A Scandalous Adventure

by Lillian Marek

  Susannah had been riding next to Max, so when he pulled up, she did too. Had she been alone, she would have turned her horse and galloped off in the opposite direction, but no one else seemed disturbed by the canine threats. Lev took up a stance in front of her and uttered a low growl that seemed to keep the others at a distance.

  One of their young companions—Hans—continued past them, ignoring the dogs. Or being welcomed by them, since their barking changed in tone as soon as they recognized him. They let him through but remained on guard, keeping the rest of the party at bay while he disappeared into the barn. A few minutes later, he reappeared, accompanied by a sturdy man of middle years, struggling into a jacket as he hurried along.

  “May I present my uncle, Johann Tischler,” said Hans.

  “Excellency,” said the man, bowing to Max, “and Excellency”—bowing to Susannah—“welcome to my home. How may I serve you?” He looked up at Max nervously.

  “We will be meeting some friends here, but until they arrive, we would like to wait out of sight. And if our horses could rest in your barn?”

  “Of course, of course…” Tischler almost tripped over his feet in his eagerness. Susannah offered what she thought was a friendly smile, but he seemed to be knocked sideways by it. It was startling. She snuck a glance at Max, but he did not seem to consider this anything out of the ordinary.

  Nothing seemed to strike him as out of the ordinary. He led her into the farmhouse kitchen as if he were leading her into the reception hall at the castle, ducking his head to avoid banging it on the door frame as if that were the way he always entered rooms. But he stopped, looking around with a pleased air.

  A smile broke across his face. “Ah, it is just as I remember it. The most welcoming kitchen I have ever seen. You brought us here once before, Hans, when we were hunting.” He turned to the woman nervously twisting her hands in her apron. “Frau Tischler, you had been baking, and served us some of the finest bread I have ever tasted.”

  The woman’s eyes widened and she gasped as her hands flew to her cheeks. “Count von Staufer, you remembered?”

  “But of course. We were all tired and hungry, and you welcomed us in and shared your meal with us. How could I not remember?” He brought Susannah forward. “And now I present to you my countess.”

  A flurry of greetings ensued. Lev followed Susannah into the kitchen, though the other dogs remained outside. However, a dog in her kitchen did not appear to distress Frau Tischler, who provided him with a bowl of water and a large bone.

  Soon they were all seated around the large table that filled the center of the room, a table that had been scrubbed so clean it was almost white. In fact, when Susannah looked around, she thought this was the cleanest kitchen she had ever been in. The floor had been scrubbed as clean as the table; the whitewashed walls were indeed white; and the windows sparkled behind the deep sills on which herbs flourished in pots. A large pot of something that smelled deliciously savory simmered on the rear of the iron stove.

  Pitchers of beer were placed before them, and for Susannah, a thick cup—almost a bowl—of milky coffee with lumps of sugar for sweetening it. Then came platters of bread and cheese, and a dish of bright yellow butter. When Susannah tried to give smiling thanks to their hostess, she discovered that the Tischlers had retreated to the shadows at the end of the kitchen and were keeping nervous watch over everything and everyone.

  This was confusing. Not the coffee, or the bread and cheese. What confused Susannah was the awe with which the Tischlers seemed to view their guests. At one time or another, she had visited every tenant on her family’s estate at Penworth. Sometimes she had been alone, sometimes with one or both of her parents. And while the tenants had been respectful, they had also been friendly. There had been none of this awe. This was almost medieval.

  She froze with the cup of coffee almost to her lips. That was precisely what it was. Medieval. Feudal.

  She carefully put the cup down, trying to keep her hands from trembling, and looked back over the past few weeks in Sigmaringen. How had she not seen it before? It was not simply that Baron Hugo was plotting against the prince. She had heard enough political talk in England to know that people were always jockeying for power, trying to engineer their opponents’ falls. She knew they were not always overscrupulous about their methods, and she knew that the Irish Fenians were perfectly willing to use violence.

  But this was different.

  The Black Star Regiment was part of the Sigmaringen army, at least in theory, but in actuality, it was Hugo’s private army. Max didn’t have an army in that sense, but when he spoke of his men, when he said they would protect her, he did not mean they would protect her from social gossip and sniping. He meant they would physically defend her against attack, and he obviously considered that a real possibility.

  The walls around Ostrov were not a fanciful decoration, like the Gothic walls and towers at Eglinton Castle or Strawberry Hill back in England. Ostrov’s walls, like its hilltop setting, were intended to hold off an army.

  Now that she had married Max, this was the world she would live in. How had this happened? She—cautious, always proper, unquestionably ladylike Susannah Tremaine—had barely hesitated before she had thrown herself headlong into adventure. Could she do this? Could she accustom herself to this alien world?

  Panic began to rise in her throat, and she turned to look at Max. He must have felt her glance because he immediately turned to look at her and smiled, a wide, glorious smile that banished fear. Yes, at Max’s side she could do whatever was needed.

  As it turned out, they did not have a long wait. Less than an hour after they had arrived, a second party came down the road and turned in to the farmhouse. Although the man at the head of it wore ordinary hunting clothes, complete with a brush in his hat, he was followed by a small troop of soldiers wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard. They rode, unsmiling, in precise formation.

  The Tischlers looked ready to faint.

  Susannah stood beside Max in front of the house, waiting. There was so little expression on his face that she could not tell if Max was pleased that the prince had come or not.

  The prince also looked impassive as he trotted up and pulled his horse to a halt only steps away from them. Then his face broke into a grin. “Well, Max, we go hunting together once more, eh?”

  She could feel Max relax beside her, and he too grinned. “As you will, Sire.”

  Conrad swung down from his horse and came over to clasp Max on the shoulder. “It will be like old times when we were boys, will it not?” The grin faded. “Ah, my friend, I have missed you.”

  “Sire, I…” Max’s voice broke. “I have been a fool. Can you forgive me?”

  Conrad shook his head dismissively. “My fault as well. I should not have allowed myself to be ruled by others so long. But there is something I am not certain I should forgive.” He smiled again, and shook a mock-chiding finger before he turned to Susannah. “Well, Countess, what have you done?”

  She dropped into a deep curtsy, as gracefully as she could wearing such outlandish clothing. “Your Highness.”

  The prince held out a hand to raise her up. “Your friends are very angry with you—and with you as well, Count von Staufer. That you and Lady Susannah should wed surprised no one, of course, but that you should fail to invite us to the wedding… Severe penance will be required. At least two weeks of balls and parties will be needed before you can be forgiven.”

  He turned back to Max. “But first we must take care of this little problem of ours, eh? Let us go inside, and you can tell me what you have planned.”

  Susannah followed them in, feeling bemused. Was this the same prince who had been so stiff, almost shy, when she first met him? Now he was not simply relaxed. He was jovial and, somehow, regal.

  Things kept changing—people kept changing. She had always known who she was, where she b
elonged, what she should do. But ever since they had left Baden, she felt as if she could not be certain of anything.

  Back in the kitchen, there was no longer a place for her at the table. Herr Tischler was invited to join Max and the prince, while she sat by the stove where Frau Tischler was trying to pretend she was busy stirring the soup. In actuality, both of them were listening carefully to the men’s discussion.

  Herr Tischler proved invaluable to the plotters. Although their village was on Max’s land, it was the closest one to Krassau. Hugo’s men had no desire to travel further than necessary to find a tavern—or to get home from one—so they had been frequent visitors of late. They had not been popular visitors, however. The innkeeper did not dare refuse to serve them—one does not refuse service to men bearing arms—but after the first few days, the barmaids had been replaced by the burly blacksmith and his sons.

  Villagers had also been commandeered from time to time to work at Krassau. As a result, not only could Tischler provide a general plan of the hunting lodge, but he also knew the schedule of the guards. Two of them were drinking at the tavern now, and in about two hours, they would return to Krassau to relieve the guards on duty at the rear entrance. That was the entrance close to the cellars, the most likely place for prisoners to be held.

  Next came a debate over the best way to gain entrance. Should they force the door while two of the guards were away? Should they follow the returning guards and force their way in when the door opened for them?

  “How much do they drink?” asked Josef. “Enough so it would not be unusual if they need help getting back?”

  Tischler shrugged. “Maybe, from time to time.”

  “Ach,” muttered his wife, “they stagger so much they can barely stay on the road.”

  Max glanced over, having caught the mutter, and smiled. “Then it would be a kindness if a couple of strangers helped them to their door, no?”

  The prince smiled as well. “And if a few more strangers enter with them, there may be very little difficulty at that end.”

  “Especially if important visitors appear at the front door, keeping everyone occupied.” Max and the prince smiled at each other.

  To Susannah’s eyes, they bore a marked resemblance to her brothers when they were home from school and about to embark on an adventure that would certainly be forbidden if their parents heard about it. Shaking her head, she fished the bottle out of her pocket, walked over, and put it on the table in front of Max.

  “What is this?” He frowned at it.

  “This is what the intruder carried when he came into my room. It is the same thing that they used when they attacked you, and you were unconscious for hours. With this you should be able to incapacitate the guards with a minimum of bloodshed,” she said, thinking that might also mean a minimum of danger.

  The prince widened his eyes in surprise. “Ah, Max, your new wife is a formidable woman.”

  Max fingered the bottle and looked at her with a smile. “And a formidable partner.”

  Thirty-five

  Whatever it was in the bottle put the guards out very neatly, and they were tossed into the back of a wagon to be hauled back to Krassau. The wagon was something of a compromise. A vehicle would be needed to transport the princess if she was unable—or unwilling—to ride, but there were no coaches or carriages in the village. Something was also needed to transport the guards, and while they could have been draped over the back of a donkey, something with wheels was easier. This wagon was the cleanest one to be found, and it had not been used recently to transport anything particularly odiferous. No more odiferous than the guards, that is.

  Princess Mila would probably throw one of her fits about the inadequacy of the arrangements, but Max did not really care. She would have to deal with reality at some point. The pampered and petulant princess had nothing in common with Susannah—his wife, his countess—who rode beside him through the darkening forest.

  Soon enough they came to a fork in the road and the party paused. Max beckoned Susannah to ride on with him the short distance to the edge of the forest. Ahead of them, the hillside had been cleared of trees for a hundred yards. Beyond that, Krassau loomed, dark and threatening.

  Built of dark, almost black stone, it stood on a low hill. The entrance, through a round tower, was guarded by four armed soldiers. On the lower levels, the windows were mere slits in the thick walls. Not until the third story were there windows large enough to let in sunlight.

  “Good heavens!” Susannah gasped. “How gloomy it is.”

  Max grinned. “Not very welcoming, is it? Hugo calls it a hunting lodge, but in reality it is an old fortress. Once upon a time, there were lords of Krassau, more robbers than lords, who preyed upon this area. That may have been what recommended the building to Hugo. It certainly couldn’t have been the beauty of the place, because it has none.”

  Susannah was frowning at the castle. “I don’t see how we’re going to get in. They’ll see us coming as soon as we leave the woods.”

  “That’s why we aren’t going in the front door. We’ll leave that for the prince. The guards may belong to Hugo’s regiment, but I doubt they know his plans. They’ll not dare deny entrance to the prince. We’ll be going through the rear entrance, the one provided for peasants and prisoners.” He led her back to the fork, and they all followed a narrow track through the woods that came out farther down the hill.

  It was almost dark when they faced the door at the rear of the castle. It was wide enough for wagonloads of necessities, and though battered by the years, it still looked sturdy enough to withstand a siege. Max had no intention of testing it. Not if they could persuade someone to let them in. They left their horses tied in the trees, and Hans drove the wagon while the others walked beside it, virtually invisible in the dim light.

  Max had been tempted to leave Susannah back in the trees, but the thought of leaving her alone in the night, even for a short time, filled him with dread. And that would have been if she had been willing to wait. So he had her walking behind him, with Josef behind her.

  The hundred yards across the barren hillside stretched out forever. They all moved as silently as possible, but the jangle of the horses’ harnesses seemed as loud as cathedral bells. When they finally reached the door, Max pulled Susannah to the side behind him, flattened himself against wall, and drew his saber. On the other side, Josef and Gustav did the same. Hans waited until they were all in position. Then, at Max’s nod, he went to hammer on the door.

  But his knock never came. He stood, his fist raised for a moment, and then stepped back in confusion. “Count, the door is open!” He kept his voice down but the tone was urgent.

  The others cautiously stepped forward. It was perfectly true. The door stood slightly ajar. Max pushed it wider with the tip of his sword. The hinges creaked, reverberating in the silence. Signaling the others to wait, he stepped inside.

  The dirt on the floor crunched under his boots, but there was no other sound. It was almost impossible to see anything in the gloom, but there was a lantern on the floor. He gave it a shake. There still seemed to be some oil in it. It was the work of a moment to light it, but it illuminated only an empty room.

  Proceeding cautiously he came to a room with a table bearing the remains of a meal—some crusts of bread and a bit of sauerkraut on a platter, as well as a pitcher that, from the smell of it, had held beer. One of the mugs was overturned, as were the two stools. Several cloaks and hats hung from pegs on the wall, and a few boxes of ammunition sat on a shelf.

  Of the guards there was no sign.

  Josef appeared almost silently at his side. “What the devil is going on here?” the old man muttered.

  Max wished he knew. He moved across to the door in the far wall and used his sword tip to push it open. He could hear a faint rumbling noise. A staircase led down, turning sharply. He followed it until the lantern illuminated a
pair of cells. The rumbling noise came from four men lying on the floor, their loud snoring interrupted from time to time by grunts. They had no boots, though each had an ankle cuff chained to the wall, and they wore the uniforms of the Black Star Regiment.

  “Well, now we know where the guards are,” said Josef, “but where are the prisoners?”

  “And who were the prisoners?” added Max, shining the lantern into the corners. It was unpleasantly damp down here, and it stank of filth. “I can’t believe Hugo would keep the princess down here. Even if he had no respect for her rank, she is too valuable to him.” He shook his head, frowning.

  Back upstairs, Max waved the others in and had his men take the unconscious guards from the cart to join their colleagues in the cells. Leaving Josef to guard the door, he proceeded cautiously up the stairs to the main level of the castle. Susannah followed close behind.

  They stopped at the top, where an ill-fitting door allowed voices through. Max recognized one of them immediately—Dieter, an angry Dieter, shouting loud enough to be heard.

  “What do you mean, they aren’t here? They should have been here with Staufer hours ago.”

  A mumbled response in an apologetic tone—a servant, no doubt—was cut short by a blow.

  “Dieter!” That sharp tone belonged to Helga. Max was momentarily surprised to hear her address Dieter so informally, but he forced himself to concentrate on her words. “…the princess?”

  “Sleeping, Baroness.”

  “At this hour?” Helga’s annoyance was showing.

  “Her maid said she was not feeling well and did not wish to be disturbed.” The servant sounded frightened. Hardly surprising, if he served Dieter.

  “She’ll be disturbed soon enough.” Dieter laughed unpleasantly. “Get out of here.”