Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  But despite his personal fortune and his own titles as Protector of St Maximin and Lay Abbot of Echternach, Sigefroi did not hold enough clout to obtain this strategic piece of property. Two of his most influential brothers had intervened in his favor. And of course, as Sigefroi’s friend, Emperor Otto himself had spoken to the archbishops.

  Frederick of Lorraine, Sigefroi’s oldest brother, ratified the document next, using the personal seal hanging from a silver chain on his chest. Equally tall, but thinner and older than Sigefroi, with the same reddish hair, Frederick wore a red silver-trimmed tunic. His aristocratic face, however, lacked the stern determination of a warrior.

  “How does it feel, brother, to become my vassal?” Frederick raised one eyebrow. As Duke of High Lorraine where Lucilinburhuc was located, he had just become Sigefroi’s new overlord.

  Sigefroi smiled fondly. He rather liked the idea. “Better to keep it in the family. It will give us a chance to meet more often. Perhaps we could hunt a few boars together or meet in a friendly joust.”

  Frederick gave a nervous laugh, almost spilling wax on the parchment. “You still insist on violent sports, brother? I thought years of warring would have cured your battle frenzy by now.”

  “I hope I never change and always accept a worthy challenge.” Sigefroi loved his brothers dearly but couldn’t help noticing their shortcomings. Not one among the five had the shrewdness of a great ruler.

  While awaiting his turn to seal the document, Archbishop Bruno of Cologne whispered in Sigefroi’s ear. “My brother Otto wants to see you afterwards.”

  Sigefroi nodded. He hadn’t seen the emperor in months and intended to pay his respects in any case. Despite the monarch’s notorious cruelty on the battlefield, Sigefroi missed talking to the older man, or perhaps he missed slaughtering barbarians with him. The choices were simpler in his youth. Honor for the victor, shame, degradation, or death for the defeated, nothing in between.

  Everyone at the table looked smug, but for different reasons. The Abbot of St Maximin had traded barren rock for a thriving town with farmlands. The princes of the Church gained a new military force to protect them, and Frederic of High Lorraine had now in his brother a most faithful and reliable vassal.

  As for Sigefroi, he held the perfect perch upon which to build a fortress, right in the center of his scattered holdings, which he planned to consolidate into a powerful kingdom.

  * * *

  Safe inside her dwelling carved into the cliff, Melusine stared at the calm water of her divining basin. Tallow candles around the stone rim lit the mirrored surface. Not all her powers could be controlled at will, but visions on a water surface came easy to her.

  Other gifts, like invisibility, required a glamour spell. Her powers of persuasion depended greatly upon the personal strength of the other person’s mind. Dreams, on the other hand, came and went on the whims of the Goddess.

  An unfamiliar scene appeared on the calm surface, unfolding miles away in Trier... the formal sealing of a land deal with Sigefroi.

  Melusine tossed back her loose hair and shuddered at the sight of the archbishops. Her arms folded protectively around the sleeves of her blue shift. How could she, an accursed Fae, possibly live among such mortals and avoid discovery? Charlemagne had persecuted her mother. Bishops like those sitting at that table had also set a price on Melusine’s head long ago. She feared the punishments the Church inflicted on Pagans, and the devastating effect of holy water on Fae folks.

  “Dear Goddess,” she whispered. “Give me the strength to walk into the lion’s maw.”

  Her gaze returned to Sigefroi’s reflection on the water surface, He smiled, self-assured, as daunting in fine silk as in bloody armor. Melusine wondered what feelings lurked behind his wide amber eyes. The permanent scowl creasing his fiery brow betrayed none of his inner thoughts.

  During random spying, Melusine had discovered Sigefroi’s reputation for ruthlessness and strong will, as well as his political ties in the highest courts, but even for her, this fierce man’s true nature constituted a mystery.

  Hard as she tried, Melusine couldn’t pry into the knight’s mind. He seemed immune to her magic! If she could not bind him with a spell, Melusine would have to depend upon her personal charms. Somehow, the challenge of seducing this dangerous knight made her skin prickle all over as her insides flooded with warmth.

  * * *

  Later that day, in the imperial palace in Trier.

  Sigefroi watched Emperor Otto toss a chunk of venison to the mosaic floor. Two hounds pounced upon it. Then Otto wiped his blond beard with the hem of the tablecloth. Blond ringlets fell on the green velvet of his broad shoulders, framing a smooth forehead, slim arched brows, and high cheek bones. Smiling, Otto pushed the silver platter toward Sigefroi then motioned to his man servant for more wine.

  Since Otto didn’t stand on ceremony with him, Sigefroi never felt intimidated in his presence, even in the austere grandeur of Trier’s Roman palace. It took more than gem-encrusted furniture, marble paneling, domed ceilings, or golden mosaics to impress a knight of Lorraine.

  Otto’s enjoyment at reliving past carnage with deliberate accuracy, however, bothered even a rugged warrior like Sigefroi. Time to change the subject.

  “By the by...” Sigefroi carved another piece of deer with his poniard and speared the hefty chunk. “I never had the opportunity to congratulate you on your recent crowning in Rome. Holy Roman Emperor has a much better ring to it than King.”

  Dipping his fingers in the bowl of salt, Sigefroi sprinkled the meat then bit into the savory morsel. The sweet roasted taste spread pleasantly across his palate.

  Otto chuckled. “Not a small feat that crowning...” He lay back in his padded chair, blinking from the sun filtering through the high windows. “But it had naught to do with chance or mere luck, my young friend.”

  “How so?” Sigefroi admired the older man’s ruthless tactics.

  “You should have seen the pope’s face when I declared my intentions.” Otto’s smile widened. “Of course, I made sure he had no choice in the matter. In order to succeed, you need a master plan.”

  “I agree.” Sigefroi wiped his mouth with the hem of the table cloth. Even for a casual meal, Otto insisted on good manners.

  Otto laced his hands on his stomach and stared at Sigefroi. “Do you know what you want to achieve?”

  Sigefroi considered the question. Of course, he had a master plan. At an early age he had learned exactly how much force, courage, gold coins, tenacity, intrigue, and compromise it took to defeat an enemy or build an empire. “I’ve reached many goals over the years, but they were mere steps toward my main purpose.”

  “Which is?” Otto took the pitcher of wine from his body servant, waved the man away then refilled both silver goblets himself.

  To hide his hesitation, Sigefroi took a sip. Sweet white Moselle wine, his favorite. “I shall surpass my sire in fortune, lands, and power.”

  Otto whistled, a soldier’s habit. “Quite a brazen goal, but not impossible. I can see the fierce spirit of old Wigeric in you. That is why I value your friendship. The more powerful my loyal vassals are, the mightier I become.”

  Sigefroi breathed in relief. His father, Wigeric, had slain his own king to appropriate royal lands. “I’m glad you see it that way.”

  Otto raised his goblet. “Congratulations on today’s acquisition. Soon, I understand, I may call upon your new army to defend my empire. I can always use reinforcements in Italy against the Byzantines.”

  “I see...” Sigefroi chuckled. “So, our friendship is naught but political interest, after all.” He said it in jest but wondered how true the statement might be.

  Otto grinned, reducing his slanted green eyes to mere slits and leaned forward. “An emperor must often combine rulership with pleasure.” He took a long swig from his silver goblet then shook his head. “You, devil. Now that you have a fortress to call home, you need to find a wife and start making children for your future
dynasty.”

  Sigefroi nodded. “The difficult task is to find the right woman.”

  Otto shrugged. “My daughters are still infants, much too young for you. If you had a legitimate son, though, I’d be glad to give him one of my little princesses in marriage.”

  Sigefroi winked. “I do have a few sons scattered about the empire.”

  “Nay!” Otto exclaimed, with exaggerated outrage. “I’ll not waste my precious darlings on camp followers’ bastards.”

  “I figured as much.” Sigefroi chortled. “But I’m afraid I expect a lot from a prospective bride.”

  “You mean lands, breeding, fortune, influence?”

  “All that, of course, but also intelligence, education, youth, and beauty.” Sigefroi winked. “Don’t forget beauty.”

  Waving away the comment, Otto shrugged. “Trust my experience. Beauty is not that important in marriage.”

  Sigefroi drained his goblet and brought it down hard on the table. “By St Peter’s balls, I have to bed the wench to beget the sons I need.”

  “Aye, my young friend.” Otto raised his goblet. “You’re asking much, indeed.”

  Suddenly restless, Sigefroi rose and paced the mosaic floor, each booted step echoing in the vast room. “And beyond all that, I want her strong of body and character. I don’t need a fragile flower who bends to my every whim or soon fades away and dies in childbed.”

  “You are dreaming, my friend.” Otto’s detached tone marked slight disapproval.

  “And she must love me as I am.” Sigefroi enjoyed the disappointing effect of his words on Otto. “For I refuse to change my ways.”

  The emperor rolled his eyes. “No wonder you never married. Most women are weak creatures of Satan, not angels from heaven.”

  “Still, there must be one waiting for me somewhere.” Sigefroi sighed. “I have to find her, and soon.”

  Otto turned in his chair to face Sigefroi. “I had the entire civilized world to chose from, and even my sweet Edith is not perfect.”

  “Really?” Returning to his seat, Sigefroi smiled to encourage Otto’s confidence. He found power in knowledge.

  “She takes great care of our palace in Memleben, and I always find comfort in her arms after a victorious campaign... but she has no love for my bastard sons.” Otto drank some wine and smacked finely chiseled lips. “May I suggest someone not quite flawless? I have a lady in mind for you.”

  “Don’t go any further.” Sigefroi silenced Otto with a simple glare. “If she doesn’t have every quality I request, do not mention her name. I’d rather wait for the perfect maiden.”

  Otto raised both hands in surrender.

  Sigefroi breathed easier. Briefly, the picture of a tanned naked girl under the Roman arch of a bridge crossed his mind. His heart beat a little faster. Was she the reason for his refusal to consider the nuptial offer?

  * * *

  Bent over the stone basin, Melusine let out a sigh of relief when she heard Sigefroi decline the offered bride. She had watched and listened in pure fascination, committing to memory every precious detail. Was she beautiful enough by Sigefroi’s standards? If he preferred plump girls as the fashion went, he might not like her swarthy slender look.

  The loving part could easily be feigned, though. Melusine had learned from spying on mortals that most men became dolts when it came to love, and flattery usually worked miracles. Still. The Great One said Melusine must truly love the man in order to be redeemed.

  From a faraway past, the image of her aging father, King Elinas, came unbidden through the water basin. Grief and disappointment distorted her father’s kind face, making Melusine’s heart ache at the remembrance. Why had he trusted her when she and her sisters only sought revenge?

  She now understood that Elinas blindly believed in his daughters’ love. How Melusine regretted sealing his unjust fate... much too late. The mortal king must have died over a century ago, miserable and alone in his cave. The curse forbade her to find out exactly when.

  Turning away from the stone basin, Melusine struggled to bring her mind to present matters and consider her situation. She had a substantial dowry but no lands. Still, she fulfilled Sigefroi’s breeding requirements.

  Her mother, a royal princess of Bretagne, had become a queen in her own right. Her father had reigned over the kingdom of Strathclyde, now part of Scotland. Her family’s tragic story, however, had since become local legend. She hoped Sigefroi wasn’t familiar with the unfortunate dynasty of Strathclyde.

  Melusine gazed upon her dwelling, carved into the cliff overlooking the Alzette River. For her safety, the secret entrance of her cave lay not only far from any trail, but she protected it with spells, and a veil of glamour that made it invisible to the human eye. Over the years she had faceted with care the many jutting pillars, shaped airy vaults, and smoothed the floor to a shine before covering it with thick rugs.

  Opposite the divining basin still lit by its row of candles, stood a sleeping pallet. For comfort, Melusine had filled the huge leather mattress with wheat bran, then covered it with sheepskins. In the center of the room sat a stone table with two wooden benches. Along the walls, open chests and coffers revealed silks from the orient, rare spices, a hoard of coins, gold jewels, scrolls, and fine silver goblets.

  On the cliff face, she had pierced openings in the thick sandstone, to let in light and fresh air. From outside, the windows looked like natural holes high in the rock wall, partially covered with hanging ivy. But from the inside, they had pleasant geometric shapes and harmonious balance.

  Yes, Melusine could consider herself an architect of sorts. She’d used magic instead of a chisel, but she could visualize and supervise the execution of the most complicated project. Compared to her subterranean palace, fortresses couldn’t be all that difficult to build.

  Since spring had chased away the chill, Melusine removed and rolled away the oiled parchment covering the windows. A fire crackled in the hearth, but no smoke drifted into her lair. The draft followed a natural fissure that traveled far under the cliff before releasing the smoke uphill in the forest.

  An underground stream provided pleasant sounds, as well as fresh water all year round. It also flushed all waste to the river, leaving her abode clean and sweet smelling.

  And now the Goddess wanted her to leave this familiar place and marry a Christian knight? Melusine took pride in her Pagan ways. Could she play her part in the strange world of mortals? It might be her only chance at redemption. She would brave any danger to lift the curse that plagued her solitary life.

  Melusine furrowed among the treasures heaped into her coffers, past a fine dagger and ornate metal boxes, to find a bejeweled scabbard. It sheathed Caliburn, the sword with a glorious past.

  When she drew the heavy blade with a metallic rasp, the invincible sword gleamed blue in the candlelight. Now, thanks to the Goddess, the magic weapon was Melusine’s to bestow anew. She hoped Sigefroi would prove worthy of it.

  If this proud conqueror sought a strong woman, Melusine would give him a challenge. The wild knight would make a worthy opponent, even for a Fae, since he seemed impervious to her magic.

  Melusine smiled in anticipation. But how would she fare in matters of love? Although she had never lain with a man in this incarnation, she remembered loving men in previous lives. Besides, she had eavesdropped on mortals long enough to understand how things worked, and what a man wanted.

  In the faraway past, she had wooed kings and demigods, even gods, with the flutter of an eyelash. Could she do it again?

  Chapter Three

  Sigefroi relaxed, naked, in the decadent luxury of Trier’s imperial baths, with successive pools of water at different temperatures to stimulate and relax the body and the mind. Despite having suffered from the invasions, the ancient city still offered many luxurious comforts preserved from Roman times.

  With a busy day ahead, Sigefroi needed to sort out his thoughts. He’d dreamed of the naked girl in the Alzette River last night agai
n. Why? It wasn’t like him to obsess about a lass, no matter how beautiful or intriguing.

  How different she was from the noble ladies he’d met at court, though. She had swarthy skin, a toned body, and long flowing hair with streaks of sunshine, as if she had spent her life outdoors... like a warrior. Although lithe, she was endowed with generous breasts. His manhood stiffened in the hot water at the recollection of her exquisite globes teasing the waterline.

  Sigefroi glanced right and left. Fortunately the facility was almost empty at this early hour. Nobles and merchants rarely bathed before dawn. He waded waist high towards the cooler pools, hoping to chill his lust. Such natural reactions were difficult to hide while naked in a public bath.

  What was happening to him? He always took or bought what he wanted. The girl was on his new lands, so she now belonged to him by right. He would have to search for her as soon as he took possession of his new domain. Since a serf could not be a nuptial candidate, he would ravage her, and cure himself of this ridiculous fixation.

  His decision made, he stepped out of the cold water pool and dressed quickly. In city attire, but carrying his sword, he left the baths and walked to the river wharf to meet his companions. As he passed under the gigantic stone gates of the fortified city, he admired the statues and the engraved words of Trier’s greatest emperors.

  On the busy wharf along the wide river, sailors unloaded barges and soldiers loitered. As he approached the stone bridge spanning the river, Sigefroi couldn’t resist peering under the nearest arch, half expecting to see a naked lass bathing in the current. But no such luck. This river was not the Alzette.

  By the bridge, Thierry and Gunter waited with the horses. Sigefroi hurried toward them and waved. “Let’s go see the vineyards. These horses need some exercise.”

  Sigefroi mounted then rode with Gunter and young Thierry along the Moselle River. On the hilly shores grew the grapes of his favorite wine. “These vineyards were planted by the order of Emperor Constantine himself, for the glory of Rome.”