The journey to Richtenholst passes quickly. The duke and I have established a comfortable rapport. We chat, we ride in companionable silence, we eat together beside the campfires that Karl produces with little effort. He seems to just click his fingers and the flames burst forth to lick beneath a rabbit or duck or some other such fare collected on our route.
Often Karl and Berthe share our meal, the four of us at ease together while the rest of our entourage arrange themselves around us in protective circle to ward off predators of the four- or two-legged varieties. That said, Stefan does not appear unduly cautious, and his confidence has increased as we have neared his own lands.
We have made good time and Stefan tells me he expects to see the turrets of his mighty keep before sunset this evening. We will arrive after dark, but that is preferred to remaining on the road for a further night.
I have shared my husband’s bed, rolled up with him in his blankets to ward off the cold, covered only by a rough canvas. I have been warm enough, but Stefan is irritated by the lack of privacy. His caresses within the confines of our bedding are intimate, his kiss sweet and sensual, but he has not made love to me since we emerged from Mistress Lars’ cottage into the thin light of a wintry dawn, the morning after our wedding. My body was sore in places I had only just begun to discover, and even now, after two days on the road, the memories of that night are no less vivid.
Stefan has made no mention of my ridiculous naivety in believing myself to be anything other than an innocent virgin. In truth, I can hardly credit it myself. How could I have possibly imagined that my previous husband’s furtive, peremptory fumblings were anything more than that? I lacked experience, I never questioned, even though the gossip among ladies which I was privy to as a married woman bore no comparison to my own reality. I simply accepted my passionless, unfulfilled existence as my lot in life.
There is nothing of the passionless or unfulfilled about my new husband. He is, quite simply, magnificent. He is demanding, dominant, a man to be obeyed. But the reward for obedience is his dazzling company, his witty conversation, his ready smile. His touch is exquisite, promising infinite pleasure. But above all that, he is kind to me. He seems ready to like me. Perhaps to even love me.
I have been so incredibly lucky I should be offering up prayers to sweetMother Mary and all the saints to thank the heavens for my good fortune. Why, instead, am I burdened by such despair, such bleak, confused misery? Why can I not give myself over to my new life, to my new husband, and look forward to a rosy future as duchess of Richtenholst? Why, I might even be blessed with my own babies soon, to make my life complete.
I had assumed myself to be barren, but now I know the reason I never conceived. All that has changed, there is now every chance.
But my life is not complete. Will never be complete. I miss Sophia. I long for her, I worry and fret over her. I imagine her alone now, a small, bewildered, abandoned child among strangers. I hope the imperial court will be kind to her, for she needs a lot of love. She is now beyond my influence and my help, and perhaps has been since her father’s death. But whilst we remained at Hohenzollern I was close to her, I was a familiar presence. And if I am honest with myself, she gave me a sense of purpose. I felt needed.
Stefan enjoys me, but I doubt he needs anyone.
My plans to join a convent were driven by a pressing desire to remain close to Sophia, as well as a need for stability, for security. My life has always been aligned to that of a man, first my father, then each of my husbands, and my fortunes were dictated by theirs. I have been a daughter, a wife, then a widow, cast into the uncertain purgatory of relying on the charity and goodwill of others. No more of that. I want, need, the security of knowing that my future is my own, and not subject to the vagaries of fate. The cloister offered me that, and within the church I could envision some way of maintaining my precious connection to the little girl I have come to adore.
But no longer. Stefan offers me the security I crave and much besides, though the price is high. I have lost Sophia. There is nothing I can do to cling to her, our future was always out of my hands. I can only pray that she is safe and happy. She is not mine, she never was. My head knows that, the laws of this land tell me that. But my heart is not listening.
I no longer fear that Stefan would exact retribution against Sophia for her father’s actions. She is in Vienna, miles from us, but not beyond his reach were he so inclined. My husband is stern, but he is also a fair man. He would never hurt an innocent child. But neither could I expect him to sympathise, nor to help me to maintain contact with the daughter of his old enemy. In accepting me without the burden of my previous marriage as a spectre between us, we agreed to set the past aside. He has done that, and somehow I must do likewise. But it is so hard. I miss Sophia. I long for her. I always will.
“When we crest yonder hill, if the light holds, we should be able to see the castle. From there it is perhaps a two-hour ride.” Stefan’s low tone interrupts my private grieving, his warm breath feathering across my cheek as he leans down from his position in the saddle behind me.
I turn to him and manage to drum up a smile. In truth, he deserves more,but it is all I have for him.
He frowns at me, his expression one of concern. “Youwillbe happy there.”
“I know. I am looking forward to seeing it, my new home.”
“Indeed? You have a look of one about to ascend the gallows. Why so forlorn?”
He misses nothing. “I am not forlorn. I am—nervous.” This is not entirely untrue, I do harbour reservations about the warmth of my welcome. Stefan married me having had no prior discussion with his family. He has not shared the details of his household with me, but I assume he has kin awaiting his return to their hearth, and some of those will perhaps remember the events of twenty years ago. Even if they bear no malice they will at the very least be surprised to have a new bride thrust into their midst, and I know of no reason to assume my welcome is assured.
“Why nervous? Richtenholst needs a duchess. You will do admirably.”
“I will try my best to fit in, my lord.”
“You will fit in, and it will be effortless. My people will adore you. I should mention though, I make that six times you have omitted to use my given name. You know the rules, you have continually disobeyed them, and therefore we have a problem. I intend to avail myself of the first opportunity to rectify it.”
A sensual smile accompanies his ‘threat,’ but even so, I am indignant. “But, I am not naked. I thought the rule just applied to the times we are alone and…”
“A fair point, and one I will take into account. But you are to receive a thorough spanking as soon as we are alone. And if you insist, I will deliver it whilst you are naked.”
My bottom tightens, my quim already starting to moisten. I lean back against him as he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. Under the heavy fabric of his cloak that is draped around the pair of us, he cups my right breast with his left hand. He continues to control his mount one-handed as he palms my curves, first one side, then the other, his gloved fingers scraping across my nipples. The caress is even more erotic for its roughness, and both tips swell to rub against my clothing.
“You will love your spanking, little one. When we arrive, and we are settled, you will come to me and ask me for it.”
“My lord?”
“Ah, how you love to live dangerously. Your bottom will be so sore and I vow you will sleep on your stomach for the rest of this sennight. But still, you will ask me for it. You will say please, and when we are alone you will lie across our bed and raise your skirts for me. You will lift your bottom up for me to punish. Won’t you?”
I do not answer. Indeed, I cannot answer. My head is whirling withsensuous images and my quim is wet. He can do this just with words, and with a casual caress. How much more can he accomplish when he sets his mind to it?
“Won’t you, Tally?” Stefan’s tone has firmed, the shift so subtle as to be almost imperceptible. But I know.
