Castle of the Wolf (16 page)

“I will…” He lifted his arm, let it fall again. “I’ll make sure my master is safe. I’ll be prepared from now on.”

“Yes. I quite understand.” Cissy watched as he bowed and went back to von Wolfenbach’s bedroom.

Slowly, she walked on to the great staircase, where on one of the steps above the landing the lower part of the wooden leg still lay. She bent down and picked it up. For a moment she could only stare at it, stunned once more by the viciousness of the deed. She rubbed her thumb over the clean section where the person had cut into the wood. Thoughtfully, she gnawed on her lower lip. Who would do such a thing? And what was the purpose of it? It did not seem to make sense; if somebody wished to kill Fenris von Wolfenbach, there were other, more surefire ways to accomplish it. Or had it just been about the humiliation? If so, they had most certainly succeeded.

Cissy closed her eyes as she remembered the expression in von Wolfenbach’s eyes when he had realized what had happened. Whoever had done this had attacked von Wolfenbach’s greatest weakness and had thereby cut him to the quick.

Her heart clenched painfully.

At that moment, she heard steps on the stairs above. Blinking rapidly, she slipped the piece of wood into her pocket and quickly wiped her eyes before turning around.

“Ah, there you are, dearie,” Mrs. Chisholm said. “What do you think about telling Rambach to bring some fresh cocoa and coffee to the dining room? After that big fright we could all do well with a good, hearty breakfast, don’t you think?” She reached the step on which Cissy stood and put her arm around her shoulders. “And our laddie is already up and around again, too. Quite a robust young man, I have to say, when not even a bump on the head will stop him.” She paused. “Well, I daresay he will feel quite sick this afternoon, just like my Dickie did. But, of course, he won’t heed the doctor’s advice to stay in bed. Stubborn as a mule, that lad. Ah well, boys will be boys, I guess—don’t you think so, too, dearie? And the older they are, the more pigheaded they become.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s a shame.”

Chapter 12

Despite their son’s protests, the Graf and the Gräfin decided to stay for a few days at the castle to make sure he didn’t suffer any after-effects from his fall. The company made Cissy edgy. The attack on von Wolfenbach deeply bothered her. Should she suspect the servants? But when their master had undertaken the most imbecilic attempts to get rid of Mrs. Chisholm and herself, they had all proved to be loyal to him—even to the point of risking pneumonia. So how could she suspect
them
? But who else was there? And was Johann really right that it was safer not to talk about it to anybody else?

At this point, her thoughts always started to run in circles. To escape brooding, if only for a little while, she would withdraw into the castle library and—like so many times before—seek the solace of fictional worlds and people.

The library was surely one of the prettiest rooms in the castle, Cissy thought. It had been refurbished seventy or eighty years before, probably by the father of the current Graf, and featured white walls, a white ceiling with stucco adornments and a golden-framed center image of Apollo surrounded by the muses. Depictions of allegories of the old four continents hung resplendent in the four corners of the room. Strangely enough, each continent was a woman wrapped in some diaphanous material or other. The white walls contrasted nicely with the dark wood of the bookshelves.

Cissy was sitting in one of the deep window alcoves and reading the first volume of a Hoffmann novel she had found on the shelves. The strange story, an autobiography of Murr, a tomcat with literary aspirations, interspersed with the biography of the music master Kreisler, enthralled her. It was a novel unlike any other she had read before, a riddle, like so much in the castle appeared to be. Most puzzling of all, though, she found the man who had obviously bought the book. She tried to envision Fenris von Wolfenbach reading such a fantastic tale—and failed. How to combine the snarling, angry man with this? But then she remembered how he had lost himself in the story of the grandfather clock.

Bemused, she read on, and smiled as Murr ripped the books he attempted to study.

“What a beautiful image you make, my dear.”

Starting, she looked up and saw Leopold von Wolfenbach leaning against the nearest shelf. He presented a slightly rumpled appearance, with his necktie loosened and his golden hair ruffled. As she watched, the familiar charming smile dimpled his cheek. Leaning forward, he asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Have you missed me?” He gave her a slow wink, as if he already knew the answer to his question.

So sure of himself.
Frowning, Cissy marked the page she was reading and shut the book. “No,” she finally said, turning her attention back to him. “I’m afraid not.”

“Ouch.” He straightened and wrinkled his nose. “I would have thought, for a young woman like you, shut up in a dreary old castle such as this…” He shrugged.

“Yes?”

“I would have thought you would welcome distractions.” Again, he magicked a smile onto his face. “Like my company, for example?”

“I am quite happy with my life at Wolfenbach. Thank you.” And because she remembered the night she had most definitely not enjoyed his company, she stood up and tried to slip past him.

He followed.

“Where have you been these past few days?” she asked to distract him.

Satisfaction flickered over his face. “So you
have
missed me. I was in Freiburg.” A few long strides carried him around to her front. He leaned his elbow against the shelf before her, thus blocking her way. “Wouldn’t you like to live in Freiburg? Just imagine—balls and parties and—”

“I’ve been to the balls in London.”

Unperturbed, he continued smiling at her, his green eyes twinkling merrily. His nerve was really quite beyond the pale. “So, wouldn’t you like to visit some balls again? Fashionable people, fashionable clothes, champagne, the best food…” He raised his brow in a manner which eerily reminded Cissy of his brother. “Wouldn’t you like to buy new dresses? The latest fashions from Paris?” His voice dropped to a seductive burr. “Just think of it, Celia, how your beauty would be enhanced by such clothes, how you would shine like a diamond among all the fashionable ladies.”

Oh, indeed?
Did he really think she would fall for his flattery after—

Cissy shook her head.

Of course, she did long to buy new clothes, dresses with low waists so people would no longer see how old her garments were. But she didn’t want ball gowns; she much preferred the simpler dresses, things she could wear and feel pretty again. She looked down at the black dress she was wearing. She no longer remembered what color it had been before the dyeing. The dye had already become washed out at the hems and seams, making her feel even more drab. Yes, of course she longed to feel pretty again.

“If you marry me…” When she looked up, Leopold’s face was near her own, his eyes two clear pools of green. He smiled. “I will take you to Freiburg and you will always have new clothes. After we’ve found the hoard, we will sell the castle to the Altertumsverein and it’ll never burden us again. Think of it, Celia.”

Sell the castle?
“What are you talking about?”

He looked taken aback “Don’t you need to marry a Wolfenbach son?”

“Why are you talking about marriage now?
Now!
When your brother is still black and blue from his fall?”

Leopold’s expression changed, annoyance entering his eyes. “You cannot seriously think of marrying Fen! Not after all that has happened!”

Everything went still in Cissy. “After all that has happened?” she echoed

“He fell. Dear God, Celia, do I have to spell it out for you?” He ran both hands through his hair. “How can you even think of choosing him when he is not even…whole.” He grimaced in distaste.

“You mean his leg? What has that to do with anything? I can’t believe you’re saying this. He is your
brother
.” And, it would seem, he’d been spectacularly wrong about Leopold: his sibling was an odious cad even when stone-sober.

Dark blotches appeared on Leopold’s cheeks. He snorted. “Brother?” he spat. “After he ruined our family?” He advanced on her and she backed away. “After he came from the war, shot to pieces, how they commiserated! Poor Fenris! Oh, yes,” he snarled. “What is his life worth now? Nothing! Nothing! Oh yes, the erstwhile darling of polite society—but what woman would ever spare him more than a look now? None!” He leaned in on her until his hot breath seared her cheek.

Cissy shuddered and tried to twist away, but his hand shot up. His fingers gripped her chin tightly, while his gaze slithered over her face. “Tell me,
Liebchen
.” His voice had dropped to an intimate whisper, which made the fine hairs on her neck stand on end. “Would you enjoy lying in his bed?”

“You, sir, have lost your mind.” She pushed her hands against his chest, but Leo would not budge. “Let me go.
Now
!”

He only chuckled and brought his mouth nearer to her ear. “Oh, sweet Celia… My brother would have to make you shut your eyes when he wanted to shag you.”

“Are you totally mad?” Again, she tried to struggle against him.

“Make you shut your eyes tightly enough he could disregard the pity in them,” he continued in a horrible sing-song voice. “Think of it, Celia. What a miserable marriage bed it would be for a pretty girl like you.”

“You
are
mad. All because he is missing a leg?”

He gave an angry hiss, and his hands fell away from her. “Because he is a goddamned cripple! A freak!” he yelled.

“Oh, Leo,” came a new voice. His head whipped around.

His mother stood there. Tears were running down her cheeks, disappearing between the fingers she pressed to her mouth. His father, ashen with shock, supported her with a hand under her elbow. Mrs. Chisholm’s eyes had widened with what Cissy suspected was horrified fascination. Fenris von Wolfenbach alone showed no reaction whatsoever to his brother’s slander. He might still be a little pale, and a bruise blemished one side of his face, but he stood upright and his expression seemed carved from stone.

Leopold breathed heavily. “I am just telling her the truth. How could she live with a—”

“Don’t say the word,” his father thundered. “I warn you, Leopold. Don’t say it. He is your brother!”

“And half a man,” Leopold taunted.

Cissy tightly clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Well…”—she cleared her throat—“he is certainly more man than you could ever be.” And then she walked over to stand beside Fenris von Wolfenbach. She remembered the night he had stood in front of her, shielding her. She remembered the feeling of his skin under her fingertips, the alluring whorl of hair around his navel. Fate might have fettered this particular wolf, but, oh yes, the power was still there, she was certain of it.

She reached for his hand, which hung limply at his side. His fingers jerked against hers, but she held fast. “As you said, I need to marry a Wolfenbach son. And I am going to marry Fenris.”

Chapter 13

The wind whistled sharply around the castle and blew away the caps of snow winter had bestowed upon the gargoyles. It also snatched strands from Cissy’s braided hair and blew them around her face, while she stood on the remains of the tower and stared glumly into the valley, where the bells of St. Margaretha’s pealed the Angelus.

Cissy heaved a deep sigh.

Only three months before they had pealed for her wedding—merrily, joyfully—and for once, she had felt really beautiful. Mrs. Chisholm had insisted on buying her a wedding dress after George and Dorinda had sent their congratulations and a pair of pearl earrings that had belonged to Cissy’s mother. Cissy wore them and the wedding dress of unadorned ivory-white silk. Mrs. Chisholm had chosen a simple cut as a foil for a beautiful veil: a base of machine net of a texture as fine as a spiderweb, decorated with handmade Devon lace. Tears were swimming in Mrs. Chisholm’s eyes as she kissed Cissy’s cheeks before she finished arranging the veil. “Be very happy, my dear child,” she whispered.

And indeed, when Cissy saw the expression on her bridegroom’s face as she walked up the aisle to him, she could almost believe that happiness could really be hers. The yearning she saw in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings, and when they walked out of the church, husband and wife, to the joyful cheering of the crowd, her hand slipped into his and held on tight. His fingers curled around hers so perfectly it was as if God had created them with the specific measurements to cradle her hand.
And two shall become one…

And so Cissy had stood smiling in the crisp wintry air, with the clear blue sky above her and the sun smiling down on her. At that moment she had felt so very, very blessed. Yet that night had found her alone in her old bed, staring up at the canopy and wondering why her husband did not come. Nothing had changed.

“Give him time,” Mrs. Chisholm had said to try to cheer her up later. “Have a little patience.”

Patience…

The days had flown by. Cissy and Mrs. Chisholm organized the cleaning of the castle; the dust and dirt slowly disappeared, beeswax lent the old furniture new luster, and Cissy started to mend the tapestries. Still, the two women drove down to the valley ever so often to look for new prints, books, or magazines. And thus, Christmas drew near.

In the first volume of Hoffmann’s
Serapionsbrüder
Cissy and Mrs. Chisholm had found a Christmas story about the nutcracker who fought against the seven-headed king of mice and then took little Marie to his land of toys and sweets. But more than Marie’s wonderful adventures, it was the description of a Christmas tree that fascinated Cissy and Mrs. Chisholm. “Yes, indeed, it’s a dear, lovely German custom, these small fir trees decorated with apples and sugar almonds and whatnot,” the widow commented. She exchanged a look with Cissy. “I always thought it would be most exciting to have such a Christmas tree of my own.” And they smiled at each other like a pair of crafty conspirators.

The morning of December 23 dawned bright and clear, extraordinarily perfect for their plan to gather their Christmas tree hunting forces. As always, Cissy stopped to admire the tapestry with the hidden message of love. She waited until Mrs. Chisholm came downstairs, too, and together they proceeded to the dining room. Fenris already sat at the table, studying yesterday’s newspaper so intently that his greeting constituted a mere grunt.