Castle of the Wolf (17 page)

Cissy waited until the butler poured her a cup of steaming hot Prussian coffee. “Rambach?” She gave him her sweetest smile. “When is the Christmas tree for Wolfenbach brought in?”

“Ch-Christmas tree?” He was so astonished he nearly poured the coffee into her lap.

“Yes, Christmas tree.” Cissy threw a glance at the top of her husband’s head, which was just visible above the paper. “The castle does get a Christmas tree, doesn’t it?”

The old man regarded her quizzically.

The paper rustled as another page was turned. “Humbug,” the demon wolf growled from behind it. “Wolfenbach has
never
had a Christmas tree!”

“Oh, such a pity,” Mrs. Chisholm exclaimed and clutched her bosom as if a dagger had pierced her heart.

The upper corners of the newspaper trembled a little.

“I have so looked forward to a Christmas tree,” Cissy said mournfully. “With golden flitter and apples and nuts and sugar almonds…” She ran out of ideas. Annoyed with herself, she rolled her eyes at the newspaper.

“And gingerbread and straw stars and flickering candles?” Rambach added helpfully.

Cissy’s head whipped around.

The old man’s bushy eyebrows rose, and then, very slowly, he winked at her. Equally surprised and delighted by this unexpected support, Cissy grinned back.

The newspaper rustled.

Watching it expectantly, Cissy gnawed on her lower lip. Yet, nothing more happened. Mrs. Chisholm shrugged. Rambach mumbled something unintelligible.

Well then,
Cissy thought,
it’s time to play the trump card
. She took a deep breath. “I’ve so wished for a Christmas tree.” She lent her voice a plaintive little tremble. “My first Christmas tree for my first Christmas in my new home.”

Mrs. Chisholm nodded in pleased delight. “Brava!” she voiced soundlessly.

For a moment, the newspaper remained absolutely still. Then the demon wolf heaved a deep sigh. “All right,” he growled. The newspaper was folded together with obvious reluctance and finally revealed her husband, his black hair deliciously tousled and a dark scowl on his face. “When do you want to leave for the forest?”

Cissy’s answer was a beaming smile.

That very afternoon they went on a Christmas tree hunt, Fenris dragging an axe and his valet into the forest, and he gamely went from tree to tree until Cissy and Mrs. Chisholm had finally found the perfect one. The next morning the two women drove to Kirchwalden to buy a small basket full of ornaments for their tree: ribbons, flitter and small candles from the haberdashery;
Springerle
, white cookies depicting fairy tale characters, and gingerbread stars on delicate ribbons from the bakery. From the trunks of treasures in the attics of the castle, Frau Häberle produced a metal stand for the tree, which they put up on a small table in the Great Hall. Now the whole household stood in front of the Christmas tree and watched it rotate on the stand, while the built-in music box tinkled the sweet notes of “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht.” Deeply moved, Frau Häberle dabbed at her eyes. “Who would’ve thought we were going to have a Christmas tree this year?” she murmured.

Fenris gave his housekeeper a strange look. His brows drew together in a perplexed frown, and Cissy bowed her head to hide her smile. She thought she could also hear underlying amusement in Mrs. Chisholm’s voice, when the widow said, “Rather lovely, indeed.” She delicately cleared her throat. “Perhaps the decoration of the tree should be done by the master and mistress of the house alone.”

Cissy’s smile widened even more as her friend ushered everybody out of the Great Hall. Soon only she and her husband remained. With a slightly flabbergasted expression, Fenris looked from the tree to the door and then to her. “What just happened here?” he asked.

Biting her lip, she regarded him from underneath lowered lashes. “I believe they want us to decorate the tree for the evening.”

He scowled at her, as if decorating a Christmas tree somehow equaled mucking out the stables of King Augeas. Cissy could only just prevent herself from rolling her eyes. Gosh, he was a dolt, after all!

The line between his brows deepened. “I’ve already helped get that thing!” he complained.

“Fine. And now decorating the tree won’t hurt you, either,” she snapped, and she slapped the basket with the decorations against his chest.

Sullenly, he stopped the rotating of the tree, then picked an assortment of white ribbons from the basket and tied the first one around a branch. “Perhaps we can ask your dear friend if she doesn’t want to contribute some mushed rats,” he said nastily.

She glared at him. “Are you such a bugaboo on purpose, or is it just incidental?” she asked in English.

One black eyebrow shot up. “A bugaboo?” he echoed, his voice mocking. “And what’s that supposed to be, if I may ask?”

Cissy jammed a gingerbread star onto a twig. “Something that scares the wits out of children.”

“Ah.” With exaggerated care, he tied a bow around another twig. “Well, then…” He shrugged. “It’s unavoidable, I should say.”

Indeed. With that black scowl and all that snarling, it’s no wonder the children of Kirchwalden think he’s going to devour them at night.
Exasperated, Cissy shook her head. “It can hardly come as a surprise.”

He shot her a sharp look. “Yes.”

Turning his head away, he busied himself with the next bow, while Cissy continued to maltreat more gingerbread. For some time they worked in smoldering silence.

This was surely not how decorating a Christmas tree was supposed to be! It was intended to be a joyous event, full of merriment and family spirit.

From the corner of her eye, Cissy glanced at her husband. He fumbled with the ribbons and muttered oaths in between when the needles stuck his fingers. The sight of her tall spouse doing battle with the fine, silky ribbons made her smile—until her gaze fell onto his lopsided, crumpled creations. Her heart melted. She reached out and touched one of the bows with her finger.

“What?” he snapped. “Aren’t they good enough?”

Heaving a sigh, Cissy rolled her eyes heavenward. But she kept her voice light. “Do you really always have to be such a bugbear?”

Frowning, he finished the bow he was tying. “Is that the same thing as a bugaboo?”

She nodded.

“Then yes.”

She waited for some elaboration, but none came. Thoughtfully, she wrinkled her nose. “Is there a purpose to it?”

He glanced at her. His eyes, she saw, were very green. “Yes,” he said.

“Hm.” Cissy twiddled the ends of one of the bows he had made. “What is it?”

The scowl returned to his face. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

Indignant, she let the bow be. “Of course I would!”

“Believe me, no.” And as cool as you please, he proceeded to tie his last ribbon onto the tree.

Cissy narrowed her eyes and looked daggers at him. “Yes. I. Would.”

He snorted.

She tapped her foot on the floor.

He glanced at her foot, then at her face. Very slowly, he turned his body fully toward her. He raised a brow. “You want to know why?” Another snort. He shook his head. “Well, it’s very simple,” he finally admitted. “It’s so I won’t do
this.
” And with that, he leaned forward and, angling his head to one side, kissed her.

Everything in Cissy froze.

Fenris’s lips moved gently over hers, and one of his hands cradled her jaw as if she were made of finest glass. She had not noticed before how very large his hands were. Large and strong, but with the strength leashed, held in check. His thumb rubbed over her cheek, just as she could feel the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. Her skin prickled where he touched her. Unfamiliar feelings rushed through Cissy’s body and made her shiver. She arched her neck—

But he had already drawn back. His thumb glided over her lower lip, but then he let his hand fall to his side. Straightening, he searched her face. Cissy’s whole body seemed to be afflicted with a strange sort of numbness, and so she could only stare at him. A sad little smile lifted his lips. “
That’s
why. I think it would be better if you finish decorating the tree alone.” He turned and, with measured steps, walked toward the nearest door. Without a single backward glance, he left.

The day proceeded downward from there. When she saw him again, he was moody and aloof once more, hardly sparing her a glance. She could almost believe that kiss under their Christmas tree had never happened. Stonily he watched the exchange of presents, saw to it that the servants all received their little bundle. But that done, he left again.

A hush fell over their little assembly, but with a few words and Mrs. Chisholm’s help, Cissy managed to restore the castle’s cheerful atmosphere. It was much later, when everybody had gone to their beds and she checked that none of the candles in the tree was still burning, that she discovered another package, lying half hidden behind the silver stand: a small box, held close with a ribbon tied in an eerily familiar bow. “To Celia,” she read aloud from the neat label. She rubbed her finger over the letters, smearing the ink a little.

How to understand this husband of hers?

Her heart felt heavy as she tugged the bow loose and lifted the lid of the box. Two small leatherbound books rested on a patch of green velvet. She took one out of the box, turned it in her hands. Golden, square leaves on the spine. Amidst a field of burgundy-red, the title:
Wolfenbach
. Her heart thudding unsteadily, she flicked the book open and read the title page.

CASTLE OF WOLFENBACH

A

GERMAN STORY IN TWO VOLUMES

BY Mrs. Parsons

A gothic novel set in another Castle of Wolfenbach, probably full of cobwebs and rodent skeletons, too. Cissy’s chuckle turned into a little sob. She closed her eyes. He had given her a most curious, funny, and thoughtful present. And he must have sent for it several weeks before.

Why, then, was theirs not a real marriage?

A crow cawed overhead. With a jolt, Cissy came back to the present, to this ruined tower of the castle, where she stood, where the wind blew sharply. No, she did not understand her husband. After Christmas he had never again taken a meal with her. It did not help that Mrs. Chisholm had left for Baden-Baden before the New Year and that Cissy was again all alone. By now she had not seen her husband for weeks. Sometimes, though, when she looked out the window in the evenings, she saw a flickering light dancing along the ramparts. Surely this must be him—for who else in this castle would sulk along the ramparts in the darkest hours of the night?

All that was left to her was fleeing into the reassuring world of stories, to lose herself in the lives of fictitious people.

She sighed.

The wind blew so cold: it was time to go back inside.

Chapter 14

Cissy wandered along the hallways, deeply engrossed in her book, a collection of modern fairy tales she had found on the shelves of the Wolfenbach library. She had started to read it in her room, yet the chair there wasn’t comfortable enough to curl up in and spend an afternoon reading. So she had decided to move back to the library instead.

“Waldeinsamkeit,

Die mich erfreut,

So morgen wie heut

In ew’ger Zeit,

O wie mich freut

Waldeinsamkeit.”

Woodsolitude,

Brings joy to me

Now and tomorrow,

Forevermore,

What joy to me,

Woodsolitude
.

Cissy sighed happily. Oh yes, she could well envision the little hut among the birch trees, the small dog running toward the wanderer in greeting, and the magical, beautiful bird which sang of woodsolitude all day and night.

Woodsolitude,

Brings joy to me…

And to me.
A bright smile lit up Cissy’s face.

Indeed, she had come to love the hum of the trees at night, the dark, mysterious forests of her new home country, where old castles held old secrets and told of strange stories.

What joy to me,

Woodsolitude.

Eagerly, she read on about how Bertha came to live with the old woman in the forest and how she cared for the little dog and wonderful bird. Cissy almost walked past the door to the library. Without taking her eyes from the letters in the book, she fumbled for the door handle and pushed it open—and held her breath. For now Bertha discovered the secret of the bird: it laid eggs which—

“
Ouch!
”

The door had clicked shut with one of Cissy’s fingers still in between.

Her book fell to the floor. Cissy yelped and cursed and finally managed to free her finger. “Oh drat! Oh drat! Oh
drat
!” Flames of pain licked up her arm and made her breath catch in her throat. Whimpering, she cradled her hurt hand and bit her lip to keep from crying.

“Celia?”

Breathing heavily, she turned. Her husband stood in front of her, a frown on his face. His features swam in and out of focus as tears obscured her vision. How vexing to see him again like this, just when pain was making her feel queasy.

His gaze dropped to her hand, then rose back to her face. “Have you hurt yourself?”

“I…” Cissy’s lips trembled. “The door…” She raised her elbow and pointed, yet suddenly a wave of dizziness assaulted her. Her stomach lurched, and as she sagged to her knees a deep humming filled her ears.

She gasped.

A strong arm snaked around her waist and hauled her up—up against her husband’s tall body. Her cheek came to rest against his hard chest. Sandalwood-scented warmth rose to engulf her, and the strong, steady beat of his heart mingled with the whistling in her ears.

“Don’t faint on me, sweetheart,” he said.

It was strange, she thought dizzily, to hear his voice rumbling in his chest and to have the resonance of those deep tones tickle her ear. Then her world lurched again as he hoisted her in his arms and carried her over to the settee.

“Just close your eyes,” he murmured with strange gentleness.

Everything was whirling around her, and the humming in her ears grew louder and louder, but had he really just brushed his lips over her temple?