the stairs. He told her how each year, on a special night in May, the two could still be seen fighting on the stairs, and how the clang of their ghostly swords would reverberate from the walls of the darkened castle.

  He showed her the entrance to the secret passage in the library, where the air was heavy with the smell of dust and old leather and paper that had turned yellow with age. Outside, he pointed out to her the place where spikes with the bloody heads of Wolfenbach’s enemies had once crowned the gate until the ravens had come to pick the dimmed eyes, to tear the flesh from the bones. She couldn’t suppress a shiver as a raven cawed overhead. She looked up to follow its flight, and her gaze was caught by a snow-covered gargoyle looming on an overhang above her. Again, she shivered. The dead stone eyes regarded her stoically.

  “All the gargoyles,” she murmured.

  Leopold followed her gaze. “Aye. Nasty old buggers,” he growled. “One of our ancestors apparently had a penchant for the grotesque. Never liked them myself, though.” He shrugged.

  “They always surround you,” Cissy said softly and looked around, spotting more of the stone beasts clinging to the roof or thrusting their heads through the wall. “Watching you.” She hugged her pelisse tighter around herself.

  Leopold chuckled. “Awww, no, not with these dead eyes of theirs. Do you see that one over there?” He pointed. “See how parts of his eyes have crumbled away? This fellow is watching no one ever again.” Again, he chuckled, but Cissy shivered in the cold breeze.

  “Let us go back inside,” she pleaded. “It’s eerie out here.”

  Offering her his arm, he led her to the nearest building. Their steps sounded loud on the stone tiles of the empty rooms and corridors. He showed her the weapons room, where old swords rusted on the wall and suits of old armor stood in the corners like soldiers made of tin. In the middle of the room, the empty shell of half a steel horse stood waiting for battles long past.

  Leopold next showed her staircases that led nowhere and doors that hid stone walls. Generations of Wolfenbachs had built and remodeled the castle, had added new buildings and turrets, new stairs and hidden recesses, and thus had made the castle into a stone maze. Leopold talked of the many secrets the castle still held even from him. “So the Wolfenbach Hoard can be anywhere,” he said. “There’s even a secret door down in the well.”

  “How do you know about the hoard in the first place?” she asked, curious, while she admired the painted ceiling in one of the state rooms: a sea of golden stars against a dark blue backdrop.

  Leopold shrugged. “There were always legends. Our old nanny told us many tales and myths about this area. There isn’t a stone in this land that doesn’t tell a tale.”

  “I have always loved old tales and legends,” Cissy confided, glancing his way.

  “Ah well, most of these tales are, of course, simply superstitious rubbish. But I’ve also read a bit from the town annals.” He grimaced. “It was mostly gibberish to me, that old German. The Latin wasn’t much better, really.” He bit his lip, and his face filled with remorse. “I was never much of a scholar,” he admitted.

  With his blond curls and rueful expression, he reminded Cissy of a little boy. God, he was adorable! She gave him a smile and nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat and rocked back and forth on his heels. “From the little I could piece together, I learnt a bit about the fate of the last Wolfenbach robber baron. How the villagers down in the valley eventually revolted against his tyranny and one day killed him when he took a ride through the forest.” He shook his head. “It must have been quite a fight. First they pelted him and his horse with stones, and then they came after him with hayforks and flails.”

  Cissy’s stomach lurched. “Did they harm the poor horse, too?” she asked, aghast.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think so. To be honest, I was more interested in reading about what they did to the castle. They looted it, of course.”

  “Of course,” Cissy murmured, her thoughts still with the poor horse.

  “But the annals don’t mention a treasure.” Excitement crept into his voice. “And this means it must still be here!” He made a wide, encompassing movement with his arms. “Somewhere in this castle. It was reclaimed by Wolfenbach’s son several years later, you know. He had managed to flee, and joined the Crusade in repentance of his father’s sins. A real paragon of virtue, that chap. And pro
bably a bit soft in the head, too. Why, there is even this silly story of how he spared some wolf or other during a hunt. Spared a wolf! Can you believe the stupidity?” He rolled his eyes dramatically, which made Cissy giggle. “But, of course, later generations of the family made a great hullaballoo about it and even created this fantastic tale about the spirit of the wolf protecting the castle and the Wolfenbachs forevermore.” He snorted, then gave her a broad, boyish smile. “Anyway, ever since that crusading fellow entered the scene, the Wolfenbachs have been model knights. No more robbing for us.” He winked at Cissy.

  She hid a grin behind her hand. “I am so glad to hear it,” she said, and managed to keep a straight face, even though, for no discernible reason, her heart sang in her chest and she yearned to whirl around and around under the golden stars on the ceiling. “I would very much like to read these annals one day. Do you think that would be possible?”

  “You?” For a moment or two he simply stared at her in surprise before he burst out laughing. “Liebchen, you’re priceless! What a delicious sense of humor you have!”

  Cissy frowned. “I was not joking.”

  Abruptly the laughter stopped. “You weren’t?” Something like suspicion entered his eyes.

  She shook her head. “My father taught me to read Latin. I used to read to him often in the past few years.”

  “How…peculiar.” He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Would you like to continue the tour?” He held out his hand. “There’s more to discover.”

  Yes, so much more to discover: the tapestries along the walls, the unicorn about to lie his head on the maiden’s lap while the hunter hid behind the nearest tree, an arrow already cocked in his bow. In another room, the large wall-hangings depicted the four seasons. And while the scenery changed with each tapestry, in the background there was always a castle on a hill. “The Castle of Wolfenbach,” Leopold said proudly. He touched one of the tiny castles with his forefinger, giving Cissy a chance to admire his wide, graceful hand, the long, blunt fingers with the short-clipped nails. Warmth blossomed low in her belly as she remembered how on the crumpled tower he had touched her cheek with this same finger. And she marveled at the fate that had brought her to this moment, into the company of this man, her golden knight.

  She smiled at her own fancy, but the tiny flutters in her stomach did not stop.

  Next he showed her the tapestry his great-great-great-great-grandmother had woven, a hunting scene in the forest, where the hunters had just cornered their prey, a proud stag. And he told her how his distant grandmother had given one of the hunters the face of her secret lover. The vines and flowers surrounding the man on his great stallion curved and twisted and revealed their secret only upon a closer look: Te amo.

  Blinking away sudden tears, Cissy traced the faded green lines with a gentle forefinger. Te amo. She touched her heart.

  When she turned, she caught Leopold watching her, his head cocked to one side. The dimple appeared in his cheek. “It’s very romantic, is it not, Celia?” He paused, then added in a murmur, “Liebchen.” A mere whisper of sound, but her cheeks warmed nonetheless.

  “Once a subject of any indelicate kind is mentioned, you blush like a peony.”

  Confused and breathless, she stepped past him. Even if it was improper, these whispered endearments excited her. Whenever he looked at her like that, his green eyes dancing like wood sprites and the sweet dimple denting his cheek, her whole body tingled and shivers raced along her nerves. She wished she were brave enough to bare her wrist for him to kiss the skin there once more. She wondered what it would be like to be close, without a breath of air between them, oh so close to all his golden beauty, to have his hands caressing her face once more, and his lips…his lips…

  Cissy laid her hands against her burning cheeks. Quickly she reined in her wanton thoughts. She felt as if she were going up in flames.

  Chuckling, Leopold reached out and lightly drew his finger over the back of her gloved hand. “What delightful innocence. I am quite smitten by your blushes.” His lips twisted with amusement. “Liebchen.” He laughed as she tried to hide her flaming cheeks. “No. Don’t be embarrassed. You are charming, truly charming.” He offered her his arm. “Come, there’s much more to see.”

  ~*~

  His inner restlessness drove him to walk the ramparts at night, when the wind blew icier than ever. Fenris welcomed the bite of the wind, which brought tears to his eyes; sometimes the pain was enough to chase away unwanted thoughts, to dispel impossible dreams.

  Yet sometimes, the light was still on in her room high above him, and every dream he ever had came rushing back. On some nights the pain was bad enough to bring him to his knees.

  Fortuna must be laughing spitefully down at him to bring somebody like her to a place like this. To have her disrupt his self-imposed solitude and shred all his acceptance of his fate. His hand crept to his chest, where his heart burned with impossible longings.

  Wearily, Fenris closed his eyes. No, there would be no redemption for this beast. He would forever remain in this form, would forever be caught in a crippled body. Redemption had become impossible long ago, when the cannonball had exploded next to him and blasted his leg away. Curiously, it hadn’t hurt at first. He had lain on his back on the muddy ground and stared up at the sky, his eyes burning with gunsmoke. One last time—he had wanted to see a bit of blue sky one last time. He had hoped for one last glance of brilliant, untarnished blue. But there had been only acrid smoke, the rolling thunder of cannon, the screams of men and horses, and the sickly smell of burnt flesh and blood. They had soaked the earth with blood, men and mere boys sacrificed to the God of War.

  Was it any wonder that he had lain there and hoped in vain? And then, finally, a red veil had been thrown over the world and he had sunk into a sea of endless pain.

  Fenris gave an unsteady laugh.

  A sea of pain it had been, from which he had emerged as a fairytale monster, no trace left of the man he had been. And like a fairytale beast he had taken possession of this castle—only to have his life disrupted once more by his very own Belle. An intelligent, funny, brave Belle, with a temper quick to rise to his baiting.

  He smiled a little.

  Yes, she could get so angry that she looked ready to spit nails. And how her eyes glittered hotly! A regal queen of the Amazons, who would probably enjoy running him through with a long, sharp spear.

  Chuckling softly, he shook his head. She was an exceptional Belle indeed.

  She was also a Belle to which he had no right. No right at all. His amusement ebbed away, left him choked with longings and yearnings and bitterness, so much bitterness. When he stumbled back to his room, frozen to the bone, a sleepy Johann was waiting to help divest him of his clothes.

  “I told you, you don’t need to stay up for me,” Fenris said gruffly.

  His valet gave him one of those unfathomable glances he was so good at, and continued unbuttoning his coat. “I daresay if I didn’t stay up for you, you would fall into bed still fully clothed. Dear God, Fen, your hands are frozen stiff! Can’t you at least wear a scarf and mittens when you venture outside in the middle of winter? I swear, you’re one of the most pigheaded people I’ve ever met!”

  It stung. “Well, then…” Shrugging, Fenris looked away. “Nobody forces you to remain here. You could easily get work somewhere else.”

  “Oh, yes!” Snorting, Johann helped him out of the coat. “With that vain peacock of your brother, perhaps? After all, you already seem bent on seeing that the castle falls to him.” Grumbling, he started working on the buttons of the jacket.

  Fenris blinked. “What are you talking about?” Looking down at his valet’s head, he could just imagine Johann rolling his eyes, even though the man didn’t look up.

  The answer, when it finally came, was softer than before. “I simply don’t understand why you leave the field to your brother in this. You will lose the castle, don’t you see that?”

  Fenris raised his shoulders
as if such an occurrence wouldn’t touch him in the least. “So?” He shuddered a little as Johann helped him out of his jacket. God, he was cold, so cold. His very bones hurt with it.

  Johann impatiently tugged at the strings that secured the cuffs. “Can’t you just try at least? Be a little nicer to the girl?”

  “And what for?” Fenris stilled his friend’s hands on his wrist. He waited until Johann met his gaze. “What for? What right do I have to…to court somebody like her? What right would I have to drag her into my darkness?” He shook his head. “Leave it be, Johann.”

  The other man searched his face, then sighed. “As you wish. But I think you’re wrong.”

  The weariness that descended upon him was worse than the pain of the winter cold. “Just leave it be.”

  And so, during the days, Fenris kept away, watched from afar how his brother courted her, dazzled her with his charm. Charm came so easily to Leo. It had once come easily to Fenris, too. Once, in a distant past.

  But that was before his life had been literally blown to smithereens, before he had in turn destroyed the lives of the people he cared for most, before it had been made clear to him how utterly, utterly undesirable he had become as a man. Before he had seen revulsion in a woman’s eyes as he bared his body to her gaze.

  Never, never again.

  So, yes, he kept away from her during the days. But at night, he would stand on the ramparts and look up at the light in her room. Or, when the cold became too intense and his longing too bitter, he would walk the hallways instead. And just a little way from her room, he would stop and lean his head against the cool stone and remember the sound of her laughter.

  But not for him, of course.

  Never for him.

  Chapter 9