Castle of the Wolf

by Sandra Schwab

  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 al
ready sat at the table, studying yesterday’s newspaper so intently that his greeting constituted a mere grunt.

  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 o
ver 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.