“Yes, sir. Stefan. You will spank me, and I believe I may love it.”
“Good enough, my lady.”
My first glimpse of Richtenholst comes perhaps an hour later as we round the grassy summit to the range of hills that lies between us and our destination. The countryside is spread out below us, a deep, fertile valley, the bountiful nature of this land obvious even in this inhospitable season. The keep itself dominates the landscape, perching halfway up the mountainside on the opposite side of the valley. The castle is constructed of pale sandstone, which takes on an almost golden hue in the fading winter light. A red pennant flies above it, flapping in the distant breeze. The light is still good enough to make out the moat that surrounds the keep, a sparkling ribbon of silvers and greys. Tiny ant-like buildings are scattered across the surrounding lands, close enough to draw on the protection of the castle whilst still proclaiming their proud independence.
“Do the villagers live outside the castle walls the whole year round?” At Hohenzollern only the most intrepid or the most foolhardy would venture far from the solid walls of the outer bailey.
“Many do, though they would be quick to seek protection inside were we to be attacked.”
“I see. They feel safe in their homes then?”
“Of course. This is a peaceful region and I intend for it to remain so. That is why I was persuaded to join Gerhard’s force when it became necessary to ride against Hohenzollern. The excesses of Princess Susanna had to cease.”
I do see that there was a problem, and I can even appreciate the need for the solution which transpired, but I cannot let his mention of Susanna’s culpability remain unchallenged.
“You should direct your justice at Lord Eberhard. I have told you, the attacks on neighbouring provinces were none of Susanna’s doing.”
“The emperor and his court will determine the facts and take whatever action is required.” Already Stefan is spurring his horse on, quickening the pace now that his home is in sight. The rest of the column at our rear do likewise. All are keen to seek their beds this night. Stefan’s rough caress of my body ceases. He takes the reins in both hands as Hades breaks into an easy canter.
It is full dark by the time we approach the outer dwellings but the populace are at their doors to greet us. Their lord has been recognised in the distance, and they are glad to see him safe home. Occasional cheers ring out, spontaneous clapping. Stefan is liked and respected here, and again the imageof Lord Eberhard comes to mind. He was despised and hated, but above all feared. Never would the peasants of Hohenzollern have interrupted their evening meal to see him safe home.
The great gates of the castle are opened to us as we grow near, the drawbridge lowered to offer access. We clatter across the wooden bridge and into the bailey, where a flurry of grooms hurtle from the stables to grab the reins of our mounts.
Stefan flings his reins to one lad, who catches the flying strands with an alacrity that speaks of long practice.
“See Hades settled, Con, if you please.” Already my husband is swinging his leg from the saddle. His descent is agile, and moments later he is reaching up for me to slide into his arms. Once my feet are in contact with the flattened earth of the courtyard, he steadies me and turns me to face the castle entrance where it would seem his entire household is pouring forth to bid him welcome. The charge is led by two boys, aged perhaps nine or ten years, who bound whooping across the bailey.
Stefan steps forward and bends to encircle each one with an arm as they reach him, their own smaller limbs wrapping round his neck. He says something to each in turn, though his voice is muffled and I cannot pick out his words. The boys can though, and after the first flush of exuberance has passed they turn to face me, their features solemn.
Stefan straightens. “Alexander, Fabian, I have the honour of presenting to you Lady Natalia, the duchess of Richtenholst. My wife, and your new mama.”
The boys’ faces are agog. They look to each other, then at Stefan, their father it would seem, for confirmation of this incredible state of affairs. I share the sentiment. I have heard no mention up to now of sons, though I have never asked about Stefan’s family. Uncertain how to greet them, I settle for simply stretching out my hand.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Alexander, Fabian.”
Each boy takes my hand and shakes it, their manners impeccable. The taller one, Alexander, even overcomes his surprise sufficiently to execute a small though somewhat formal bow. He turns to his father, his expression one of discontent. My heart sinks; a resentful stepson is not a complication I had anticipated.
“Father, now that you have a wife, does this mean I am no longer required to aid you in removing your boots at night?” From the boy’s expression I do not believe he harbours any desire for a lightening of his responsibilities.
Stefan ruffles his hair, the gesture one of easy affection.
“Less of your insolence, lad. I’ll have need of your services for a good while yet so you will continue in your current duties and studies until Karl or I tell you different. Unless of course Lady Natalia also finds herself in need of your assistance, in which case I trust I can rely on you to treat her withevery courtesy.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” Reassured, I hope, that a new stepmama will not disrupt his relationship with his father, Alexander turns his attention to me once more. “What is your opinion of carrots, my lady?”
This conversation is not proceeding quite as I expected. I consider for a moment before answering. “I like them. Very much.”
The boy frowns and I wonder if I uttered the wrong answer. It would be a pity, but I had few clues to go on.
“I see. That is a relief as we have had an uncommonly good harvest this year and our storerooms are overflowing with them. We eat nothing else and I am heartily sick of carrot soup. Do you know any other ways to cook carrots?”
The culinary arts are not among my greatest strengths, but I fear this is not the time for needless humility. “I have some expertise in this matter. I believe I may be able to come up with something.”
My response appears satisfactory. Alexander nods and shifts his attention back to his father.
“I have practised my swordplay, as you instructed. I can best Fabian every time.” Alexander is seemingly no more inclined toward a humble disposition than I am. We should do very well together. I intend to work at it.
“You cannot!” The smaller boy tips up his chin, ready to take issue with such an outrageous claim. “I win at least half the time. And you only get the best of it at all because you are bigger than I am. I am faster, and more cunning.” The brave words are punctuated by a bout of frenzied arm waving, a mime of Fabian’s alleged expertise at swordplay if I am not mistaken.
