Castle of the Wolf

by Sandra Schwab

  She cocked her head to the side and gave him a pleading look through her lashes. “Hug me?” she whispered. “And perhaps kiss me better, and—”

  He gave her a look of utter disgust and stamped farther up the hill.

  Cissy stared after him. After a long moment, she took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “Well, I guess not.” Apparently, danger would not further intimacy with the demon wolf. Instead it made him mad as hell. “Drat.”

  With a sigh, she went to follow him back to his den.

  Chapter 16

  Some more weeks passed, and finally Cissy’s patience with her bugbearish husband snapped. He couldn’t just be nice and sweet one day and go snarling at her the next. Or buy her the sweetest present and then avoid her like the plague. Or rescue her and immediately afterwards start yelling at her like a madman. No, she wouldn’t put up with the antics of this demon wolf any longer!

  When she thought about the moments when he had been tender and protective, when he had kissed her with such sweetness, her heart always melted with longing. This was the man she wanted. This was how their marriage could work—and she wanted it to work. She simply had to force the demon wolf to cooperate.

  It was, Cissy thought, very simple: she needed a plan. How to seduce your husband in ten easy steps. Thanks to Mrs. Chisholm’s present, she already knew a little about steps five through ten. And she knew that Step Two—getting undressed; Step Three—getting your husband undressed; and Step Four—getting into bed, were not really obligatory. Indeed, if the cards were to be believed, one never fully undressed for these matters. Why, all the men wore at least shirts…even if they actually made it into a bed!

  This point of her ponderings always left Cissy rather dissatisfied. For she remembered the sight of her husband’s naked chest and the intriguing whorl of hair around his navel with much fondness. How was she supposed to properly admire his chest when he was wearing a shirt?

  She wondered whether the shirt was somehow negotiable.

  Yet before she could put Step Three into action, she needed to take care of Step One—getting hold of your husband. Thus, one afternoon she went to the library and chose a strategically favorable window seat that overlooked the courtyard. There she settled down with a book and awaited her husband’s return from his daily ride. She lost herself in the adventures of Peter Schlemihl, who sold his shadow to the devil for a magical purse producing unheard-of riches. She grimaced. Her husband’s snooty brother would probably sell his shadow, too, if it would lead him to the dratted Wolfenbach Hoard.

  Cissy snorted.

  If the hoard had ever existed, the Wolfenbach ancestor must have hidden it so well that his descendants would never find it. A little bit like a squirrel hiding its nuts. Only, no young trees would ever sprout from gemstones and gold.

  Chuckling, she read on.

  An hour or two later, she finally heard the clatter of hooves down in the courtyard. She leaned forward and looked outside.

  Fenris had not bothered to wear a hat, so the sunlight made his tousled hair shimmer like raven wings. The wind had stained his cheeks with ruddy color, and for once he looked almost carefree and happy. And he wasn’t wearing his wooden leg, Cissy noted. The saddle seemed to have been modified to help him with his balance.

  As Cissy watched, Johann walk outside to meet rider and horse. As soon as the valet reached up to help his master dismount, Fenris’s expression changed. The happiness dimmed, the sparkle of carefree joy died. Leaning heavily on his valet, he slid out of his saddle and to the ground, before he took the crutches Johann had brought.

  Cissy’s heart contracted. Like a bird whose wings had been clipped and broken, her husband hobbled over the cobblestones.

  Cissy touched her fingertips to the window as he walked up to the door and disappeared inside. Uncertainly, she bit her lip. Perhaps she should set her plan into motion on another day, at another time. She looked down at her book. Should she follow Peter Schlemihl’s story and find out to which wondrous lands his seven-league boots would carry him? It seemed…safer.

  Listlessly, she turned the page. From Tibet through Asia to Africa Peter went, following the course of the sun to Egypt and the pyramids. Cissy sighed.

  Twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger, she wondered whether it was really true that Napoleon’s soldiers had cut off the nose of the Sphinx. If the Sphinx had to lose her nose, why couldn’t it have simply broken off and dropped onto that detestable little Frenchman? It would have spared many people a whole lot of grief.

  She thought of her husband, who surely carried an enormous burden.

  She looked down at her book. “Drat it all!” She closed it with a snap and sprang up. She was heartily sick of Peter Schlemihl and his story. How could anybody be so bird-witted as to sell his shadow and not think about the consequences? And how could any groom be such a pea-goose as to try and evade his wedding night?

  “Men!” Cissy muttered darkly as she went to put the book back on its shelf. A woman wouldn’t have been so foolish as to sell any old man in gray her shadow for a purse! Ha! A mere purse? No, a woman would have taken the mandrake and thus would have secured for herself not only great riches, but also love and happiness. But no, the nodcock male had to go for the obvious. Snorting, Cissy stomped out of the library. Well, she would show her husband that a woman went for it all. Yes, she had married him to keep this castle and probably wouldn’t have married him at all if not for her father’s will. Who would want to marry a snarling demon wolf? But…

  She frowned.

  Of course, he could be a rather sweet demon wolf at times. Like when he had done battle with the ribbons for the Christmas tree. He had been so utterly adorable. And later, when he had kissed her…

  Her steps faltered. She touched her mouth, remembered the feeling of his lips on hers. She sighed dreamily. Beautiful.

  But still, it had been just a little kiss, which was now only a pale memory. And Cissy had enough of pale memories and little kisses. She wanted it all! She wanted friendship and company, and yes, the joys and delights that Mrs. Chisholm’s cards promised.

  Determinedly, she marched up the stairs to her husband’s room. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked at the door. There was no answer.

  She cocked her head to the side and knocked again. Though she listened carefully, there was still no answer.

  Cissy chewed on her lower lip. She looked up and down the hallway.

  “All right,” she murmured. “Three time’s lucky.” And she knocked again.

  No answer.

  Cissy chewed on her lip some more. Then she sniffed and wriggled her nose. “But he must be in there!”

  Without her volition, her hand came to rest on the door handle. The next moment, the door swung open with a loud creak.

  Cissy winced. Here was another door that needed to be taken care of. But first…

  Carefully, she took a step forward and peeked into the room. It was dark-paneled, with a frieze depicting a hunting scene on the upper third of the wall. Lush, red Persian rugs covered the stone tiles on the floor. In the corner was the obligatory hunter-green tiled stove. When she had last been in this room, after Fenris’s fall, she had had neither time nor inclination to take it all in. But now…

  Cissy took another tiny step forward.

  Now she could also see the enormous four-poster bed with drapes of dark green velvet.

  Her husband, however, was nowhere to be seen. Unless…

  Another tiny step and Cissy could peek around the door.

  Unless he hid in the enormous wardrobe. Which she doubted. He was, after all, not a total lumpkin.

  From a small doorway on the other side of the bed came the sounds of splashing water.

  It was, she knew, terribly naughty to enter other people’s rooms without being invited, and yet the temptation proved too great. He was, after all, her husband.

  Cissy tiptoed fully into the room and closed the door behind her to shut out an
y witnesses of her indiscretion. Though what witnesses there might be in this almost deserted castle was anybody’s guess.

  The door screeched in protest.

  Drat! She closed her eyes.

  “Johann, is that you?” came the muffled voice of her husband from the other room, amidst more splashing of water.

  She grimaced. No, not exactly. She opened her eyes again, rubbed her nose. Courage, Celia. Courage.

  She crept forward, toward the intriguing doorway.

  Another step…and another…around the bed… My, wasn’t it large?

  Shivering a little, Cissy thought of the intriguing possibilities a large bed provided. Like the ace of diamonds. Or the eight of spades. Or…the two of clubs!

  “Oh my!” she breathed as hot tingles spread through her body.

  Hastily, she took another step forward and came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Her mouth fell open. Her right hand reached up and covered her frantically thumping heart.

  For in front of her, her husband stood with his back turned to her, and all he was wearing were his tight moleskin riding trousers and his wooden leg. Muscles bunched and flowed in his shoulders and back as he sponged himself down. His skin glistened wetly, while sweat and dust still clogged his hair. At his nape, the strands lay damply against the skin.

  Utterly fascinated, Cissy watched how a droplet of water fell onto a shoulder blade. For a moment it hovered there like a tiny diamond, then Fenris moved, his muscles rippled, and the water slid down toward the groove of his backbone, gained momentum, swept along tiny drops clinging to his skin, slithered down and down and disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.

  Cissy drew in a much needed breath of air. Oh my!

  “Johann?”

  Starting wildly, she couldn’t prevent a tiny squeak from escaping. Fenris’s head snapped around. His green eyes widened.

  Nervously, she lifted her hand and wriggled her fingers in what she hoped looked to be a friendly wave. “Um, it’s me,” she croaked.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Uh-oh.

  In order to evade his burning gaze, she dropped her eyes. They came to rest on a powerful pectoral covered by curly black hair. In between hung glittering drops of water, and a dark brown nipple shyly peeped out as if in greeting.

  Cissy licked her suddenly dry lips.

  Fenris fully turned toward her, hands on his hips, and water pelted the floor from the sponge he held in his right hand. “What do you want?”

  She heard the exasperation in his voice, but just then, water collected on one damp curl, formed a large, shimmering drop and…

  Cissy held her breath.

  Gracefully it slid into the interesting little groove below his ribs, trembled indecisively before it gave in and rolled down over the dips and bumps of his tightly muscled belly. With avid fascination she followed the drop’s journey. And then, there it was: the intriguing little whorl of hair around the sweet indentation of his navel.

  Oooh my. Cissy gave a happy sigh. Her skin prickled deliciously. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Dear heavens, she was certain she could look at this alluring, silky trail of hair forever and never tire of the sight.

  Fenris cleared his throat. “Are you here for a freak show?” he asked.

  Cissy flinched and only then became aware of what exactly she was doing. Her face flaming, she slowly raised her eyes back to his. They were blazing with anger, and dark color stained his cheeks. He looked…

  “What?” he snapped.

  Drat, the growling demon wolf was back! She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Have I provided enough freakish entertainment for you?” he continued. His breathing had turned harsh.

  “No, no, it wasn’t…” Her voice trailed away as she became aware how her answer could be misconstrued. She blinked. Given the furious twisting of his lips, her words had been misconstrued. Helplessly, she stared at him. “It isn’t what you think.”

  “No?” Aggressively, he widened his stance and stared back at her. “What is it, then?” A muscle jumped in his cheek. Yes, he looked exactly like a wolf ready to pounce.

  Cissy swallowed. “I…um…I thought—”

  “Yes?”

  “Er …” She bit her lip. This was probably not the best moment to tell her husband she wanted to have her wicked way with him. Or him to have his with her. Together. In his wonderfully large bed.

  Don’t think of the bed!

  “I…um…” Her fingers drummed against her thigh, while her thoughts raced. “…um…” She gave him a false, bright smile.

  “Has the cat got your tongue?” he growled, clearly unimpressed.

  Her smile fell. She sighed. Perhaps she should go and find Schlemihl’s gray man and sell him her shadow for the mandrake. Love and happiness would automatically be hers, and she wouldn’t be forced to stand in front of her husband like a namby-pampy noddy-pole. However, she suspected little gray men keen on other people’s shadows were not easily come by. So it was back to dealing with the demon wolf.

  Cissy sniffed. “I came here to ask you…” No, she really couldn’t mention her plan of seduction. But then inspiration finally struck. “An alfresco luncheon!” She beamed at him.

  His brows drew together in puzzlement. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A luncheon. Outside.” In her excitement, she bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet. “Tomorrow.”

  If anything, his puzzlement increased. “You haven’t had an accident, have you?” He eyed her suspiciously.

  “Me? No. Why?” She shook her head. “I…um… You know, the past few days have been so nice and sunny and I thought”—she rubbed her nose—“how nice it would be for us to drive out together and have a luncheon.”

  He shifted his weight, at last became aware that his sponge dripped water onto the floor, put it back into the bowl behind him. Slowly he turned back to her.

  She smiled. “What do you think?" Oh, it was a most wonderful idea, and her heart fluttered in her chest with the excitement of it all.

  “A luncheon?” He raised his brows. “Outside? At this time of year?”

  “Och, we can take a thick wooly blanket. Just think of it—a picnic!” On a nice, sunny clearing in the forest. Uninvited, the picture of the eight of clubs rose in front of her inner eye: a couple lying together outside under a large tree. She imagined Fenris leaning over her, rucking up her skirts, his large hands traveling over her thighs while she lay back among the crisp aroma of crushed pine needles…

  Cissy raised her shoulders as a delicious shiver raced down her back. What an awful wanton she was! But it was probably all right because, after all, he was her husband. “What do you say?” she asked throatily.

  He gave her a look as if he suspected she were raving mad.

  She tried another tack. “I would so enjoy driving out. I haven’t seen that much of the forest yet, you know? And after what happened the last time I ventured out… Oh, please, Fenris, say yes!”

  He stared at her a moment longer before he finally nodded his head. “It would be all right, I believe.”

  Joy bubbled up inside her. “Of course, it would!” She laughed at him—and became aware all over again how very delicious he looked with all that expanse of glistening damp skin on display. Her breath caught in her throat. God, how utterly beautiful he was!

  And suddenly she was certain she didn’t need a little gray man and his mandrake in order to gain happiness. Yes, she firmly believed it was here, within her reach.

  Her heart light, she stepped toward her husband. Supporting herself with a hand on his shoulder, she lifted on tiptoe and pressed a fleeting kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered, breathing in the warm smell of him: sandalwood with a lingering hint of musky sweat.

  Before temptation could overcome her again, she quickly stepped back. But she couldn’t stop smiling. “Would tomorrow suit you? I will tell Cook to prepare something for us, shall I?” With her hand on the door frame, sh
e allowed herself a last look at her husband and at his dumbstruck expression. “I am so looking forward to it!”

  And then, before the demon wolf had a chance to reappear, she danced out of the room.

  ~*~

  “Why the hell did I let myself be talked into this?” Fenris sat on his bed and tore at his hair. “This is madness! Sheer madness!”

  Johann issued some grunts while he folded clothes.

  Fenris turned toward him. “It is madness,” he insisted. “Whyever would she want…” He shook his head. “It isn’t right that I should…” He took a deep breath. “Hell! If only she hadn’t caught me by surprise!” Irritated, he glowered at his valet, who valiantly tried to smother his chuckles.

  “She suddenly just stood in the door?”

  “Yes! Stood there and stared at me, and I swear to you, her eyes nearly popped out!” Angrily Fenris rubbed his leg, where the straps had chafed the skin.

  “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” This time, the other man openly grinned.

  Fenris bundled up a shirt and threw it at him. “Of course not!” Groaning, he bent forward and buried his hands in his hair. “She’s a bloody innocent, Johann. What right do I have to…taint her?”

  “You are her husband.”

  Her husband. He remembered how she had looked on their wedding day; the sight had taken his breath away. And when she had held his hand—for a moment pride had swelled his chest. Yet reality had a nasty habit of catching up with a man. The thought of undressing in front of her… Heavens, having seen utter disgust in one woman’s eyes was quite enough! Or worse—what if it were pity he detected in her eyes? He wouldn’t be able to bear it. The thought alone made his skin crawl. “I should never have married her.”

  “Rubbish! Would you have wanted to see her married to your brother instead?”