“No, my lady. I was in the kitchens, then I sat with Lady Clare while she slept. I am Mathilde.”
Ah, right. The servant who was to be assigned to watch over Clare at night. And it would seem the same maid who has responsibility for lighting fires in the early morning. Mathilde’s duties are heavy.
“You must be tired then. Were you awake the whole night?”
“No, your grace. I laid my pallet across her door so Lady Clare would wake me if she tried to leave. She slept soundly the night through though. Indeed, she was still sleeping when I checked a few minutes ago, but I should really be getting back to her. His grace was most insistent that she be attended. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go? The fire is good for now, as you say, but I could bring you food, something to drink perhaps. Water for your toilet?”
“I should like all those, please, when you are able. As for Lady Clare, when she awakens would you bring her to me here please as well?”
“Here, my lady?”
“Yes. Please.”
“Very well, but it may take little while to get her suitably dressed. She can be quite stubborn regarding her clothes.”
“I see. In that case bring Lady Clare, in her sleeping attire, and such clothes as you deem suitable for the day. She can get dressed here, with me. It is probably warmer than her chamber.”
“No, my lady, it is not. But I will bring her to you.”
She bobs me a curtsy, rather more accomplished than her previous attempt, and leaves the room. I hop back into bed to wait for my little project to arrive.
I do not have long in which to contemplate my next move. Mathilde returns after a few minutes, a rather bedraggled little girl beside her, clasping her hand as though it were her last link to anything resembling security. Mathilde has bundle of clothes under her arm, and she places those on a chair close to the door.
Clare is carrying a floppy doll fashioned from rags, which she clutches in her free hand. Her hair is tangled, her loose plaits unravelling before my eyes. She peers at me from the relative safety of the maidservant’s skirts, her expression wary.
“Good morning, Clare. Did you sleep well?”
No answer. Clare tightens her grip on the doll and on Mathilde’s hand.
I press on with my campaign. “I am hungry. Mathilde was just about to bring food for me, to break my fast. Would you like to join me?
Still no response. I slip from the bed and pad barefoot across to the doorway where the pair still stand. I crouch in front of Clare.
“Your dolly looks hungry. Mathilde, what does dolly like to eat?”
The maidservant picks up the cue without further prompting. “She likes milk, my lady. And sometimes a little oatmeal too. Eggs if we have any.”
“Excellent. Please, could you bring those then? And for myself some bread and cheese if you would be so kind.”
The maid extricates her hand from Clare’s with some difficulty and bobs her brisk little curtsy again. “At once, your grace.”
She is gone, leaving Clare and me to regard each other with I daresay some doubts and considerable trepidation on either side.
“Dolly looks cold. Let us tuck her back in bed to wait for her breakfast. Then we can shut this door and keep out the draughts.” I stand and push the door closed behind the tiny figure, then I offer my hand to Clare. She eyes it with undisguised suspicion. Seizing the initiative, I reach down and take the child’s hand, then allow her no opportunity to protest as I march her back to the bed I so recently shared with Stefan. I lift her up and deposit her in the middle of the bolster, then slip in beside her. I arrange the blankets around her feet and legs, tucking her in.
I lean against the headboard and wrap my arm around her thin shoulders. She stiffens, but makes no move to pull away. I treat that as encouragement.
“So, Clare, you are to clean mirrors this morning. I will help you.”
She hugs the doll to her chest, then turns to peer up at me. “Otto is to do it. Papa said.”
Her first words to me are defiant, though her tone is not. She fears displeasing Stefan again.
“I asked your papa if I could help you instead, and he agreed. Otto has many other duties to see to, and I like to clean mirrors. So you and I will do it. I do not know where all the looking glasses in the castle are though, so your papa said that you would show me.” I trust that invoking Stefan’s authority will win the day for me.
“And Mimi.”
“Mimi?”
She lifts the doll, who close up I can see is badly in need of some repairs. Not to mention a good wash. I surmise this must be Mimi.
“Mimi too, of course. We will wait here for Mathilde to bring our tray, and we will eat. Then we will ask Mathilde to help both of us to dress. After that you can show me where the mirrors are and we will clean each one. If Mathilde does not have other tasks she must attend to perhaps she could help us too. That way it would not take as long, and we might have time to play later. Do you play hopscotch, Clare?”
Two dark eyes, wide with curiosity, regard me from beneath a tangled thatch of blond hair. She shakes her head.
“Then you must learn. Today. We shall play in the great hall. After the mirrors.”
She smiles, and I know I have her.
* * *
“Why so sad?”
Stefan’s voice interrupts my reverie. Startled, I turn to watch his approach. I am seated at the high table in our great hall, alone for once as Clare is off playing somewhere. She has hardly left my side these last days as I have settled into my new home, my new life as Stefan’s duchess. I set aside the clothes I have been sorting and offer a smile to my handsome husband as he crosses the hall.
My heart twists at the sight of him, so tall, so dark, and so forbidding, but under that exterior lies a sensuality which continues to stun me. Each night, and several mornings too, he delights me with his touch. Sometimes gentle, sometimes less so, but always he fulfils me.
He has spanked me again, twice. Once it was a punishment for getting his name wrong yet again. We were in the solar, and he ordered me to our chamber. I squealed and wriggled, begging him to stop as he turned me across his knee and flogged me with his belt. By the time he stopped I was still and quiet, accepting of his discipline. I was unable to sit in comfort to two days. That night though, he tied me face down to our bed, my wrists and ankles bound to the posts, and proceeded to spend the next hours exploring every inch of my body with his tongue. I lost count of how many times he brought me to a shattering climax. Eventually I begged him to stop and allow me to sleep. He did, but not before making love to me with an aching tenderness that left me weak.
The second spanking, just yesterday, was pure eroticism. I lay on our bed, face down of course, the rolled-up bolster under my stomach and my bottom lifted for him. I spread my legs on command, and I suspect I may have purred when he caressed my buttocks. I longed for him to slip his hand between my thighs to test my wetness. I no longer experience any embarrassment at my response to Stefan’s touch. I relish it. At last I could bear the waiting no longer and I begged him to touch me, to spank me, to fuck me. He just chuckled, that wonderful, sexy laugh he has, and plunged three fingers into me. He promised me the spanking if I allowed him to explore my most private place with his finger.
So, I did. And it was—not bad, exactly. I did not voice that opinion though, having no desire to see my husband drowned in the Richtenholst moat. I swear my clitoris swelled as he slid his finger into me, that sweet spot throbbing until he took it between his finger and thumb and squeezed. My climax was so intense, the joy of it so overwhelming, that I may have passed out. The next thing I recall he was slapping my buttocks, raining light, rapid taps all over my bottom and thighs, and occasionally right there on the lips of my quim too. It was so good, so sensual, I could have wept. Perhaps I did. I might again.
My release seemed to persist for long, long minutes, one small climax after another, each one punctuated by a heady, greedy arousal,
always begging, always demanding more.
At last Stefan heeded my pleas and drove his cock into me. He continued to slap my buttocks whilst he fucked me, pushing me to one last, shattering orgasm. This time he found his release too. The heated wash of his semen inside me is a sensation I have come to relish, not least as it will surely result in one of the most precious gifts he could offer me.
A child of my own.
“You look unhappy, and not for the first time. Why is that?” Stefan takes a seat opposite me, his glance puzzled as he takes in the pile of small items of clothing piled in front of me.
“I am fine. Really. I was just looking through these things of Clare’s. Some will need to be mended, others are past that.”
“You are very good with her. I am grateful for your time, and your efforts.”
“She is a sweet child. I like her.”
“She likes you. And from Clare that is an accolade indeed. She is sparing in her favours.”
I grin. He is right there. It took me two days of almost unbroken monologue before she would respond in more than couple of grudging syllables. Now, she is a chatterbox and sometimes I might long for a little peace. But not much. I love that she is happy, relaxed around me, and enjoying my company.
“I should go find her, check that she is alright.”
“She is. I just saw her playing hopscotch with Otto. I gather I must relieve him later. I confess it is not a game I am familiar with.”
“I can teach you, my lord.”
“Thank you. And after, I will repeat my lesson regarding the use of my given name, for I fear you are proving particularly stubborn in learning it.”
Ah, a spanking. I clench my bottom in anticipation even though I fully appreciate this will hurt. “Your belt, my lo… Stefan?”
“No. On this occasion I will require you to go down to the coppice beside the village and select a suitable switch. In fact, you may bring several as I have no doubt you will be presenting your delightful bottom for punishment on regular basis.”
I nod. “Of course. Several.”
“But you have distracted me. You have not answered my question.”
“Your question?”
“You seem so sad, so downhearted much of the time. Do I make you unhappy?”
“No! No, Stefan, Definitely you do not.”
“I thought not for your response in our chamber, whether to punishment or to pleasure, is always, shall we say, enthusiastic? So, what then? Do you dislike Richtenholst?”
“No, the castle and surrounding lands are beautiful. I love it here.”
“But?”
“There is no but.”
“Do not lie to me, Tally. Never that. I see the unhappiness in your eyes, I hear it in your voice when you talk to Clare, and even to my boys. What can I do to relieve it? What is it you need?”
Stefan misses nothing. Even when I hope to conceal my longing for Sophia, even though I never mention her name, he somehow knows there is something, someone ever in my thoughts. I need to at least try to explain.
“I love my life now, here, with you, your sons, and little Clare. But still, I miss my old life. I had dreams, plans, people I loved, and they are gone.”
“You wish to return to Hohenzollern? It will be a very different place in the future.”
I shake my head. Hohenzollern was the place I wanted to be as long as Sophia was there. Now, I can think of no better place to be than Richtenholst.
“The church then? You still harbour a wish to take the veil?”
I shrug. At peril of damning my immortal soul I admit to myself that my interest in taking holy orders was rooted in a desire to remain close to Sophia, nothing more than that. My vocation was selfish in origin.
“I consider your infatuation with entering a convent to be misguided, but if you truly yearn for the peace of the cloister I would prefer to know it.”
“Why? What difference would it make? I have no choice. I never did. And even if that were my ambition, my heartfelt aspiration, what could come of it now? I am your wife, with all that entails. I could never become a nun.”
He cups my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to hold my gaze. “I suspect you would find it a life lacking in some comforts you have grown to appreciate of late.” He cocks his head to one side, his expression intense, and also sad. “I would miss those comforts too, but if that was what it would take to make you happy, I would bow to your wishes. You do have a choice, Tally. I want you to choose me, us. I want you to be my duchess but it will only work if you desire it too.”
“I do not understand. What are you saying? I am your duchess.”
“A duchess who desires to be a nun. That is not what I desire from you.”
My heart lurches. What does he mean? What is he saying?
“Stefan? I…”
“If you want to join a convent, Tally, I will not prevent it. Indeed, I will aid you in gaining entry to a suitable house, of your choosing.”
“You are sending me away?”
He shakes his head. “No. I want you to stay here, with me. Every fibre of my being yearns for you to stay. But I will not hold you here against your will. These last few days I have seen the passion in you, and I have loved it. But I also see the sorrow in your eyes when you think yourself alone, and I will not be the cause of that. Would the cloister make you happy? Is that what you truly desire?”
I stare at him, incredulous, and I blurt out my reply. “No, of course not. Before, yes. But not now.”
He holds my gaze, his eyes boring into mine for several moments. At last he nods. “I believe I have the truth from you, at least on that matter. So I return to my original question. Why so sad? And please, no more evasion or half-truths. You will tell me what is troubling you, and you will tell me now.”
His features have hardened, his expression quite glacial now. I shiver, despite the fire roaring in the grate. I have experienced my husband’s commanding presence before, but never have I encountered this implacable demeanour from him. Something is different here, today. Something brittle and delicate shimmers between us, something that could so easily be shattered.
It is trust, mine in my husband, but also his trust in me to deal honestly with him. He has earned it. It is time.
I bow my head, breaking his gaze at last. My hands twist in my lap, the clothes on the table long forgotten. “Very well, my lord. I will tell you, and I hope you will not think less of me, and of our marriage, when you know everything about the woman you chose to wed in such haste.”
“I believe I can accept responsibility for my decisions. And deal with any implications that might ensue. Please continue, Tally.”
I drag in a breath, and attempt to gather my scattered thoughts. Where to start? How to even begin to explain? And how will my husband react when he knows? I am about to discover the answer to that.
“You will recall the day we met, at Hohenzollern?”
“Of course. I recall those events in vivid detail. So, what happened that day that I missed?”
“You learned the identity of my former husband, and… and you told me of your previous acquaintance with him. The reasons why you hated him.”
“I did. Do you dispute the facts I shared with you? Or take issue with my attitude toward your late husband?”
“No. No, my lord, I do not. I have no cause to doubt your account.”
“Thank you. And you asked me then if I was marrying you from some misplaced sense of vengeance. I believe I assured you that was not the case.”
“You did, my lord. I have never thought that.”
Apparently satisfied on these points at least, Stefan makes no further comment. He waits in silence as I gather my thoughts once more.
“You may also recall I was keen to know what had been the fate of the children in the chapel.”
He nods, remaining silent.
“You asked if any of the children were mine, and I said they were not.”
“And I now know with absolu
te certainty that they could not have been. You were a virgin on our wedding night.”
“You know better than most that a family can be more complex than that. You too love a child who is not yours by birth.”
He frowns, and I discern understanding start to dawn. Still he does not help me out here. The silence lengthens between us as I make an earnest study of my hands.
Stefan reaches for my chin and cups it in his palm. He lifts my face, forcing me to meet his gaze once more.
“Tell me. Say the words. Make me understand this.”
His tone is low, demanding, but not unkind. I take courage from that.
“I have a stepdaughter. Sophia. She, she is three years old…”
“Chapelle’s child?”
I nod, blinking back tears, silently pleading with him for—what? For his permission to grieve I suppose, to set aside his hostility and allow me to express my loss and mourn it.
“Why did you not tell me of this before? Why keep this matter to yourself when I can see the distress it has caused you? It has not been for the want of opportunity, I have asked repeatedly what was causing your unhappiness and you continued to deny aught was amiss.”
“I was afraid. Afraid of what you might do. You hated my husband, Sophia’s father. You still do, and I accept you have sound reason for that. I know now that you are a just and fair man, but on that terrible day I had no notion of what was to happen, how the day would unfold or what fate awaited any of us. I did not know what you might do, to me or to the daughter of your enemy if you knew she was within your grasp. I feared the worst so I kept silent.”
I halt, tears streaming unchecked down my cheeks as I try to voice the unthinkable. It is so clear to me now that Stefan would not have injured Sophia, he would never do that. But then, on that awful day, I did not know. I really did not. And by the time I better understood the nature of the man who was my husband, my stepdaughter was gone, already on her way to Vienna.
The Conquered Brides Collection Page 34