Castle of the Wolf (6 page)

With surprise, she saw flustered color blossom on his cheeks. “I…er…well…” He turned and threw the woman behind him an imploring look. “I…”

In the distance Cissy heard strange, uneven tapping.
Tap-dam, tap-dam
.

Graf von Wolfenbach’s color deepened, and his hand patting became slightly frantic. He looked back at her, gulped and plastered a forced smile on his face. “I am not…um…exactly the master of the Castle of Wolfenbach.”

The tapping sounds stopped. “No,” a new voice said from behind Cissy. “
I
am the master of the Castle of Wolfenbach.”

Cissy’s hand slipped from the Graf s grasp. Slowly she turned in the direction of that new voice, dark and compelling.

The man was tall and as lean as a greyhound. Wavy dark hair fell into his strong-boned face, almost into his burning eyes. A sneer twisted his mouth as he stood in the middle of the vast hall, arms crossed in front of his chest. Cissy’s gaze wandered over his body, over his shabby, dusty clothes, over the twist of his hip that rested the weight on his sound right leg and relieved the wooden left.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “
I
am the master of the Castle of Wolfenbach.”

Chapter 4

Cissy blinked.

If he was aiming at impersonating the villain from a gothic novel, he was succeeding rather nicely. Of course, the overall effect could still be heightened by, say, a knife dripping blood or a polished skull.
No, that’s
Hamlet.
To be or not to be.

From her thawing toes a sharp pain shot up her body. She surely had envisioned her arrival at her castle differently.

Cissy frowned.

Her
castle.

To be or not to be, indeed.

She looked the man straight in the eyes and slowly lifted her brows. “Actually,” she said sweetly, “that’s not quite true.
I
am the master of the Castle of Wolfenbach now. Or rather,”—she gave him a beaming smile and hoped it would annoy him just as much as her throbbing toes were annoying her—“its mistress.”

The rebuttal came in a feral bark. “The hell you are!”

“Fenris!” Graf von Wolfenbach admonished.

Fenris? What a peculiar name!
But she had to admit the name fit the man who was glowering at her, his face blacker than a thundercloud. Fenris, the demon wolf of Norse mythology, of whom the prophecy said he would one day swallow the sun and bring about the end of the world.

“Have you invited her here, Father?” The demon wolf rounded on the Graf. How such a charming man could have fathered such an ill-mannered son was quite beyond her.

A man might be the Archangel Michael personified, and his son might grow into a good for-nothing!

Cissy suppressed a shiver as she remembered her brother’s words. At the time she had thought his worries about rakehells or worse exaggerated and unfounded, but now she was no longer so sure. However, she suspected that even in the Black Forest, rakehells would dress more stylishly than Fenris von Wolfenbach did.

“If you have,” he growled, “you can just get rid of her again.”

So, no rakehell then, just terribly ill-mannered. A perfect churl.

She sighed. “I believe our family solicitor announced my impending arrival to Graf von Wolfenbach. He also informed him that according to my late father’s will…” A wave of grief swamped her, and she had to swallow hard before she could continue. “He informed him that I’m now holding the deeds to the castle.”

Fenris von Wolfenbach stared at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head. If possible, his expression darkened even more. “What kind of rubbish is this?” he snapped. “This castle has been in the possession of our family for several hundred years.”

His mother put her hand on his arm. “Fenris, dear…”

With an impatient sound, he shook her hand off and continued to glare at Cissy.

It occurred to her that she would be forced to wed this lout if she wanted to hold on to the castle, if she wanted to start the new life she so craved. Her heart sank. How could she bear to be married to a man who even snarled at his own mother?

An unpleasant smile twisted his lips. “That silenced you, didn’t it?” Turning, he snapped at his parents, “Will you please get her out of here!”

Cissy straightened. She had not come this far to be thwarted by a man who didn’t even know the basic rules of polite behavior. She took a deep breath and forced her voice to remain calm. “According to the papers I have in my possession, my father came into possession of Wolfenbach several years ago.”

His snort broke the uneven sounds of his steps as he walked back toward the door from whence he had come. “Impossible.”

“Fenris…” his father began.

“He came into possession of it in the autumn of 1811.”

That brought the man to an abrupt halt. He whirled around so fast that for a moment Cissy thought he would lose his balance. And then she watched, her heart in her mouth, as he strode toward her, his eyes blazing green fire.

“No!” He grabbed her shoulders, shook her. “No, that’s not possible! You’re lying!” He breathed heavily, as if he had run a mile, and dark color splashed across his cheeks. “No!” He shook her again, and his fingers gripped her hard enough to hurt.

“Are you mad?” she gasped, horrified by this unexpected reaction. She had certainly managed to rattle him. “Let go of me!” Sudden fear cramped her stomach as she tried to fight against him. But he only dug his fingers deeper into her arm.

“You’re lying!” he snarled, and in that moment he indeed looked like a demon wolf, wild and feral and totally out of control.

Panic constricted Cissy’s throat. “Let go of me,” she whispered.

“Fenris!”

Cissy caught sight of the horrified faces of his parents. They had taken hold of his arms and tried to pull him away from her. Yet the more they pulled, the more he tightened his grip.

“You’re lying! Go on, admit it!” He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. A vein pulsed at the side of his neck, straining against the skin. “You’re
lying
!”

“Fenris!”

“
I am not!
” she shouted, and shoved at his chest. Her heart hammered in her ears, and tears of shock were running down her cheeks. “I am not!”

Breathing heavily, he finally let go of her and took a step back. He shook his head. “You’re lying,” he muttered. “Lying!” He brushed the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Fenris…” His father put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and took another step back.

“You’re lying.”

“What is the matter with you?” With shaking fingers, Cissy clumsily wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You must be mad!
Mad!
” Shivers gripped her whole body.

“Oh, my poor girl.” The Gräfin put an arm around her shoulders. “My poor child.” She rubbed Cissy’s arm. “Everything will be all right, I promise.”

Yet Cissy did not avert her eyes from the woman’s crack-brained son. “I am the mistress of the Castle of Wolfenbach now,” she whispered. “I am.”

Fenris’s face twisted. “You’re lying.”

“She is not, son,” his father finally managed to cut in. The old man looked sad and tired, as if weighed down by an invisible burden. “We have never told you, but sixteen years ago, Wolfenbach was indeed sold to Lord Hailstone.”

Fenris von Wolfenbach’s head whipped around. His mouth opened, yet for once no sound emerged. He shook his head.

“Yes, it’s the truth.” Graf von Wolfenbach nodded and gave his son a sad smile. “Hailstone had no use for the property, so we could continue using it just as before. Just as if it still belonged to our family.”

All color drained from the young man’s face, leaving it deathly pale. “No,” he murmured. “No!” His expression changed, became imploring. “No, Father,
no
. Not Wolfenbach.” He looked at Cissy, swallowed. “No, it cannot be.” He swallowed again, and something like desperation flickered over his face. “No.” He shook his head.

“I am sorry.” The Graf patted his shoulder. “I asked my old friend Hailstone for help and he agreed to buy the castle when it was sold.”

Which would also explain her family’s money problems—the fact that her father could only afford one season for his only daughter, that George had to give up all thoughts of a tour through Europe.

Cissy closed her eyes.

In 1811 her father had bought a castle to help a friend. Why?

She opened her eyes and caught Fenris von Wolfenbach’s glittering stare. He looked as if he might be sick any moment. Or burst into tears.

Abruptly he turned away, and with awkward strides hurried out of the hall.

Graf von Wolfenbach heaved a deep sigh. He wiped his hand across his brow before he turned to Cissy with a weary expression. “I am so very sorry, my dear. I had not expected my son’s reaction to be so…so intense.” He shook his head. “It has come as a shock for him.”

“I would like to go to a room and freshen up,” Cissy whispered. Inside, she was still shaking, tiny shivers running through her flesh and bones. Wearily, she closed her eyes. Why did her life have to change? She yearned to seek refuge in her father’s library, to bury her face against his housecoat and breathe in the scents of pipe smoke and old books. But…

Never, never again.

Cissy shuddered.

She was all alone.

~*~

The room she had been given looked as if it belonged in Sleeping Beauty’s palace: dust everywhere, and old cobwebs adorned the corners, hung in thin, gray vines from the four-poster bed. In one corner stood a small stove, ashen-colored with dust and dirt. On the floor in front of it, the footsteps of the servant who had brought her to this place were clearly visible. After wrestling with the stove, he had finally apologized and promised to get some firewood.

For now, it was so cold in the room that ice flowers bloomed on the cracked mirror on the wall. They partly hid black splotches of old age, which resembled pressed spiders.

Cissy shivered and wrapped her pelisse tighter around herself. She couldn’t help herself—she felt as if she were caught in a particularly nasty gothic novel. A derelict castle, a maniac master—well, ex-master, who had, upon the housekeeper’s inquiry, sent his guest to what was obviously one of the most run-down rooms in the whole bloody castle!
The only thing missing now is a skeleton in the closet or a ghost coming through the wall while holding its head under its arm.

Well.

Even without the skeleton and the ghost it was bad enough. The heavy hangings on the bed were riddled with holes. Here and there were glints in the dark material, as if it had been shot through with golden thread. “Hm.” Her interest roused despite herself, Cissy stepped nearer. She could just discern a golden floral pattern in the dark background. But time had destroyed the delicate pattern; the golden thread had become unraveled or had, in places, totally disappeared.

The tip of her boot clonked against china.

Cissy looked down.

The chamber pot. Cracked, too, a handle missing. China the color of old ivory, and depicted on it an Arcadian scene in pink, which reminded her of French wallpaper.

She squatted down.

“I bet it was once a rather nice chamber pot.” As she tugged at the remnants of the handle, the pot slid out from under the bed—and revealed its ghastly contents: the remains of a half rotten mouse.

With a shriek, Cissy fell onto her behind and scrambled backward.
Now, here’s the skeleton at last.
Sighing, she picked herself up and rubbed her aching derrière.

She scanned the room, tapped her foot on the floor. “How the heck am I supposed to sleep in this hellhole tonight?” Her voice echoed ominously from the walls. “So this crack-brained fellow thinks he can wear me down like this? Ha!” Agitatedly, she brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face.

Once more she looked around the room. She clicked her tongue, wriggled her nose; and then, a slow smile spread over her face.
The cabbage-headed dod wants a fight.
Gingerly, she sank down on the corner of the bed.
He shall have his fight
. She folded her hands primly in her lap and awaited the servant’s return.

~*~

Almost an hour later she was shown into a dark-paneled drawing room, to where the Graf and the Gräfin had retired. The sight of her travel habit caused them to raise their brows. Yet instead of commenting, the Graf
just cleared his throat and asked gruffly whether she would like some refreshments. He indicated a plate holding a selection of small cakes, and continued, “Wouldn’t you like some Prussian coffee to warm you up after your…um…journey? Rambach, bring a cup for Miss Fussell. Miss Fussell, this is Rambach, my son’s butler.”

The old, white-haired man sketched her a bow. “
Gnädiges Fräulein
.” The way he squinted at her made Cissy suspect he was terribly nearsighted.

She sat down on one of the large red armchairs. Giving the butler a small smile, she folded her hands in her lap. “Rambach, when you get the cup, would you please tell the housekeeper to come and see me?”

“
Gnädiges Fräulein
?” He looked at her blankly.

Her smile intensified. “The housekeeper. I would like to talk to her.”

He threw a cautious glance at the Graf, then nodded very slowly. “Yes,
gnädiges Fräulein
. Immediately.”

The von Wolfenbachs exchanged a look. When the door had closed behind the butler, the Graf cleared his throat and harrumphed several times. “You…um…wish to talk to the housekeeper?”

“Yes, indeed.” Keeping the smile firmly fixed on her face, Cissy reached for one of the little cakes. She had run her father’s household for over a decade, and she would be damned if she would now let the servants of her new home get the better of her!
Courage, Celia, courage
.

While she munched on the cake, she forced herself to uphold her cheerful countenance and pretended it was absolutely normal to sit there still in her rumpled traveling clothes. However, the conversation remained stilted. The Graf
and the
Gräfin appeared to be embarrassed, and small wonder with such a bugbear of a son! The Gräfin asked her about the journey, and Cissy told a little about her time with Mrs. Chisholm.