Red Magic

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Red Magic Page 8

by Juliette Waldron


  By the time they finally reached their destination, Caterina was cold, soaked through and through. Shudders racked her thin frame. She was so stiff and numb that for once she didn't disdain the lift from the saddle her husband offered.

  The innkeepers and servants came bustling into the stormy courtyard giving comfort equally to their noble lodgers, servants and horses. The room to which Caterina was escorted was comfortably furnished. It was not only clean, but she was overjoyed to feel how hot it was from a good fire, already set in the hearth.

  "I'll have your trunk sent up at once, your Ladyship," said Goran, whose heavy blonde moustaches were hanging like a pair of limp rags under his long nose. Caterina thanked him and went to stand and shiver near the rosy hearth.

  "Supper will come up as soon as we're dry." Her husband's tall elegance filled the door.

  "Wonderful! I'm famished." Although she tried to stop it, her words were followed by a wrenching shiver.

  "The innkeeper's wife wanted to attend you as you have no maid servant, but I told her that getting us dinner was far more important. I shall attend you. Sit, Caterina. First, we'll get those boots off."

  She thought she ought to object, but she was simply too cold and too numb. Christoph knelt before her chair and helped her haul off the soaked boots.

  "What happened to yours?" she asked. He was already barefoot.

  "Goran has already appropriated mine."

  Just as he finished the task, the landlady popped in with a huge pitcher of hot water and two large towels.

  "Always the perfect hostess, Frau Schwann," said Christoph.

  The sturdy goodwife smiled, bobbed, and went hurrying out again.

  "You'll soon see that it was worth nearly drowning to get here."

  Caterina nodded, managed a smile through her shivers. The people certainly were obliging and friendly.

  "Now, I want no dramatic protests of modesty from you, young woman. You're going to get out of those wet clothes and I'm going to join you. We'll dry off in front of the fire like a proper husband and wife."

  He had already taken off his wet jacket. As he hung it over the back of a chair, Caterina said, "Ah—Christoph..."

  "Don't be silly. You're going to catch catarrh if you sit there much longer. Either you undress and rub yourself dry, or I shall do it for you."

  Cat was too cold and uncomfortable to put much energy into argument. First, though, she hung her jacket and waistcoat on another chair back. Then, going behind, she began to undress, taking advantage of the small shelter this offered.

  Christoph undressed with his usual matter-of-factness. The firelight played upon a sinuous rippling as he twisted and turned, first vigorously rubbing his wet hair and then his body. "Well," he grinned, dark, curls damply emerging from the towel, "What have you been doing? Watching?"

  "Christoph!" Caterina flushed.

  To her relief he turned and scooped up the robe Goran had already laid across the trunk. As he was putting it on, Cat took advantage of his lack of attention by edging closer to the cover of her chair and pulling up the soaked breeches which she'd been about to drop.

  They were so wet that they stuck to her hips, so she didn't bother to rebutton them.

  "Stupid stays," she muttered. "The leather has gone soggy and my fingers are so cold I can't get them undone." Knowing that she wouldn't have a maid for the journey, Caterina had worn a pair of leather front laced stays which she could take on and off herself. She had not, however, planned on being drenched in them.

  "Well, come and I'll undo them. As you may have heard here and there, I'm an expert."

  "Only if you tie your gown closed."

  "If you insist."

  "I most certainly do."

  Smiling he obeyed, wrapping the sash around his waist. Only after he'd got that secured did Cat venture from behind the safety of her chair.

  "Stand still." With great seriousness he bent his curly head close to her bosom to get a good view of the task. Caterina stood shivering and watched his big hands, astonishingly dexterous, work the leather laces loose without stretching or breaking. Outside the window a brilliant flash, closely followed by a roar, made them both start.

  "If it's still at this tomorrow, we won't go on. The horses are tired out and I don't want you to catch cold." Then he raised his head. "There," he said with a big grin, "the gates of paradise are open." He gave the stays a tug.

  "Christoph!" Both hands flew at once to the top of the stays, frantic to hold them in place. Underneath lay nothing but a fine, soaked muslin chemise, prettily raised, no doubt, by rosy cold nipples. As soon as she did that, however, he changed his strategy. In the next moment he was yanking down her breeches.

  She tried to turn, to run, but the breeches, now dropped round her knees, were like hobbles. She began to fall, but great bear arms caught her.

  "Now here's a pretty sight." Christoph laughed and swung her easily up against his broad chest. "A fair damsel in distress—and wet leather."

  "You put me down!" She pushed at him, but this only opened the dressing gown and revealed his chest. Shamed by the tears of frustration that were rising, she punched the nearest thing, one imposing shoulder.

  "What's this? Tears from the same Valkyrie who rode thirty hard miles today, more than half of them in that deluge? By God, only a wager, and a large one at that, would have kept your brother out in that."

  His eyes caught, held hers. They were full of a delightfully sexless admiration—horseman to horseman. As he praised, he was obeying her, too, letting her down, although he did it in such a way that her slender wet body went sliding against his.

  How hard he felt; how easily he'd held her, as if she were weightless. Without quite understanding, Caterina, rose on her tiptoes and impetuously gave him a kiss. His arms tightened at once. With his participation what had begun on impulse bloomed into the sweetness of savoring. Her skin was chilly and damp, but the hearth was roaring, cooking the flesh that fronted it. Crushed close, she felt muscles swell as she pressed wet muslin, cold raised nipples and Aunt Teresina's wooden locket against his chest. When the tip of an exploring tongue tentatively touched hers, she became alarmed and pulled her mouth away with a gasp.

  "Have you never been kissed like that?" One arm held her tightly around the waist, the hand of the other came to recapture her chin. Cat found herself gazing into his eyes with their extravagant lashes. A green fire had consumed every trace of hazel.

  "No!"

  "Those stable boys of your father's really were a well behaved lot, weren't they?" A warm chuckle followed. "I shall have the honor of being first at absolutely everything with you, sweet Caterina Maria Brigitte."

  Dismayed by the look in his eye, the look of a man who has gained a victory, Cat pushed him.

  "No more." She tried hard to steady her voice, but the command had a quiver in it.

  "A very prudent request." He seemed regretful, but he let her go.

  "You know, angel, no one would believe that I've been sleeping in the same room with you for six weeks and haven't even got round yet to a thorough kissing of that big beautiful mouth of yours. Still, it's nobody's business but our own—is it?"

  When she nodded, her eyes full of him, a dark warrior in firelight, he said, very softly, "Now, love, out of those wet clothes."

  Cat, her body still humming from his caresses and a rushing, shameless feeling, seized the clammy bottom of the chemise and pulled it off over her head. At once there was the tingle of wet flesh meeting air, and the new, never before tasted pleasure of showing off her body, a pleasure that totally overwhelmed the fierce counter tug of the modesty she'd been taught.

  Christoph subsided into one of the chairs by the fire, but his eyes never left her. A slight smile played about his lips. He was clearly enjoying the sight of her, wide shoulders and high gold-dusted breasts.

  "All of it," he said, a devilish grin barely in check. "Come on, Red." She had begun to blush, a blush that unfolded a bloom all the way to
her nipples. "Show me. Only when you do," and suddenly he flicked away the other towel, flaunting his possession, "can you have this back."

  "Damn!" Just when had he appropriated her towel? She lunged after, but he snapped it away.

  "Take it off, little wife. I swear not to touch."

  Cat, arms crossed in front of her breasts, stepped back and muttered, "Forgive me, cousin, but I don't find that particularly reassuring."

  "First you tease and then you run. I didn't know you were such a chicken heart, Caterina!" He laughed, knowing that he had turned a favorite childish taunt against her.

  Cat gritted her teeth. Turning to the side, she untied the thin strip that held the silk thigh-length man's undergarment she'd worn beneath the riding breeches. She peeled it off and stepped out, one long shapely leg at a time. Her husband leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle.

  "Face me," he said, his voice ever so soft. "I won't touch, but after six weeks of marriage I'd dearly love to see."

  She did as he asked. Later, in the cold light of the morning, brimming with guilt, Cat couldn't understand why she'd done any of it, beginning with the impulsive kiss.

  Firelight dappled her long, slim form. The wet red single braid hung over one shoulder, while golden freckles gave her fair flesh an all over glitter. Her breasts, tantalizingly unfinished, were high with cold and excitement. Below, there was a perfect triangle of fine, red-gold curls.

  "Without a doubt, the finest piece of woman flesh from here to Istanbul." Christoph didn't move a muscle, but he did draw in a deep breath. The tiger's look in his eyes rose to meet the one in hers, the one which was, with a mad lack of restraint, daring him to make the next move.

  Next, she nearly jumped out of her skin, for there was a sharp rap-rap-rap at their door. Caterina dashed for cover, flinging herself into bed.

  "It's the Grafin's trunks, Herr Graf." Goran called from outside, "They're ready with supper."

  The young Graf clapped his hands together, gave a shout of laughter and then cried, "Well, sir, enter!" Through the half-open bed curtains Cat could see that he'd slung her towel like a trophy over one broad shoulder.

  The trunks came thumping in while Cat hid beneath the covers. After the parade of servants had gone stamping out, Christoph searched out Cat's morning gown and tossed it between the curtains. Just as she finished hastily slipping into it, supper arrived.

  * * *

  They sat at a small table by the fire and ate in an unaccustomed but pleasantly solitary state. Just as Christoph had said, the food at the Black Swan was wonderful.

  A richly sauced venison pie, with its accompaniment of turnips and rotekraut, was delicious. Cat pursued it to the bottom of the dish and used chunks of bread to wipe up the gravy.

  The meal was punctuated by comings and goings. Goran came to get orders for tomorrow; the innkeeper and his wife appeared too. Apparently they had played host to Christoph before.

  At last the table was taken away. They had just settled down to a task that might have renewed their earlier, interrupted intimacy, for Christoph had begun to brush his wife's beautiful thick hair dry by the fire, when the host once more knocked.

  "I'm sorry—devastated—Herr Graf von Hagen, but Herr Graf Thun's party has just come in, quite desperate to get out of the rain."

  "And," Christoph finished with a rueful look at his wife, at the shining, wavy red mantle which fell over her shoulders and down her back, "You will need the ladies to sleep with other ladies and gentlemen to sleep with other gentlemen if you are to accommodate everyone. I understand perfectly, Herr Schwann. It's the luck of the road."

  The plump innkeeper bowed nervously. "A dreadful occurrence in the middle of your wedding journey, Herr Graf, and I pray you will not be angry, but you have divined our needs perfectly. If the Countess Thun and her daughter, who is great with child, sir!—might room here with your wife, then you, the Graf Thun and his son-in-law could go to the west room."

  After a torrent of apologies and explanations that rivaled the torrents of rain still blowing outside, the round faced host, bowing and bobbing, withdrew. Caterina began to get up, but her husband caught her hand.

  "Just a moment. I want to remember how beautiful you look sitting there with all that fiery hair."

  After a moment of studying her, her face, her lissome body wrapped in the morning gown, Christoph raised Cat's long fingers and in the most tender and humble manner, kissed them. Caterina, while experiencing that now familiar war of desire and doubt, allowed a thrill to pass through her.

  "I am not accustomed to looking upon delay as a blessing, but in our case, my lovely wife, I believe it is."

  Chapter Eight

  There followed the tumult of two aristocratic families meeting and sharing small quarters. The servants bustled and their masters and mistresses offered each other congratulations and sent greetings to family members. Gossip from Court was passed by the Thuns, who were traveling home from Vienna for the birth. They discussed the abominable state of the roads and the equally abominable state of the weather.

  The next day the intimate happenings seemed like a dream to Caterina. Dressed in a pair of her husband's pants which blossomed around her slimness—although the length wasn't bad—Caterina consumed her breakfast in near silence. The size of the young countess's belly and her languid passivity were equally unsettling. Caterina was glad they would go on. It had stopped raining during the night and a chilly, autumnal wind had blown blue skies down from the north

  It was during this day's muddy ride that the peaks of the mountains suddenly jumped into view. One mountain of the group began to loom, the broken, bald peak intermittently veiled by gray clouds.

  "See, Mistress? Heldenberg," said Goran, reining his horse close to Caterina's. "She's in one of her dark moods."

  "Oh, she means us no harm," said Christoph. "The old witch is just winking."

  "Who was the Helden, the hero of the place?"

  "Siegfried, I believe, the one who killed a dragon, and," Christoph shot a grin at her, "married a Valkyrie."

  * * *

  The next day the dark pine forest poured down the slopes like a black wave determined to engulf them. Soon they left the road and rode through some rocky pasture, by-passing a tiny group of houses clustered around a squat, ancient stone church.

  "Heldenruhe," Christoph said, pointing. "Our nearest neighbor. There is a church, a mill, a smithy and not much else. Just an hour's ride and we'll be home."

  "Why did we not ride through?"

  "Because we'd be detained by everyone from the miller to old Father Leopold. I'll take you down to meet them after you're settled."

  They left the last of the cleared land now, climbing the shoulders of the mountain. Here they entered the pine forest, which was as forbidding and chilly as it looked, and trotted down a curiously yellow dirt road. Caterina, used to the sunny open Donau lowlands, felt oppressed and shuddery.

  After miles of unrelenting gloom they reached a place where men had been at work again. Here the forest had been trimmed and thinned, tamed into a park. Now there were groves of oak and ash, interspersed with islands of cheerful, sun filled meadow. A herd of deer, tails flashing, bolted from one of them.

  "Now that they've seen me, they'll tell all their friends and by tomorrow there won't be one to be found anywhere."

  Suddenly the climb ended and Caterina had a first view of her new home. Heldenberg Manor, with an ancient stone first floor and a newer timber-framed second, sat on a cleared, grassy south facing slope. It was a surprise, after the long ride under the forest canopy, to look back and see how far up the mountain they'd come. Above them, with perhaps only a mile's interval, the stony upper reaches began.

  On the near side of the main house, level with it, was a great stone barn, but first they rode past a row of tidy cottages which her husband said belonged to the farmhands and servants who worked the place. There were neat little patches of garden, tethered goats, chickens and a group of t
ow-headed, staring children. In one place, two women sat and spun in the good light of a flagstoned entrance. They rose to curtsy to the passing riders.

  Beyond the house she saw a long, low structure like a barracks. Christoph explained that this was exactly what it was. He kept a small contingent of soldiers and their families at Heldenberg. Along the front of the manor, taking advantage of the southern exposure was a well tended garden filled with herbs, flowers and vegetables.

  Their progress towards the house was noted. By the time they dismounted, servants had come and were lining up to meet them. Everyone was neat and clean and looked well fed. Their eyes, Caterina noted at once, seemed wary.

  First to greet their master and new mistress was a somberly dressed couple, the woman younger than her graying husband. They were, Christoph explained, Herr and Frau Walter, the bailiff and his wife. "There isn't much Herr Walter doesn't know about my land and tenants. His good Frau manages the house and an excellent job she does."

  Caterina smiled. The smile was dutifully returned, but without any particular warmth. Men in uniform saluted and housemaids curtsied one by one as she passed a crowd of faces and names. Then she met the head gardener, who was credited with the handsome and practical garden.

  "It must have been work to make anything grow on this ground," Caterina observed.

  "All the hay and manure from the barn for a good many years," the man said proudly. "The garden is more for the kitchen than for flowers, but you might want to change that, Lady," he went on in a thick Bavarian accent.

  "Oh, no, sir," Caterina replied, happy that he, alone of the rest, seemed pleased to see her. "It looks like a wonderful garden just as it is. But, my Lady Mother has some nice roses. If you wanted a few hardy ones, I know she would be happy to send cuttings."

  The man seemed pleased by that and backed up, tugging at his forelock politely. Was she imagining it, or were the house servants glaring?

 

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