Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  Sigefroi vaulted onto his stallion with the agility of a feline. Melusine admired his skills with the horses. What a formidable rider, an invincible warrior, and a great lover. It had been too long since they’d joined in a tender embrace. She fiercely missed him.

  Gunter rode toward them, flushed and excited as usual at the prospect of new adventures. “All is ready!”

  Sigefroi nodded then turned to Melusine with a confident smile that warmed her heart. “Are you certain you want to come along? Trier is only the first step... Once we acquire Saarburg, we’ll have to make it flourish like we did Luxembourg. We won’t be home again for at least a year.”

  “I’m ready for a change.” She kept her voice light. “I need to forget the past months and make a fresh start. Organizing a new castle will remind me of our early days. It should help me heal.” So would his tender ministrations, if he were so inclined, but she didn’t voice the thought.

  The long day trek proved uneventful, punctuated by the barking of hounds, the creaking of heavy wheels, the clicking of harnesses, chain mail, and weapons. Messengers ran to and fro along the convoy. The constant bantering of Sigefroi and Gunter about past battle feats reminded Melusine of the haunting vision of carnage she was trying to forget.

  But once in a while, as she rode behind Sigefroi, he turned in the saddle and ventured a grin. Despite his daunting looks, there was a winning warmth to him, a charm she could not resist. These moments of intimate exchange compensated for the discomfort of the side-saddle.

  The convoy reached Trier just after sunset. While the escort found lodging in town, Sigefroi and Melusine boarded for the night at St Maximin, the abbey where they would seal the deed two days hence. Travel weary, Melusine sought her private cell and had supper brought there.

  A knock on the door much later that evening surprised her, since Alyx had retired for the night. Melusine slid the thin plaque covering the knot hole in the door and peeped through. Sigefroi stood there, smiling.

  Uncertain what to expect but glad for the visit, Melusine opened the door wide.

  He hesitated on the threshold. Never had she seen him so unsure of himself. “I grew bored with the monks’ conversation.”

  Melusine invited him in then sat on the hard pallet. “Lord Husband, do I detect a lie in the tone of your voice?”

  Sigefroi dropped into the only chair in the small room and drummed long fingers on the armrest. “Aye? Well, truth be told, your company is more entertaining.” His tone regained some of its natural confidence and his gaze roamed shamelessly over her night chemise. “This yellow dress you wore today got me thinking we neglected our nuptial duties.”

  Melusine perked up, teasing. “Duty, is it?” Her attempt to breach the distance between them felt gauche, inadequate. “It has been a while...”

  “We need sons, remember? And you look to me way too thin.” He propped a booted foot up on the prayer stool and grinned wolfishly. “I must keep my promise to keep you with child at all times.”

  The mention of another child made Melusine wince. On second thought, however, the Goddess had ordered it. Perhaps it would make her feel whole again... a child who, unlike Liutgarde, would love his mother.

  Had Sigefroi anticipated her need? His insight frightened her sometimes. Did he manipulate her like a young maid? Why did he remain so distant if he weren’t playing a game? Her weakened powers since the baptism had left Melusine defenseless. She had to rely on human senses, blind to others’ thoughts and intents. Not that she’d ever read Sigefroi’s mind.

  He regarded her intently but remained in the chair. “I remember our early love-making, wild and passionate, hot as an inferno.”

  Melusine flushed at the thought. Was he waiting for her to make the first move? Tentatively, she stood up and went to warm herself by the fire, closer to his chair but still beyond his reach.

  “You chose a strange place to rekindle our flame.” She smiled, matching his playful tone. “What would the holy monks think about using a friar’s cell for our nightly pleasures? The pallet is small and hard as a board, and these walls have only witnessed silent prayer.”

  Sigefroi’s amber eyes shone in the light of the flames and his voice grew husky. “We’ll have to make do and be quiet, is all.”

  Anticipation rushed through Melusine. Although she felt stalked, she approached the chair like a willing prey then laid a light hand on Sigefroi’s shoulder.

  She bent to whisper in his ear. “I’ve never known our bed games to be silent, my lord.”

  Seizing her wrist, he brought her hand to his lips, pulled her in front of him, snatched her waist and sat her on his lap. Melusine gasped at the commanding strength of his hands but did not resist. The heat she felt owed nothing to the fire and everything to the hard fullness in Sigefroi’s chausses.

  “The devil with the friars,” he whispered harshly, then sealed her intended reply with a passionate kiss.

  Melusine gladly forgot her words and responded to his demanding kiss in kind. Her mind swirled at the urgency in his possession of her mouth… so willful, like a conqueror.

  When he relented and trailed his lips along her jaw line and down her throat, she moaned with anticipation. The heat at her core could not be denied. How she wanted him.

  He grabbed her tight and rose from the chair, lifting her up in his arms. Melusine purred as she hooked her arms around his corded neck. She leaned her head against his hard chest, and he carried her to the small pallet.

  When he deposited her there, she didn’t let go of him. She pulled him close on top of her, enjoying the weight of his body, his breath in her hair. She reveled in the possessive way he held her, as if he’d never let go. It didn’t matter that the mattress was thin and hard. All she could think about was this magnificent lion in her bed, who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  * * *

  The next morning as she walked the abbey’s corridors at Sigefroi’s arm, Melusine couldn’t erase the blissful smile from her face. The monks diverted their gaze from her as they passed them by on the way to the refectory. Because she was a woman, or because of the unseemly sounds that had escaped her cell the night before?

  Suppressing a giggle, she recalled how, when the bells rang for matins, muffled footfalls had passed their door on the way to the chapel, but Sigefroi, far from slowing down, had renewed his ardor and made her moan even louder.

  At least, her husband wasn’t a Christian zealot afraid of breaking the rules. Perhaps, one day, Melusine would confide in him after all. Sharing her Pagan secret would certainly alleviate some of her burden and possibly strengthen their love.

  In any case, she felt much better this morning. There was hope in her life again. The horrible visions of Sigefroi killing children had faded farther in her memory, and perhaps, in time, Liutgarde would even learn to love her.

  Over breakfast, the abbot regarded Melusine suspiciously but wouldn’t dare reprimand his overlord over such a personal matter. Despite the severity of monastic rules, exceptions had to be made for valorous knights. After all, Sigefroi was the abbey’s noble champion and protector.

  The sealing of the deed giving Saarburg to Sigefroi would take place on the morrow in the abbey’s great hall, so Melusine and her lord had the day to themselves. They enjoyed the morning at the Roman baths, like newlyweds, as Sigefroi had promised long ago. After the midday meal, they recruited laborers and purchased supplies for their future castle.

  As they returned to the abbey in the afternoon hours Melusine didn’t have the heart to remind Sigefroi that the morrow was the first Wednesday of the month. She refused to spoil their fragile reconciliation. She hoped he’d remember the day of the week as soon as he realized she was gone, and concoct a believable story for the abbot. After all that was their arrangement.

  * * *

  Before sunset, while Sigefroi sampled wine with the abbot in the hall, Melusine discreetly left the monastery. She hurried along the Roman fortifications and passed the Porta Nigra,
the imposing Roman gate of Trier, then walked briskly toward the setting sun, in the direction of the Moselle River.

  As she surveyed the unfamiliar shores, the smell of the tar coating the boat hulls drifted from the pier, where the activity had slowed. The river flowed lazily, wide and deep, unlike the Alzette. Hoping the shaky glamour concealing her would hold long enough, Melusine walked north along the bank, away from the bridge, toward a flat strip of land that formed an island off shore.

  As soon as she found a secluded area, she disrobed and hid her clothes in a hollow tree trunk, then she entered the chilly waters. Although she could tell her glamour still held, she glanced around, acutely aware of the added dangers of unfamiliar surroundings.

  Just as the sun disappeared behind the rolling hills across the river, Melusine drifted into its cool dark depths. Within minutes, her serpent tail responded as she flicked it, then she propelled herself upstream to reconnoiter her future estate.

  Nervous at the idea of swimming through such a populated area, Melusine remained deep underwater while passing the pier and the bridge. It wouldn’t do to let the good people of Trier surprise an ondine in their midst.

  Several miles south, Melusine came to the confluence of the Saar River, took a turn and swam up river, until she smelled the strong acrid stink of the tannery described by the abbot that morning.

  By moonlight she saw a waterfall cleaving the hill in a silvery shower where the turbulent stream of the Leuk joined the Saar River. Most importantly, she wanted to see Mount Chumberlum where her future castle would stand.

  As she scanned the hilly banks, her eye caught the highest point to the south, not a sheer cliff like the Bock of Luxembourg, but just as high and very steep. From up there, one could survey the entire valley, and the boat traffic on the river.

  A strategic location indeed. Once again, Sigefroi had chosen well. Melusine could already envision hilltop towers facing the river, a high wall lining the crag on all sides. The castle would also need a moat at the base of the hill. Possibly the Leuk River could serve to fill it.

  Digging the well might present a challenge, but Melusine could convince Sigefroi to do it. Every castle needed its own well.

  Melusine smiled. today she’d experienced a new surge of energy, the likes of which she hadn’t known since the ordeal at the baptismal font three moons past. And today, she had conjured her glamour easily enough. She now believed her powers would flourish again.

  * * *

  Sigefroi resented Melusine’s absence at the signing of the deed. Damn the little hellcat! She’d done it again, leaving without warning on her ridiculous pilgrimage.

  “Sorry, Lady Melusine is slightly indisposed today.” Sigefroi hope they would think his prowess in bed had exhausted his wife.

  The abbot smiled from across the table. Did he have reason to doubt the lie?

  “What a pity.” Archbishop Henri of Verdun commiserated. “I so wanted to make her acquaintance.”

  “Well, she is sorry to miss such an important event.” Sigefroi struggled to remain calm, but he seethed inside.

  In truth, Melusine would have enjoyed the bargaining and appreciated Sigefroi’s political skills. Despite his rage, he managed to smile at the right time to the right people. He looked genuinely concerned when notified of a potential problem, while all along he was playing their game of intrigue.

  The deliberations lasted longer than Sigefroi anticipated.

  “I added this clause.” Quite the old fox, Archbishop Henri had waited until everything was settled to make further demands. “Within the year, a castle must be built on Mount Chumberlum to oversee and protect the Saar valley, and Lord Sigefroi must man the fortress with a capable garrison at all times.”

  Sigefroi sighed. Although the prelate was receiving a fair price in gold, Saarburg now came with an added responsibility to the Church and to the people of Trier. Still, The Church constituted a valuable ally. But Sigefroi wouldn’t let the archbishop get away with his sneaky maneuvers. “This costly condition demands compensation.”

  Archbishop Henri smiled. “I knew you would say that, so I’m adding to the bargain a large vineyard on a well exposed hillock.”

  Sigefroi nodded. The archbishop knew him well after all. “How can I refuse a vineyard?”

  * * *

  The signing of the deed had gone mostly according to plan, and Sigefroi rejoiced as he ambled along the cloister. Pleased with his acquisition, he turned into an alcove and pushed open the door to St Maximin’s library.

  As he entered, a monk cleared his throat, breaking the studious silence. The place smelled of polished wood, parchment, and ink. Bent over pulpits fronting the windows of the scriptorium area, friars, quill in hand, copied and illuminated sacred texts on parchment with elaborate and colorful designs.

  All around them, precious books and scrolls covered the walls up to the Roman arches. Around the thick pillars, cabinets and coffers overflowed with ancient scrolls, some dating from antiquity.

  But the religious books were not what Sigefroi sought this afternoon. He was after something more mundane, the genealogy of the rulers of Strathclyde. Since the baptism and Melusine’s indisposition, many questions had sprouted in his mind, from his bishop brother, Adalberon, and from Sigefroi’s desire to understand his wife. Learning about Melusine’s family might clear the mystery.

  The friar bibliothec displayed an ingratiating smile. “How may I help your visit to our humble library, my lord?”

  “Just point me in the direction of genealogies of royal dynasties.” Sigefroi didn’t want to say too much or arouse suspicion. “I need to refresh my memory on some remote family members.”

  The old friar bowed then glided quietly on leather sandals across the flagstone, motioning Sigefroi to follow. They negotiated a path around pillars and long tables loaded with scrolls. Then the friar halted in front of a wall lined with books and rolled parchments from floor to ceiling.

  “This is our genealogy section.” The monk motioned toward the shelves and the tall ladder. “The books are arranged by country and locality. The parchments on the top shelf are piled in a jumble, I’m afraid, and not all in good condition.”

  Sigefroi nodded his thanks, and the friar glided away as quietly as a wraith.

  The search for the dynasty of Strathclyde proved more frustrating than Sigefroi anticipated. He found nothing in the books. Finally, climbing the ladder to reach the upper shelves, he sorted through the rolled parchments in hopes of finding something... anything.

  His perseverance was rewarded in the form of a very old skin, gray and brittle with age that said only Strathclyde. Blowing the dust off the scroll, Sigefroi unrolled it on a nearby table and sat. The document, poorly scratched in bad Latin, emanated from a Benedictine monk sent to Strathclyde by the emperor Charlemagne himself.

  The monk’s account stunk of legend and sorcery. According to this doubtful record, King Elinas, whom Melusine claimed was her father, had disappeared a century and a half ago, after retiring and leaving his crown to a son named Conan, who could not prevent the famine and disease that afflicted his reign and eventually destroyed his kingdom.

  An even more unbelievable tale related that the old king’s Pagan queen, Pressine, was spirited away on a cloud with her three baby daughters, shortly after giving birth, never to be seen again.

  What did this mean? Head in his hands, Sigefroi could feel a headache coming.

  On further search, he found a small book that included a less than complete list of rulers of Strathclyde mentioning Elinas and his sons, one of which, Mattacks, was burned at the stake upon Charlemagne’s order, for triggering a Pagan curse. To Sigefroi’s dismay, the genealogy confirmed the dates implied by the Benedictine monk’s scroll. Either Melusine was a century and a half old, or she was an imposter.

  Giving way to a flare of frustration, Sigefroi slammed the massive oak table, jolting the precious documents.

  Alerted by the sound, the friar bibliothec rushed tow
ard Sigefroi, shifty eyes darting right and left. “Anything amiss, my lord?”

  Sigefroi couldn’t contain his anger. “These old records are less than complete.”

  The monk considered the badly damaged skin. “I’m afraid many documents of that time were destroyed by Viking raids, my lord. That’s all we could salvage from that collection.”

  “That’s not enough!”

  “My lord, zealous friars incurred great dangers to preserve these precious testimonies.” The friar bent his head. “I apologize for their incomplete and damaged state.”

  “So you should.”

  The old monk crossed himself and retreated quickly.

  Sigefroi exerted all his control not to rip the scroll and book to shreds. Did the little hellcat play him for the fool? Who was she, and what did she want with him? He felt used, manipulated. Sigefroi couldn’t stand being played.

  Should he believe dusty records, or the woman he loved? For he knew now that he had fallen hopelessly in love with her. She occupied his mind so completely that he couldn’t imagine bedding any other. He’d remained chaste while she was indisposed and had only her well-being in mind.

  He hadn’t imposed his personal needs upon her. Until last night, which had proven particularly rewarding, when Melusine had come to him of her own volition. He never felt happier than when he was with her.

  Melusine had brought him wealth, given him a family. She supported his ambitions and spurred him on to become powerful and respected. She’d even designed his fortress. How could he doubt her against a dusty scroll? She had great personal wealth and beauty and didn’t need him. Did she do all this for love? Or did she have darker motives? But he couldn’t imagine what these other motives could be.

  Sigefroi always suspected that Melusine had lied to him in some measure. Did he dare confront her with his discovery? His blood cooled at the idea that he could lose her in the bargain. No. He would rather face the fiercest enemy on the battlefield than endanger this fragile happiness. After all, what did it matter if she wasn’t a princess? As long as no one else found out...