Red Wolfe (15 page)

“That was low!” she cried.

He merrily laughed as he made his next move. “Bishop to your rook,” he proudly declared.

“My knight to your bishop!”

The game was an intense battle that lasted for hours, but it did eventually come to an end and Ellena once again reigned as the victor.

“Now, it’s time for you to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Ah yes! Where are we in the story?”

“The prince was off to find someone who could help him.”

“Well, after his heartbreak he went to see the village witch who he asked for a certain spell.”

“A spell?” she asked, hanging on to his every word. “To win his love back?”

“
Oui
, a love spell, but there are great consequences to using such magic.”

“What happened?” Ellena whispered.

“The spell, in return, enchanted his entire household, casting it into a forgotten, lonely existence, and the kind prince turned into a heartless beast. The town just beyond his home soon began to refer to him as the wolf because of his appetite for beautiful young maidens.”

“And?”

“That is all. He was never reunited with his love and the spell was never broken.”

“That’s it?” the young woman cried, horrified.

“Not all tales have a happy ending,” he flatly replied.

“Well, then. I guess there’s nothing I can do but to rewrite his tale and make sure it ends happily.”

“
May I read it once you are finished?”

“
I suppose so,” she smiled. “I would love to start writing it as soon as possible.”

“You are very welcome to use my personal study, once you are feeling up to it of course. No one will bother you there.”

“I would greatly appreciate that,” she nodded, picking up her white queen. “But before all of that, are you up for another game?”

Chapter Twelve

She had barely slept all night, tossing and turning as wonderfully, glorious ideas floated about in her head. In the dead of night, she was already putting together the story, visualizing characters and developing delicious plot twists. At the first sign of dawn she jumped from her bed and dressed in a rather homely, maroon dress she found in the closet. It may not have been the most appealing apparel, but it certainly was the warmest.  She wrapped her hair into a tight bun, brushed her teeth in the porcelain bow
l by the window and bolted from the door.

Just as expected, Louisa and Gregor where already up, along with several other people who had been there to greet her when she had awoken. Of course Sir Philip was flouncing about, instructing some young boy on how to properly wash the windows. A girl, possibly about eight or so, dressed in a delicate white gown sped past with Rimi and Roma chasing her in a playful game of tag.

Ellena rounded the corner and bumped into a woman about her age with bright hazel eyes and lovely, long black hair.

“
Bonjour
,” she bowed.

Ellena returned the greeting as Louisa’s barreling voice boomed, calling for the young maiden and she hurried away.

“Ah, Gregor!” Ellena caught sight of him passing in an adjacent hall.

“If you’re looking for
Monsieur
Wolfe,” the old butler said with a jolly tone. “He’s in his study.”

And indeed he was.

The books that had once been scattered all along the floor and tables had rejoined their sisters and brothers on the selves, all neatly organized and displayed. The fire was already ablaze and a delicately painted wooden tray sat atop the writing desk, full of scones and a blue teapot with matching cups.

A cough erupted. As she moved closer to one of the selves a cloud of dust exploded from behind the books and John appeared, looking very flustered.

“I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve dusted,” he sheepishly grinned.

“
You
are dusting?” She could barely believe her ears. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m afraid not, just finished.”

“How did you know I’d be here so early?”

“Call it hunch. You probably didn’t sleep much either.”

“Lucky guess,” she shot back.

“The tea and scones are for you if you want to get started.”

She slowly approached the mahogany desk and set her bag down. Her last visit had left her little time to admire the room’s beauty, let alone the desk, and it was quite lovely.  Golden accents were engraved to the wood’s edge, foreign symbols that wove and curved along its form.

The chair screeched as she slid it back to sit down. Parchment paper and a white quill placed in a vile of ink were already waiting for her.  The contents of her bag were soon littered along the table— books, pens, paper.

“What is this?” John was suddenly behind her, picking up her bold point and inspecting it.

“It’s a pen,” she answered. “Have you really never seen one?”

Why was he so enthralled with such a trivial thing?

“How does it work?” he asked, clicking it.

“What do you mean?”

“This movement, how does it do this movement?”

“Are you talking about the spring?”

“A spring?” he repeated in astonishment.

“You can keep it if you want. I have several.”

His face lit with joy as he raced from the room and she watched him retreat with a soft, lingering gaze. The man could be so adorable when he wanted to be, but Ellena knew that she would never see that pen again, at least not in one piece.

She inhaled, relishing the delightful smell of old books and burning wood. Her dream had always been to write in such a beautiful place and now it was coming true. She plucked a blueberry scone from the tray and stuffed it into her mouth.

Late morning came and went. A great grandfather clock standing proudly in the far corner began to chime ten o’clock and Ellena looked up from her work. Had that always been there? She was quite sure she didn’t remember seeing it before, but then again things in this old mansion tended to have a way of hiding at first glance.

She stood, stretching her arms and then her legs by taking a short walk around the study. When she stopped in front of the window she discovered that it looked out over the horse stables. The snow was finally beginning to melt as the early afternoon sun shone brightly. The young woman with bright hazel eyes Ellena had met before suddenly appeared, and in quite a hurry at that, striding toward the stalls.

The stable boy appeared. Well, he wasn’t exactly a boy. He was perhaps in his late teens? Possibly early twenties?   He was a handsome fellow with bright red hair and a charming grin. He scoope
d her up joyously, twirling them about as they shared a passionate kiss. It was such an endearing scene that Ellena couldn’t look away.                       

“How are you progressing?”

Ellena jumped, spinning around to find Gregor.

“It’s going well,” she replied, trying to act natural as she closed the window’s curtains.

“You seemed to be distracted. Did you see something?” He started towards the window.

“Only birds,” Ellena blurted. “Just a couple of birds fluttering around.”

She had always been terrible at lying.

Gregor nodded and set to work
refilling her teapot with fresh hot water from the jug in his hand.  “You know,
mademoiselle
,” he opened the door to leave. “You might give people the wrong idea if that caught you peeping like that.”

“I was not—”

He was already gone, and Ellena could hear his faint laughter echoing down the passageway as she grinned. Her fingers gently touched letters on her paper as she sat back down to work.

John, that’s what she had decided to name the prince of her story. Ellena hoped
Monsieur
Wolfe wouldn’t mind that she had named her main character after him. It just seemed to fit so perfectly and, although she would never admit it, he had been the muse behind this book.

She set back to work with renewed vigor.
She should have this prince like to fiddle with odd little trinkets just like John and, of course, he would also enjoy hunting and horseback riding as well. He would have brown hair, dark eyes, and a charming, but slightly shy smile. Page after page of her scribbled handwriting began to pile up on the cluttered desk and even Ellena was surprised at how quickly the story just seemed to pulse through her fingertips.

At noon Gregor came to fetch her for lunch, but she politely declined since her brain was grinding at full force and any distraction could cause her to lose focus. She didn’
t think much of skipping a meal. After all, it was not the first time she had chosen writing over eating. Unfortunately, it was not a decision that boded well with everyone.

The door crashed open to reveal a less than pleased
Monsieur
Wolfe. “You cannot afford to miss a meal,” he hotly said.

“Trust me, I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time,” she calmly replied not even looking up from her work, but before Ellena knew it the pen had been ripped from her hand.

“
Femme stupide
!” he cried. “You have been sick and your body cannot afford to not eat.”

“Did you just call me stupid?” Ellena roared.

“
Oui,
because you are acting in such a foolish manner. Now, are you going to come eat willingly or do I have to drag you to the dining hall?”

She stood in a huff, collecting what dignity she had
as her stubborn streak only rose to the boiling point. “If you want me to eat then bring it here.”

It was now only pride fueling her stubbornness. If he had asked politely, she probably would have eaten, but Ellena was no one to be bossed around.

“Very well then, suite yourself,” he rushed toward her and she braced herself as his hand shot out but to Ellena’s amazement it went right past her and then, without warning, he departed. 

For a moment, she stood there on
ly staring at the empty doorway, but when she finally twirled around, Ellena discovered that her manuscript was gone.

“John!”

Her bare feet pounded against the stone floor as she raced after him. The servants stopped to stare, some laughed at the spectacle of the young woman hopping around their lord as he continued his frantic pace. He seemed even taller than before as she tried to rip the papers from the hand that he was holding above his head. She stopped to catch her breath and the troublesome man disappeared into the dining room. When she finally came rushing in, he was already seated.

“Please
mademoiselle
, take a seat. You look like you could use some water to drink,” he calmly said with such a grin that Ellena’s fury began to flare again.

“Are you happy now?” she furiously asked.

“Somewhat,” he snickered. He caught her wandering eyes and his smile grew bigger. He knew what she was looking for. “Not until you’ve eaten.”

There was no point in protesting any longer. She would have to give in to his demands, which as the food quickly gathered on the table,
suddenly didn’t seem so awful.

The meals had become much livelier since her last visit. Now not only Gregor, but several other servants bustled about the table, bringing in plates, stirring sauces and filling jugs. The boy she had seen cleaning windows earlier that morning
bashfully approached with his round face and sparkling brown eyes to offer Ellena a cup of water which she gratefully accepted.

Juicy pork was served, along with an array of vegetables and sweet potatoes. Louisa
darted around, politely laying down a bowl of broth before whizzing off again. A man Ellena instantly recognized to be the cook from his white coat and puffy hat approached Lord Wolfe and bowed.

He was a tall, skinny man with a rather serious air about him, but when he talked about t
he dishes his eyes lit up with bliss and his thin, pursued lips revealed a rather pleasant smile. Ellena smiled too. He certainly was skinny for someone who adored food. John gave a nod of approval and the cook’s smiled widened as he practically skipped from the room.