Fenris raised a brow. “Will you help me upstairs?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” She was with him in an instant, slipping her arm around his waist. His warmth seeped through her clothes, and she could feel the play of his muscles when he lifted his arm to settle it over her shoulders. She found the solid weight of it deeply reassuring.
The Gräfin gave them a trembling smile. “God bless you, my children.” She kissed Cissy’s cheek. “I know you will take good care of him,” she murmured.
Cissy and Fenris left the room, and Fenris’s breath fanned her temple. His movements were stiff and lacking their usual fluidity, but it was enough to finally have him alone at her side.
On the stairs his steps faltered, and he bowed his head. His fingers gripped the banister so tightly his knucklebones pressed white against the skin. Cissy stood beside him and studied his profile. She rubbed her hand slowly up and down his back in wordless comfort.
Finally he released his breath in a long sigh. “I didn’t know,” he said, without looking at her.
“Didn’t know what, my wolf?”
His turbulent green eyes met her gaze. “That he hated me quite that much.”
“I know.” She touched his shoulder.
A shudder ran through him. “My little brother…” His voice broke.
“Oh, my wolf.” Reaching up, she drew his head down into the curve of her neck, slipped her arms around his shoulders, and hugged him hard. “I am sorry,” she murmured, and stroked his hair. “I am so sorry, sweeting.” She kissed his temple.
He took a deep, shivery breath before he drew back to wipe his eyes. “And my parents… God.” He rubbed his hands over his face.
“It’s not your fault, Fenris.”
“One could most certainly argue with that.”
“You heard what they said.”
He snorted. “I did. And still…” A muscle jumped in his cheek as he locked his jaw. “All these years I thought… I thought…” His throat worked, and the sight of it wrenched her heart. Her arm slipped back around his waist to offer the comfort of her softness and warmth. For a moment, he leaned his forehead on the crown of her head. “I thought they secretly held it against me that I ran away,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her hair. “We never talked. I thought… I was sure they regarded it as dishonor.”
Her fingers squeezed firm flesh. “Because your brother spouted all that nonsense? Ah, how wrong you were.”
His body was warm and alive under her hands. Wonderfully alive. A reminder of how near she had come to losing him. How precious their time on earth was, and how short and fragile a human life.
Carpe diem.
Seize the day.
Cissy smiled a little. “Sometimes it helps to talk,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t always be so eager to turn into a horrible demon wolf.”
A frown marred his forehead, and he lifted his face. “Demon wolf?”
“Fenris—the frightful wolf who is going to eat the sun.” She stroked his cheek, which was faintly shadowed with new stubble.
He looked at her blandly. “I’ve never had any intention to eat the sun.”
“Good.” She rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss onto his jaw. “Because I wouldn’t let you.” She let her breath tickle his ear and got the rumble of a chuckle in response. His arms closed around her and caught her against him, and it was then that she knew that the beast had indeed been redeemed, and everything would be fine for them.
“Come,” he whispered to her. “Come with me.”
Together they went upstairs, and while they walked the curving stairs and twisting hallways, a feeling of deep peace filled Cissy.
Fenris stopped only once: at the old grandfather clock with the enchanted princess. He pressed a kiss on the crown of Cissy’s head before he stepped away from her. His hand on the latch of the glass door, he half-turned to Cissy, as if inviting her to share a secret. Silent and unmoving, the Fairy Princess observed them from above.
Suddenly, Fenris lifted the latch and opened the door. When his long finger touched the hand of the clock, Cissy knew what he would do, and all at once her heart was beating hard and fast against her ribs.
She watched how he turned the hand, turned and turned, until the clock struck twelve. Below, the screen slid aside to reveal the industrious dwarves, hacking at the stone down in their mines. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack. Up on the face of the clock, the Roman eight turned inward, opening the window for the King of Dwarves, who looked yearningly toward his beloved above.
After the last stroke had sounded, the sweet little melody began. To the tinkling of the music, the sheep transformed into the Fairy Princess—
—and Fenris stopped the clock.
Cocking his head to one side, he shot a shy glance at Cissy, a hint of red darkening his cheeks. “Today they shall be happy,” he said softly, and her heart opened wide to draw him in and never let him go. “Because sometimes fairy tales do come true.”
Arm in arm they went to his room, but when Cissy wanted to step back upon reaching the door, he pulled her inside and slid the bolt closed.
“Fenris!” she protested.
“Hm?” With short, efficient movements, he opened the lacings of his shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing a little. Sunlight flooded the room and played over the muscles of his chest and arms, shimmered on the fine hairs of his chest and on the lovely whorl around his navel. A bolt of desire contracted Cissy’s stomach, and her heart almost jumped right out of her chest.
“What are you doing?” she whispered breathlessly.
With a thud, he sat down on the bed and pulled the boot off his foot. “What does it look like?” He glanced up, his eyes glittering hotly.
She swallowed hard. “The doctor said you need quiet and rest.”
The grin he gave her was decidedly roguish. “Oh, but I intend to be quiet. It is you who makes all that noise.” His voice dropped to a sensual purr. “All those little moans and groans and…”
Cissy felt a blush burning on her face, yet at the same time his deep, husky voice and the wicked words made another heat rise in her body. A pulse started in the secret place between her legs, which he had kissed and licked and…
Cissy sighed. Her body seemed to melt.
“Yes, exactly,” Fenris murmured throatily. “These little pants and sighs, and that beautiful scream when you finally come and clamp down on me.”
Cissy bit her lip to prevent herself from whimpering at the erotic memories he evoked. “You…you need rest. The doctor said…” His hot gaze devoured her, and her nipples tightened in response, rubbing painfully against the restraints of her stays.
“I need you,” her husband rasped. “I need to feel you in my arms, to know that you’re real. That you’re well.”
With an effort, Cissy concentrated on the instructions they had been given. “The doctor said you shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous.”
“Strenuous?” One raven-black brow shot up. “So I will just lie back, like this.” He sank against the pillows. The muscles in his stomach rippled delightfully. “And you will do all the work.”
Entranced, Cissy stepped nearer. “Me?”
“Oh, yes. Surely there must be something about this in your cards? What about the five of clubs? The eight of spades? The—”
“The ace of hearts.” The first card she had looked at on her campaign to seduce her husband. She took another step toward him, charmed and aroused in equal measure.
“Ahh. How fitting.” One corner of his mouth twitched, while his gaze roved over her face. “Then, will you come? To ease my pain.” With the back of his hand he stroked lightly over the bulge in his trousers. “You cannot want me to remain in pain?”
“No,” she breathed.
Their eyes met, clung.
He held out his hand. “Then come,” he said, his voice sure and strong. “Come, Celia von Wolfenbach. Cissy, my Cissy.” And he gave her one of his rare full smiles, which lit u
p his face and would forever capture her heart.
Without hesitation, she took the last step and put her hand in his. His long, strong fingers closed around hers, and he drew her to him so she could kiss the smile off his face.
She would see that smile she loved so well often in the years to come as the bond between them grew stronger and the laughter of their children filled the castle with happiness. More happiness than either of them had believed to be possible.
They never heard from Leopold again, nor did they ever find any treasure of gold among the stones of the castle. Yet what they had found together was worth more than all the treasures of the earth.
Lavender’s blue, diddle, diddle,
Lavender’s green,
When I am king, diddle, diddle,
You shall be queen.
Who told you so, diddle, diddle,
Who told you so?
‘Twas mine own heart, diddle, diddle,
That told me so.
Postlude
Nobody ever counted the gargoyles, so nobody would ever know they had sucked up he who had no heart into the stone. Nobody would ever find the twisted face high up on the wall, just as no one had found the other enemies who had been absorbed and found a home there. Only the north wind, blowing harshly, visited this corner of the castle and whispered over the gnarled stone, stone which stayed cold and unmoved forevermore.
No, nobody ever counted gargoyles.
Nobody would ever know their secret. They basked in the sun and rumbled among themselves of love and laughter, and over the years the happiness of the humans they were guarding filled them to the brim.
Acknowledgments
As you will undoubtedly notice, this is a book about stories. Yet it is also a book about memories: my own memories of a childhood spent in the Black Forest. Even though Kirchwalden and Wolfenbach are fictitious places, I still hope I have managed to convey a sense of place—of the deep, dark forests I loved so much as a child.
I would like to thank the many lovely people who in one way or another helped me to bring this story onto paper and into shape: Gaelen Foley, who unknowingly inspired the story and later on gave me a cover quote for it; Hubert Leuser, who answered my questions about the Palm Sunday procession; Wolfgang Trenkle, who sent me information about the Bürgerwehr in Waldkirch and made sure I didn’t have the Bürgerwehr in Kirchwalden shovel snow; Martin Schupp, Advisor Extraordinaire in all things to do with How to Address the Titled. All mistakes I might have made are my own. (The bad French, though, is intentional!)
As always I’m deeply grateful to the members of the LOL Literary Forum, who critted parts of the manuscript and without whom I probably would have never detected the wolf in the morning-after scene. (Jen, sorry if you read this in the middle of a bookstore again!) Many thanks, too, to Karen, who did some more critting, and to Dorie, who graciously agreed to be my guinea pig.
About the Author
Award-winning author Sandra Schwab started writing her first novel when she was seven years old. Thirty-odd years later, telling stories is still her greatest passion, even though by now she has exchanged her pink fountain pen of old for a black computer keyboard. Since the release of her debut novel in 2005, she has enchanted readers worldwide with her unusual historical romances.
She holds a PhD in English Literature, is an expert on the Victorian magazine Punch, and has appeared on the BBC documentary Great Continental Railway Journeys to talk about the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. She lives in Frankfurt am Main / Germany with a sketchbook, a sewing machine, and an ever-expanding library.
Find her online at:
www.SandraSchwab.com
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Did you love Castle of the Wolf? Then you should read The Lily Brand by Sandra Schwab!
Forever Marked
Troy Sacheverell, fifth earl of Ravenhurst, was captured in France. He'd gone to fight Napoleon, but what he found was much more sinister. Dragged from prison to an old French manor on the outskirts of civilization, he was purchased by a rich and twisted widow. And more dangerous still was the young woman who claimed him.
Lillian had not chosen to live with Camille, her stepmother, but nobody escaped the Black Widow's web. And on her nineteenth birthday, Lillian became Camille's heir. Her gift was a plaything: a man to end her naiveté, a man perfect in all ways but his stolen freedom. Yet even as Lillian did as she was told, marked that beautiful flesh and branded it with the flower of her name, all she desired was escape. In another place, in another world, she'd desired love. Now, looking into burning blue eyes, she knew there was no place to run. No matter if should she flee, no matter where she might go, she and this man were prisoners of passion, inextricably linked by the lily brand.
And while her heart remained locked in ice, his burnt with hate. Would they ever find true happiness?
"[A] powerful and sensual tale of retribution and redemption. Sandra Schwab casts a thrilling spell with her provocative, passionate story."
~ Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author
(First published in 2005.)
Also by Sandra Schwab
Allan's Miscellany
The Bride Prize: Allan's Miscellany 1839
A Tangled Web: Allan's Miscellany 1846
Devil's Return: Allan's Miscellany 1847
A Love for Every Season
Springtime Pleasures
Eagle's Honor
Eagle's Honor: Banished
Eagle's Honor: Ravished
Standalone
Betrayal
Bewitched
The Lily Brand
Castle of the Wolf
Castle of the Wolf Page 28
