Awaiting the Moon (46 page)

“My poor sister! I should have taken her from this awful place! I should have protected her, but instead I stayed… to my shame…” He fell to his knees on the floor and wept, beating on the rug with one fist.

Appalled, Elizabeth raced to his side and knelt beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “Count, it was not your doing. You could not have known—”

“I should have! I should have guessed. But I didn’t understand what was happening to me.

Sometimes…” He gazed into her eyes and clutched her hand, his forehead creased in puzzlement. “Sometimes it was as if I was in a dream, and as if it was all happening to someone else and I was only watching, a ghostly spectator, not in my body at all,” he said, his words spilling from him in a rapid stream. “I… I was afraid I was going mad, and sometimes I wasn’t even sure if I was doing what I thought I was doing. Am I mad?”

She hadn’t intended to tell anyone anything, preferring to leave that up to Nikolas, but it seemed to her that given the difficult nature of Christoph’s relationship with his uncle, that the information was best coming from another source. Nikolas and his nephew had enough to work out without needing to go over all of this. “Count Christoph, Bartol Liebner was an evil, evil man. His purpose seemed to be to foment trouble in your family… to break the bonds of your close ties. He had been planning and devising his scheme for many years. What his original plan was, I do not know; I think his ultimate objective was to wrest control of this family from your uncle and take it over himself, though I cannot imagine how he thought it possible. But this is what I know to be true; lie was drugging your poor aunt, and he was beginning to drug Charlotte… and I think… I think he was drugging you.” She explained what she had discovered, getting the book down from the shelf and laying it on the carpeted floor. She pointed out to him the references that made clear what hallucinations and aberrant behavior could be blamed on such concoctions.

He calmed and became thoughtful, his beautiful face shadowed by terrible knowledge. It reminded her of Nikolas’s face, and she could finally see the resemblance between them. He stood, regaining his detached demeanor, and helped her to her feet. “Thank you, Miss Stanwycke. I think… I think I have much to apologize to my uncle for. In truth, I thought he was responsible for my mother’s death, and even my father’s. My… my aunt told me that, but now… now I realize how gripped she was by that monster’s lies, and how I aided by being unwilling to go to him, man to man, and ask him for the truth. I will never be so misled again.”

He had not once said Countess Gerta’s name, Elizabeth realized, and perhaps that was better.

“He was a horrible, jealous, deranged man. He was trying to sow the seeds of this family’s destruction.”

“He would have succeeded if not for you.”

“And your uncle,” Elizabeth added softly, not willing to take credit for all when without Nikolas, the night would have ended in tragedy for both Charlotte and Gerta.

The count nodded, then bowed and slipped away.

IT was very late; moonlight had guided him home. Nikolas wearily gave up his horse to the stable boy. He had prevailed, as he knew he would, in the village and had quelled Wilhelm Brandt’s insurrection when he revealed his daughter’s cruel lover, freeing Magda from the brute’s domination. His bandaged shoulder ached from the long and tedious day. He felt sure he would collapse if he let down his guard, and yet he could not even feel relief yet, there was so much that needed to be done. There was no doubt in his mind that the moment he was in the house he would be beset by questions and problems and dilemmas at every turn. What to do about Christoph? And Gerta? And Charlotte?

But instead, there was an eerie calm. Adele and Count Delacroix were closeted together with Gerta, he was told, in Uta’s suite. Frau Liebner was sitting with Charlotte, who still slept, but with an encouraging pink tinge to her pallor. No one knew where Christoph was. Cesare told him all this as Heinrich undressed Nikolas and tended to his wound, replacing the bloody bandages, since he had done much harm by riding when it was so fresh. It had taken all of his endurance not to allow the villagers to see that his shoulder was wounded, for he wanted no one to even begin to make the connection between the Count von Wolfram and the great silver wolf that had driven the hunters back twice that night.

The day had been so long and it was late; Cesare suggested he retire and let everything wait until morning. But that moment there was a rap at the door.

Cesare answered it, and Count Delacroix slipped in past him, approaching Nikolas diffidently.

“Are you well, Nikolas?” he asked, his brow furrowed and his silvery hair glinting in the light.

“As well as can be expected. I will recover.” Nikolas watched the man, wondering who among the household knew his secret.

“I will not keep you. I just thought I would give you some comforting news. It seems to me that Countess Gerta, though weak and ravaged by the occurrences of the past, will eventually recover, physically at least. It will take time and care, but she will have that and more.”

“Good.”

Hesitantly, the older man bowed and said, “There is something of great import I wish to discuss with you… but not now,” he hastily added at the end of his sentence, perhaps sensing Nikolas’s great weariness. “I will just say that… the Countess Adele and I have been talking while we watched over her sister. It appears that she has long been under the mistaken impression that I held a degree of warmth towards the Countess Gerta, and that… in short, Count, I have… I have asked the Countess Adele to be my wife, and she has agreed. We would like to marry and then make our wedding journey to Italy. With your permission, of course.”

Nikolas sighed, wearily. Perhaps it would be a good thing, but he could not imagine how he would deal with the household without his most valuable sister, and with Gerta, Charlotte, Christoph, Eva, and Jakob to take care of.

“And we would like to take Adele’s sister with us. We both feel that a change of scene from the terror of this last while, and the warmth of Italy, will do poor Gerta a world of good. I have… I have a sister there, and we could stay at her villa where a physician of her acquaintance also resides, my sister fancying herself ill often.”

Nikolas felt light-headed with relief that one problem, at least, had a tentative solution, but he merely nodded.

“I will leave you alone,” the count said, bowing and moving back to the door. “And we will speak of this tomorrow.”

Heinrich, seeing his master’s unutterable weariness, hastened even Cesare out of the room and turned down the bed. Nikolas crawled in, but after the candle was out he lay for a long time staring at the draped bed canopy. He had not dared to see Elizabeth; he had no right and could not bear the look in her eyes. She had seen him attack the dogs of the villagers, she had witnessed his animal behavior, and she would loathe him. Even if it was not so, with all she had done she was likely sleeping at this hour.

But… an idea crept into his brain, and once it had taken hold it would not release him. He could at least gaze at her as she slept; she would never need to know. One last time he could look upon her lovely face and bid her adieu from his heart. Seized by the notion, he knew there would be no sleep for him until he acceded. His whole body aching, quivering with pain and weariness, he slipped down the well-known passages, remembering every sweet moment of their time together. Her room beckoned him as a haven of warmth and love… warmth he would never share again and love that had fled with the knowledge of what he was.

He silently slipped into her room, the waning moon lighting it faintly, and moved quietly to her bedside, where he could hear the even puff of her breath. He stood close, not daring to even reach out and touch. Her face was pale, and her chestnut hair was splayed splendidly across her snowy pillow. The covers were pushed back and he could see the rise and fall of her breast.

She would go back to England, no doubt. This castle was the scene of such terror for her, and in truth, Charlotte had learned so much she was ready for her future. There was nothing left for Elizabeth to do here. The sensible solution was to send Charlotte to England with Elizabeth as her companion and protector.

He must have sighed out loud, for her eyes flew open and she started up in her bed. He would have fled, but she had seen him and he forced himself to stay. The fear in her eyes broke him utterly, and though he never had cried before, he caught a sob in his throat and choked it back.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I just needed… I just needed to be sure you were… were well and sleeping. I will leave now. Please do not be frightened; I will never do this again, I promise you.” And yet he stood, filling his heart and soul with the sight of her, hungry for her in ways he could not understand, starving for one kind word of understanding, one morsel of forgiveness.

She gazed at him and her eyes went to his bandaged shoulder. “Are you… are you in pain?”

He nodded and saw in her eyes compassion rising, like a warm tide.

“Did you succeed in the village?”

He nodded again.

“I knew you would,” she said, a tinge of something like pride in her lovely voice.

Staring steadily at her, he felt the weariness overtake him and his knees buckled. With no strength left, with every bit of his stamina used, and with an unutterable pain in his heart that hurt so much more than the arrow in his shoulder, he sank to his knees at her bedside and bowed his head.

Elizabeth felt the tears stream down her cheeks as she watched the fierce and powerful count sink to his knees, his skin gray from weariness, his bandage bloody. “Nikolas,” she whispered and slipped from the bed, swooping down on him and taking him in her arms. She rocked him against her and then tried to raise him. “Come, sit on the bed for a minute. You’ve worn yourself out.”

“How can you bear to touch me?” he murmured, shivering under her arm around his bare shoulders.

She couldn’t answer him because she didn’t know. But as she helped him up and guided him to her bed, she began to understand herself and her feelings toward him. She made him lie down, pulled covers over him, and lay beside him, finding the courage to put her arms around his cold chest to try to warm him.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered and pressed his lips into the hollow of her throat, where her pulse throbbed.

But she had no fear. Even in his wolf form, with fury burning in his silvery eyes, she had known herself to be safe. He was still Nikolas, and he had taken her into his circle of protection. As the leader of his family and guardian of his pack, he would defend them to the death, but he was no more mindlessly vicious than the animals he emulated. A wolf killed, from her understanding, for food and for protection, but never for revenge, nor wantonly… as Bartol Liebner had. Who was more the animal between the two men?

“Nikolas,” she whispered, holding him close.

His lips sought hers and she allowed it, finding herself tasting him, wanting him, loving him still, with just as much fervor as before, just as much ardent desire and deep affection. And more… there were no secrets left between them, so their hearts were open to each other. But he was weak and a few kisses were all he could manage, his breathing ragged and his body shivering with weariness.

“Do you believe they will all recover?” he murmured. “They have been through so much.”

“Your family,” she whispered into his ear, “for all of its turmoil and trouble, has the most powerful bond of any family I have ever seen.”

He told her that in his last conversation with Bartol Liebner the man had revealed his thwarted plans of wedding one of the sisters, Adele or Gerta. Together they postulated that he had, perhaps verging on madness himself, thought he could marry Charlotte and gain a measure of stature in the family. As mad as it sounded, it was all they could imagine. Never would anyone know the whole truth now, for gone forever was the fell presence of Bartol Liebner.

She talked for a while as he nestled close to her and told him about her conversation with Christoph and what she had discovered of the source of his conflict with his uncle, and his shame over it all now. She told him the sad tale of how easily Gerta had tricked Uta and Frau Liebner for the second time in one night; it had been as simple as her telling them she needed to relieve herself. They had thought her safe, but she had slipped away, still deluded by the powerful dose of the atropine concoction Bartol had stealthily administered in her tea that evening. The two old women were full of shame, but Elizabeth had tried to soothe their disgrace by telling them the truth—no one else would have done anything differently than they had.

He then told her that Count Delacroix had proposed to Adele, been accepted, and that they intended to use their wedding journey to Italy as a time for Gerta to recover, away from Wolfram Castle, and away from Christoph.

“I think that’s wise,” Elizabeth said quietly, staring into the dark, the moonlight gone from the room and silence a blanket over the whole castle. “He is deeply ashamed and scarred. It is best if they don’t see each other for a long while, just so they can separately heal. He is mostly concerned for his younger sister now, and the effect of all this on her.”

There was only the faintest vestige of light left in the room. Nikolas gazed up at her as she sheltered him and curtained him with her long hair, his eyes blazing with weary warmth. “I wish I had loved you one last time before…” he murmured, but then his eyes closed before he could even finish.

She held her breath in fear, but he merely fell into a deep sleep. She held him close. “I do too, Nikolas,” she whispered. “I love you and I always will. I wish…” But she couldn’t say it. She wished they could marry. She wished she could bear his children. She wished she could be with him always.

THE room was flooded with light and Fanny had already been there, Nikolas thought, as he awoke. He was better, stronger again; though the pain still throbbed in his shoulder and it itched fiercely, it was mending. One of the benefits of his wolf heritage was quick healing and a powerful constitution. He could smell the coffee on the table and his stomach growled in hunger. But he was not going to move, for Elizabeth lay in his arms, her face trustingly close to him, her lips softly pursed against the deep breath of sleep.