He drew her into the moonlit window seat. "You know you can tell me."
At first she was silent, turning to gaze at the silver figures of the pastured horses. Christoph didn't pursue with questions, just held her in that safest place, cradled against his chest. After awhile he suggested, "It was about Rossmann, wasn't it?"
Caterina sighed, turned her face against his waistcoat.
"I miss him too." He held her close, so close she could hear his heart beating. "I often think of him now that we're here. I miss his wit and his good advice. Rossmann had our friendship, but that didn't stop him from plotting our destruction. He was a being of pride and mind, not ruled by his heart like the two of us." Tenderly Christoph kissed the top of her head. "He left you no choice but to play the game exactly as he did."
In bed these days he was incredibly tender, understanding of all her new fears and hesitations.
"There, there, Caterina. There, there, my beautiful love."
"Christoph," she whispered. "Make love to me. Now."
"No dinner first?" He winked and stroked her cheek.
"I need you."
Oh, the look in his eyes! There he was, so mighty in battle, so gentle with her, that curly headed warrior who was all hers…
Close in his arms, Cat felt safe again. This was so right, familiar, but still exciting. In the flickering shadows, she caught sight of the naughty tapestry.
How delightful to know that in a few minutes they would be joining those careless, lusty actors!
* * *
A trail of clothes lay behind them. Her satin gown was tossed over a chair along with his pants. The camisole and petticoat kept company with his shirt, and by the bed, silver buckled shoes lay buried beneath his stock, garters and white silk stockings.
"Light a candle." These days, every sense must tell Caterina who her lover was.
"Since the day I caught you at von Beiler's dike, I've had dreams of this beautiful hair on my pillow."
His handsome face shone as he returned to contemplate her naked glory. And how beautiful he was, a lover like a long ago hero, her Lord of Heldenberg.
Cat put her face against his chest and kissed the hardness, while his hand, restlessly moving, slipped straight to heart of the matter. Sighing pleasure, Caterina parted her knees. Her husband kept up his play in the sweet below.
Between her elegant legs, he arched to give a most intimate caress, a tentative stroking of her most sensitive part with his, a voluptuous slide. Grazing the button of pleasure, then descending to a kiss of near penetration, he directed the action precisely with one strong brown hand.
"Don't tease."
She threw her arms around his hard waist and held on to keep him from withdrawing. He obeyed her summons. The sweet tide was already in and spilling everywhere, so his bold attack carried them at once into a wild ride. He rolled over with her, so that she was on top. She gasped at the interruption, but strong hands on her hips quickly rediscovered the lost rhythm.
Panting, she threw her long hair back, braced her hands upon his big shoulders. She was eager to take the initiative, to put him through some slower paces, but her mount was too spirited, too determined to have his own way. In the end she simply sat him, crying delight, and, with breasts hard and flushed, let pleasure buck.
* * *
Star dropped her foal, this one, in the safety of the barn. To everyone's surprise, it was another filly, another replica of her dam.
"Three red fillies in a row." The head groom shook his head. "Is there a colt in her, I wonder?"
"And this one's just as red as the others." Cat eyed the foal. "I never saw the Pasha's Arab, so I have no idea what he was like. Rossmann picked him out and Star liked him, so he must have been a beauty."
She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.
There were still so many bitter, bitter memories.
"The villain had excellent taste both in horses and in women," said Christoph softly, slipping an arm around his wife's waist. She was round now, full of baby.
Caterina hugged him back, and tried, with the feel and scent of him, to suppress the past.
"Look at that dishy face, that short back! I can hardly wait until she's old enough to breed. I'd love to cross her with the Andalusian, or, even more, with Brandy. I'll wager she'll make the fastest horses in the whole country. I've never held with the idea that the mare is just a vessel."
Arm in arm, husband and wife took pleasure in the sight of the dainty creature frisking her stubby blonde tail as she slipped her head beneath her mother's belly to nurse. They decided while they stood there to call the foal "Lucky."
* * *
"I shall serve you myself, sir."
She cut into the meat pie lying in state upon their table. She'd made it, in that new place of interest, the kitchen. It was a peasant's pie, made of small game: squirrel, partridge and rabbit, as well as carrots, turnips and celery, all lying in gravy beneath a crust, one that she herself had made.
She lifted a wedge for her husband's plate.
"Cook and I made this out of what the Umbergers brought yesterday. She's most economical and a good teacher."
Her husband smiled, although he ate his first portion rather carefully, in case a small bone had escaped her notice. For a time, the couple attended strictly to their supper. Big black Furst rubbed along their legs, meowing. Caterina and Christoph both indulged him with pieces of meat, which he carried under the table to devour.
At the end of the meal, the Graf took his wife's hand and kissed her long fingers.
"It's what I should have done when you first came—dismissed the lot and started over again. The proof is this excellent repast."
"Well, I understand how you felt. They had served you well for many years."
"Until Walters got greedy."
A moment of silence followed. Then Caterina, wanting to change the subject, said "Ever since Frau Lotz came, I've been discovering that I rather like cookery. And, you know, she and I are both learning. I read her my mother's receipts aloud and she remembers them exactly. Her girls are a help too, though one is better than the other. Liza can be difficult. She forgets and then makes excuses. Still, I must allow she's at a refractory age."
Her husband, wiping the gravy from his plate with a piece of rye, greeted this with a grin.
"And what age is that? Somewhere around fifteen?"
"That's it exactly. She has a sweetheart who has been apprenticed away."
"The course of true love rarely runs straight."
"You mustn't be flippant. The young man cannot yet support a wife."
"Does he have a trade? Could he be put to work here? Perhaps that would solve everyone's problem."
"He's an apprentice wheelwright with several more years of his term to serve."
"Well, he had better stay where he is and learn his business well."
"Just what her mother says, but in the meantime the girl is miserable."
There was a pause in which Christoph leaned back and regarded his wife with a mixture of affection and amusement.
"I've been thinking how much this sounds like my parents at table. I used to find," he said, "domestic problems awfully dull, but not anymore." He pushed back from the table and she went into his lap so that they could share a kiss.
"I think," he murmured, "that you've grown again. Those legs!!"
He smiled, surveying the graceful length in his arms. The two new dresses Elsa had made last year now ended above her ankles.
"Yes," Cat sighed. "I can't believe it."
Christoph kissed her forehead. "I don't think you're in any danger of becoming taller than your husband. As it now stands we're a perfect match, especially," he teased, nibbling at her ear, "for good wrestling in bed."
"Hush!"
"And hasn't Herr Stocke taught us both that the goddesses were taller than mortal men and more beautiful than mortal women—just like my Red Caterina?"
* * *
The
y lay late in bed. He was teasing and kissing her wetly in all sorts of ticklish, unlikely places. She giggled and pretended to protest.
The grandparents to be on both sides were delirious with expectation, but even now, her husband could never seem to get enough of making love to her.
He held her left arm stretched above her head and was busily kissed his way down from the palm. When he had reached the hollow where arm and body joined, it had tickled terribly. She was wriggling and giggling, begging him to stop when suddenly he said, "Hold still a moment."
"So you can tickle more? Absolutely not."
"I promise I won't tickle." He peered down, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What's this? A birthmark?"
Cat felt a sickening wave deep in the pit of her stomach.
"No," said Christoph after another moment of consideration, "It's not a birthmark." He leaned back on his elbow, considered her gravely.
"I've a kind of blue mark there ever since a spider bit me." Cat muttered the words. Abruptly, she was nauseous. "Remember when Trudchen and I were talking about it? It happened while I was staying with Aunt Teresina."
"It's not a birthmark, Kitty Cat. Your Aunt must have had it done to you."
"A spider bit me." Cat shrank away from him into the featherbed.
She couldn't locate the source of the unreasoning terror that had so suddenly gripped her. Memories from her captivity, as fresh as yesterday, came rushing back. She remembered the look on the eunuch's face as he'd studied that very spot.
Then something else began to flash in, something more distant.
* * *
Oh, such a chilly night, but she was not in her warm bed anymore. She could smell fire, hear it crackling. Through a blur she saw masks.
There was the smell of peasants, a smell of sweat, of dirt and leather as they crowded around. There was a sick feeling in her gut, a bitter taste in her mouth.
Here was the nightmare which came if she neglected practice with the Protector! Now, however, she knew that it was not a dream, but a memory.
She had wondered why killing Rossmann had ended both the compulsion and the nightmares. Now, she understood. She could see it all, the events of that long ago night at Aunt Teresina’s'.
They had hurt her twice, first under the arm with a needle and then they'd put her belly down over the knees of a terrifying horned creature, a man with a goat's head. He had lifted her gown, pushed something into her, something slippery, smooth and cold. While she'd cried, the masked faces had comforted, had whispered that after this her husband would only give her joy, that this sacrifice to the god would bring her many healthy children…
"It's a witch mark."
She tried to pull away, but Christoph had anticipated. Already she was firmly clasped in his arms.
"Don't be afraid. Your secret's safe. I'll protect you with my life—I swear by every god I know, Christian—or—Pagan."
There was a long moment in which she helplessly shuddered, her mind whirling with the sudden awful clarity, but at last, with his arms girding her like a fortress, she found the strength to ask him.
"How—how do you—know what it means?"
"Because most of our honest, hard working tenants up on the Heldenberg sport one just exactly like it." Thoughtfully, he stroked her long red hair.
* * *
"By the Blessed Mother!" Caterina struggled to get out of bed after a nap. "How dreadfully uncomfortable this is! It's awful to think there are three more months. I'm exhausted all the time and swollen bigger than the biggest pumpkin I've ever seen. I'm forever peeing, just like some poor old grandma, and my legs ache as soon as I stand up. I wish I could just take this belly off for a few hours. Today when I first lay down, the child kicked like a mule. I don't understand how one baby can have so many arms and legs."
Trudchen studied her charge. "I agree, Mistress. It's early for you to be having all this trouble. Why don't you sit still for a moment, Grafin, and let me feel your belly? You may not have three months to wait."
"What?"
"Hush, now. Let me feel and listen." The big hands were already opening her gown, investigating her belly.
She pokes and prods all the time without a by your leave, just like I'm a cow in calf, Caterina thought. Modesty and pregnancy certainly didn't go together.
There was a long pause. Trudchen's hands explored, then she rested her ear against Caterina's belly and listened. When she raised her head, she said with great seriousness. "I will be very surprised if you aren't carrying two."
"Two?" Caterina blinked. "Twins?"
"It would explain a lot of things, Mistress. Not only your size but all the activity. Such things run in families, you know. I've been wondering why your little belly's got so big so fast, why your ankles are already swollen. But, Grafin, time will tell..."
Caterina closed up her gown, feeling a mixture of excitement and fear.
"I shall tell your husband what I think, Lady. And you, my poor darling, are going to have to endure even more confinement. The more you stay off your feet and rest, the longer they'll stay inside, where they need to be. Twins are always born early and small. We'll need to have a several women in milk ready to help you. We don't want to take any chances." As she went bustling away, Caterina subsided into the pillows with a groan.
What a wearying and tedious affair this baby business was! Nature, she thought, gazing at the naughty frolicking bed curtains, had set enticing bait to lure womankind into this trap.
* * *
"And now for the names," Christoph said softly. "I've an idea, but I especially want you to name this little beauty of ours."
"Oh, no. You should be the one to name them."
She didn't want to hurt him, to have him think that she would use these wonderful new creatures they'd made to hurt him again. Right now, she was exhausted, not only from her recent ordeal, but from the whole pregnancy. She had spent the last two months in grumpy and restless confinement.
Today she had pushed out not one, but two, small lively babies. The first was a girl, bald and pink. The second, born about an hour later, was a boy with ragged dark hair like a tiny troll, the long-awaited male heir.
"Darling Cat," her husband whispered, lips against her hair, "you never do anything by halves, do you, sweetheart?" His face shone with pride.
Both babies were small, but both were born loudly squalling, appearing more angry than distressed by the perilous journey they'd just made into the world. The labor hadn't been long, either for a first child or a twinning, only eleven hours from start to finish. Trudchen set all this good luck down to Grafin von Hagen's youth and strength.
"I've thought of names, of course, but, oh, I can't—I don't want to—"
Caterina's voice trailed away. She'd slept some, but she was still hurting. Three kinds of nasty brews had been forced upon her, things to shrink the womb, things to dull her pain, things to make milk. She felt dopey and drowsy, not up to saying that she wanted her daughter to be named 'Wilhelmina.' She was afraid the request would hurt Christoph, hurt him at a time when they should both be so happy.
Her husband, however, was joyfully determined to have the naming done.
"It seems to me that a proper name for a child is one that both husband and wife agree upon." He leaned close and kissed her forehead tenderly.
"If this beauty's mama won't say what she wants, I will offer a suggestion."
They'd tried to send him away during the birth, but he'd stayed. "You stay with your horses," he'd whispered against her cheek, "and I stay with you." He'd held Caterina against his chest while she'd struggled to push the babies out. He'd supported her while Trudchen and the others had busied themselves with afterbirth, with the cutting of cords and swaddling.
"What do you say to 'Wilhelmina'? We can call her 'Mina,' and it might be some restitution for a debt of love I owe."
Cat clung to his hand, so strong, which always touched her with such tenderness. It was hard to reply.
"I wanted that," she whispered at last, "but I didn't want to hurt you."
* * *
Four months later, on an autumn Sunday, in the little church of Heldenruhe, with everyone for miles around crowding to peer in the windows at the gentry, the twins were formally christened. The babies were well and lively, gaining weight in a gratifying fashion. They were suckled almost completely by their determined mother, although there was no shortage of peasant woman offering help. Mothers from every nearby farm had come to the big house to offer their milk, "to help their dear brave mistress raise those two angels the Blessed Mother has sent."
The girl was christened "Wilhelmina" for Caterina's sister and "Brigitte" for that staunch protector of Tanucci women. The boy was to be "Rupert Wilhelm" for his grandfathers. Caterina had insisted that "Goran" should be the boy's third name, in honor of the brave man who had died fighting at her side. Not even her father objected.
Both babies had blue eyes, although Rupert's were a slate gray. A shocking scarlet fuzz had just begun to cover Mina's bald head, while Rupert's funny birth hair had been quickly replaced by a luxurious chestnut thatch. Trudchen had observed that this was typical. Baby boys, she said—for the first year anyway—always had more hair and better eyelashes, too."
After the ceremony, a celebration was held at the mansion. The proud grandparents on both sides had made a long journey in order to see this, the fruition of all their hopes.
* * *
Caterina discreetly tucked Mina inside her gown to nurse. Feeling the tug and the responsive let down, knowing she was nourishing her child, that every day her darling was growing, Cat felt a tremendous pride and pleasure, greater than she could have ever imagined.
She was tired but happy. Nevertheless all things sad—and all things beautiful—brought her to tears. Trudchen and her mama agreed it was nursing that made it so, that in time she would be herself again, but Caterina knew in her heart that she'd softened. The pride she saw in every face made her so happy.
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