Dare to Love (38 page)

I was still in a daze when Klaus, one of the footmen, came in with the first of my bags, and Minne appeared a few minutes later to help me unpack. Seventeen years old, shy, demure, Minne was as efficient as she was pretty, a dreamy-eyed charmer who blushed and lowered her eyes when the strapping and sternly attractive Klaus returned with the rest of the bags. I suspected a downstairs romance was blooming, a suspicion that was confirmed when Klaus left the room and Minne sighed wistfully.

After I unpacked, I explored the palace more thoroughly, took a leisurely bath and selected my gown for the evening. Although it was still too early to expect Phillipe, I began to dress, putting on a deep rose silk with a provocatively low bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves. Minne proved herself extremely gifted with hair, arranging my ebony locks in a sculptured roll and affixing a pale white rose above my temple.

I stood up to examine myself in the mirror.

“Thank you, Minne,” I said. “You've done a marvelous job. You're a treasure. And I've a feeling Klaus thinks so, too.”

She blushed prettily, lowering her eyes again. I smiled and told her I was going to stroll in the gardens for a while and wouldn't be needing her any more that evening. Minne curtsied and left, perhaps to search for her handsome footman, and I went downstairs into the gardens. The setting sun spangled the lake with shimmering silver-gold sunbursts, and the pale blue sky was gradually darkening. I strolled down the formal paths, inhaling the fragrance of roses, serenaded by the soft splashing of the fountains.

It was so beautiful, so serene. Shadows began to lengthen like bolts of dark blue-gray velvet, and a cool breeze drifted over the water, causing leaves to rustle quietly. Across the lake, the sprawling palace was bathed in dark gold for a few moments, and then the sun vanished and it was shrouded in shadows that deepened from gray to hazy purple. Strolling down another path, I thought about the students who had given me such a rousing welcome earlier, and I thought about Phillipe, so young, so polite. But most of all I thought about the shy, enigmatic king who had turned Barivna into such a wonderland of beauty and culture.

King Karl was forty-six years old, a very private person who eschewed all pomp and ceremony and rarely showed himself in public. He devoted his life to art and architecture and to the university. Although his love for beautiful women was well known, he had never married, not even to produce an heir. I wondered why, and so did most of Europe. His failure to marry was a mystery to all, and there had been a great deal of speculation. Karl's gentility and generosity were well known, but the man himself remained a mystery.

As I started back toward the palace I heard a horse cantering up the drive. I wondered who could be calling. It was still early for Phillipe, who in any event would have come by carriage. The horse stopped. I heard a curt, harsh order, then the sound of boots on the steps. As I stepped into the front hall, Otto, the butler, was just coming out of the small front parlor. He seemed disturbed, but when he caught sight of me he straightened his shoulders and resumed his customary, unperturbed manner to inform me that a Captain Heinrich Schroder wished to see me and was waiting in the parlor.

“Thank you, Otto. Wait a moment and then show him into the drawing room. You may bring brandy a little later on.”

Otto nodded, and I went on into the sumptuously appointed drawing room. Captain Heinrich Schroder. Why would a military man be calling on me? I had the feeling it was not merely a friendly visit to welcome me to Barivna. Stepping over to one of the windows and pulling back the rich silver-gray drape, I struck a deliberately casual pose, slowly turning around as Otto brought Captain Schroder into the room and announced him.

“Captain Schroder,” I said politely, giving him a brief nod.

Schroder clicked his heels together and bowed curtly. Otto left the room, and the captain stood erect, his white helmet with its stiff red crest held under one arm. He stared at me with blue-gray eyes that seemed to smolder with hostility. His light brown hair was clipped very short, his skull visible beneath the fuzz. His nose was large, his mouth wide and full, a cruel mouth designed to curl thinly at the corners. A jagged scar ran from the edge of his right cheekbone down to his jaw—apparently a saber scar, famous as a symbol of Prussian virility.

“Won't you be seated, Captain Schroder?” I said in French.

“I prefer to stand.” He answered in German.

His voice was deep, a harsh, gutteral rumble that seemed to grate as it rose from his chest. Six feet tall and heavy-set without being stocky, he exuded an aura of coarseness and brutal strength. His black knee boots were highly glossed, and his white breeches fit like a second skin, tightly stretched over long, muscular legs and left no doubt as to his generous physical endowments. His long-sleeved forest green tunic had a tight collar trimmed with gold braid. Gold epaulettes rested on his broad shoulders.

“I assume this is not a social call,” I remarked, still speaking French.

“No, it is not a social call,” he said, this time in French. “I am Captain of the Royal Guard. I have come to order you to leave Barivna at once.”

“Indeed?”

I looked at him with cool, level eyes, refusing to be intimidated.

“I don't like your manner, Captain Schroder, and I certainly don't like your choice of words. No one orders me to do anything. I was invited to Barivna by King Karl. I rather doubt that he sent you here.”

Schroder smiled, the wide mouth spreading, curling up at the corners as I knew it would. It was the cruelest smile I had ever seen, calculated to make the blood run cold. No doubt he smiled just such a smile when he ran an enemy through with his saber; or when he raped a young, helpless maiden—activities I felt sure he had indulged in frequently. Schroder was clearly sadistic, a brute who thrived on cruelty.

“No, Karl did not send me,” he said. “He knows nothing of this call.”

“I didn't think so.”

“It is my job to look after his safety.”

“And I present a threat?”

“Your presence here is an agitation, a dangerous agitation. The students are already unruly and rebellious. We have had to put them down several times already, using harsher measures each time. Your presence in Barivna can only cause more unrest.”

“I fail to see your reasoning, Captain Schroder.”

“There was a disturbance in town only this afternoon, a near riot caused by your arrival. The students went wild, shouting, charging your carriage like a band of ruffians, disturbing the peace.”

“It was a harmless display.”

“It could have turned into a riot. There could have been serious injuries. We cannot risk another such outbreak.”

“We?”

“The Royal Guard. I told you, I am in charge of all military personnel in Barivna. I receive my orders directly from Sturnburg.”

“And you were ordered to send me away,” I said.

“Precisely.”

“I'm afraid you've wasted your time, Captain Schroder. I came here to open King Karl's new theater, and I've no intention of leaving until the King himself asks me to leave.”

“You are making a mistake, Elena Lopez.”

“Am I?”

“A mistake that could be quite costly.”

There was menace in his manner and his voice. Those blue-gray eyes looked at me with smoldering hostility so intense that I couldn't help but feel a tremor of alarm. I could understand his wanting to force me to leave Barivna, but I couldn't understand that active hostility. Heinrich Schroder was a dangerous man, vicious, sadistic, and he hated me. That had been apparent from the moment he swaggered into the room. But why?

Otto chose that moment to enter with a crystal decanter of brandy and two glasses on a tray. He set the tray down, straightened up and looked at me for instructions.

“Thank you, Otto,” I said. “That will be all.”

Otto left, and I indicated the brandy. Placing his helmet on the table, Schroder took hold of the decanter, uncapped it and poured a glassful. The brandy glass was large, but it looked extremely fragile with those large, brutal fingers curled around it. He lifted it to his lips, tilted his head back and tossed the brandy down in one gulp. He filled the glass again, looking at me with cold calculation now, the smile flickering.

“You are very obstinate, Madamoiselle.”

“I don't like bullies.”

“You are a fool. I could crush you.”

“I rather doubt that.”

“Sturnburg won't tolerate another of Karl's whores at this point. He has already spent a fortune redecorating this palace, and we have no doubt that he is prepared to pay lavishly for your services.”

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Captain Schroder.”

Schroder tossed down another glass of brandy and set the glass on the tray. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at me as though I were an insect he contemplated squashing.

“You are very beautiful,” he remarked. “I can see why Karl is so enamored. If I had the price, I would not mind having you myself, but I am sure I could not afford you.”

“There's not enough money in the world,” I assured him. “I suggest you leave now, Captain, before I'm forced to call the footmen and have them throw you out.”

“No need. I should not want them injured in the attempt.”

Schroder picked up his helmet and held it stiffly in his arm. It made the picture of the brutal Hun complete.

“You intend to stay?” he asked.

“I intend to stay.”

Schroder's mouth curled once more in that sadistic smile, and his gray-blue eyes were filled with savage amusement, as though he were contemplating some especially delightful cruelty.

“You are going to regret your decision, Elena Lopez. I personally shall see that you regret it.”

I pointed toward the door. Schroder hesitated.

“One thing more: I would advise you not to mention our little discussion to anyone, particularly young Du Gard. It would only make things all the more unpleasant for you.”

“In other words, you don't want the King to find out about it.”

“Karl is a fool, too. Sturnburg will tolerate fools just so long.”

“Goodbye, Captain Schroder.”

Schroder clicked his heels together again, executed another stiff bow and left the room, the fringe on his epaulettes shimmering. I could hear his boots stamping on the marble tiles, and a few moments later I heard his horse galloping away down the drive. What a dreadful person he was. If the other guardsmen were anything like Schroder, it was no wonder there was so much unrest in Barivna. He had come to menace, to threaten, to try and frighten me into leaving, but I knew full well that his power was limited. As long as Karl remained on the throne, neither Schroder nor any of his men would dare harm me. Common sense told me that it had all been a grand bluff.

Nevertheless, a feeling of uneasiness remained. I was shaken by his visit, far more shaken than I cared to admit.

XXVIII

I was always nervous before a performance, but on this night the tension was worse than usual. I had created a new dance in King Karl's honor, a lively, graceful waltz with a touch of fandango, and I had had only a week of rehearsals. The musicians were marvelous, but I was still unsure of myself. The curtain was to go up in half an hour, and when I looked through the peek hole I could see that the sumptuous new theater was almost filled—with the exception of two rows near the front, reserved, no doubt, for a group who would arrive later on.

I went back to my dressing room and tried to calm down. I kept telling myself that the performance would go well. Once the house lights were dimmed and the music began and I started to dance, the nervous tension would dissolve as it always did. It was the interminable waiting that caused apprehension. Try as I might, I couldn't shake the feeling that something disastrous was going to happen tonight. I had felt it ever since I arrived at the theater. How I wished Millie had been there to cheer me up with her bright chatter.

Standing before the mirror, I examined myself with a critical eye. I had done my hair in the customary French roll, fastening a purple velvet flower above my temple. My make-up—pale mauve shadow on the lids, a faint pink rouge on my cheeks, a soft pink on my lips—was more subtle than the usual stage make-up. The seamstress had done a marvelous job on my costume, a shimmering creation of vivid purple silk aglitter with shiny black spangles. The low bodice was trimmed with purple ostrich feather, as were the sleeves, and there was a row of ostrich feather around the hem of the full, swirling skirt as well.

Picking up the exquisite black lace fan I would use in lieu of castanets, I toyed with it nervously. I had been in Barivna for ten days, and I had yet to meet the King. He hadn't sent for me, and Phillipe wasn't even certain that King Karl would attend the performance. If he did come, he would slip into the Royal Box unobtrusively. The King had sent warm messages through Phillipe, telling me how pleased he was that I had come to Barivna, saying he hoped I found Chez Elena satisfactory. But ever since my arrival he had remained closed up in his palace, available only to a few intimates. Was something wrong? Was he sorry that he had sent for me? Was he worried that my presence might indeed prove “a dangerous agitation” to the students?

The students. I smiled to myself. I had seen no more of Captain Schroder, and I had seen his soldiers only when I went for my afternoon drives in the magnificent carriage the King had provided, but the students were very much in evidence. Almost every night a group of them assembled under my balcony to serenade me, and, of course, I asked them in for refreshments each time. They were a boisterous group, filling the elegant drawing room with hearty laughter, and several of them had become my friends, calling on me whenever they could. Chez Elena was already more popular than any of the beer gardens, and I found myself conducting a salon for budding young poets and painters and philosophers.