Chapter Twelve
A dim orange blaze could be seen from Pearl Tower of Winter Hill. Even after hours from when the fire was set, there was still a fiery glow beyond Terrington where Brennalyn’s house once stood. Friedrich stood with her on the balcony of the bedroom he’d assigned to her. The children were in suites in this same tower. While he stood at her back and she watched the home burn that she’d created for herself and the children, he let her cry in silence and mourn the loss. The moon rose behind them, painting the snowy moors a pale blue, a smooth, serene blanket over the land.
Their plan had gone well. After he helped her pack the children’s belongings and her own, she set out with Izzy and Denny in tow back to Terrington. He’d summoned Mikhail and many of the Bloodguard back to the cottage to fetch their things, then they set it ablaze.
By the time they’d returned to Winter Hill, saddled and mounted their horses, and followed the haze of black smoke rising in the afternoon sky, townspeople had gathered around the house in full conflagration. When Brennalyn ran up in a mad rush with her children beside her, he dutifully offered them shelter, as it was the duke’s responsibility to care for the people of Terrington. Conveniently.
“I am truly sorry about the printing press. I know its value to you. But it had to be destroyed.” He couldn’t take the chance of her scent mixed with the ink of her printing press lingering in the area. Only fire would eradicate it.
“It was my father’s printing press,” she said, voice steady despite what she watched in the distance.
“I know.”
She turned, tears streaking her cheeks. “How did you know?”
He’d been able to contain his rage today when he discovered her secret in the basement, only because she’d consented to move into his castle. She couldn’t believe he’d take in her seven orphan children as well. He’d have taken a hundred if it had gotten her tucked neatly in his lair where he could protect her.
She’d burrowed deep, his little tigress, right under his ribcage, far too close to his heart. There was no going back now. He intended to claim her as soon as possible, embed his scent in her to keep any huntsman from sniffing her out. Then she’d be safe.
Then she’d be his. Again, he was surprised where his thoughts led him. To have her as his own.
He pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat and handed it to her. “We have much to discuss, but you need a little time to get settled. Dinner will be served in an hour. Grant will fetch you and the children and show you where the dining room is. Afterward, we’ll talk.”
She wiped her cheeks and stared down at the handkerchief with his initials stitched in black. She folded it neatly in her delicate hands. He lifted her chin till she looked at him.
“Is that all right?”
“Of course. I just—”
She glanced around the balcony made of pure white stone with a flourishing vine-like banister, sculpted in beautiful detail.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m ashamed of what I thought earlier today. When you’d discovered what I was doing in the basement, I was so sure I’d be sleeping in a dirty and cold dungeon tonight, and here you’ve put me up in this beautiful room and my children—” Her words caught on a sob.
He pulled her into his arms, wanting only to comfort her. Strange, for he’d never held a woman like this, for the purpose to console and ease her pain. He was completely content to rub his palm up and down her spine, the other hand cradling her head against his chest.
“Easy, kitten. I never intended to harm you. And I’d never let anything happen to you. Ever.” And he meant the words as they spilled from his mouth unaware.
“You could’ve told me sooner,” she muffled, her arms about his waist. “I could’ve stabbed you.”
He laughed. “No, you couldn’t. But I admire your spirit in thinking so.”
“Arrogant man.”
He continued to stroke and soothe her. The sensation buoyed his spirit somehow, to have this small, beautiful, fierce woman clinging to him for comfort. He’d never known the like. Warmth spread from his chest outward, a small ball of fire he knew would grow and consume him. Yet, he welcomed the burn.
“The Pearl Tower has been empty for a terribly long time. And I’m more than happy for you and your children to reside here as long as you need. The other rooms may take some cleaning, as they’ve been closed off for a long while, and you will have privacy here. This is the farthest tower from the central quarters of the castle.”
“But this room, the one you’ve assigned to me, has been well-kept. As if someone has cared for it, even while no one lives here.”
“Yes.” He found himself opening the door where he’d locked his ghosts away fifteen years ago. “It was my mother’s chambers.”
“Oh,” came the soft reply.
He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and stepped away, letting her slip out of his arms. “I’ll leave you to get ready for dinner. One hour. I hope your children are hungry. My cook, Olog, is planning a feast.”
“My children? They’re always hungry.”
He returned her warm smile and stepped back through the bedchamber that had been his mother’s personal oasis away from his father and the rest of the world. Yes, he’d made sure the servants kept this room clean and beautiful. He would often find himself walking toward this western tower, climbing to the very balcony he just stood upon to see the world as his mother once had. She was the one he had connected with as a child, not his heartless father. Or cruel uncle.
This castle had been built by his father’s father and had become their home when his father had wed the beautiful but withdrawn Varis princess Katerina, only daughter born of the imperial royal couple, King Grindal and Queen Morgrid. Little did Friedrich’s father know, that wedding day had sealed his doom. His days as an immortal had become shorter and shorter. Till time ran out. And Friedrich’s mother had had enough.
Content that Brennalyn would be sleeping in the warm and luxurious room of his beloved mother, he stepped out into the hallway to a ruckus of noise in one of the children’s bedrooms. Girlish giggles erupted and echoed into the corridor. He stopped and peeked in to find the little one, Izzy, jumping on one of the two giant beds set on the right wall, the gossamer bed curtains billowing out each time she hit the mattress. The Pearl Tower was meant to serve as guest quarters for royalty and nobility when there were great balls here in his grandfather’s time. Friedrich had never been one to host balls so they’d sat empty all these years.
“Oh, Izzy, stop jumping,” said the eldest of Brenna’s children, Helena. “You must calm down.”
“She can’t help it,” said another of Brenna’s daughters, next in age to the eldest. “This is rather exciting circumstances.”
“We’re living in a castle, Helena!” squealed Izzy. “Nevew in my whole wife did I—”
Izzy gasped when she saw him standing in the doorway. The elder girl spun and curtsied. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. Isabelle is just a little excited is all.”
The second girl dropped the skirt she was folding, quickly picked it up, then fell into a quick curtsy.
He smiled with a bow of the head. “I don’t mind at all, Helena. I’m sorry, but I haven’t met your sister here.”
“I—I am Beatrice.”
She was a sweet-faced girl with shiny, honey-blonde hair, not dark like Helena. She was not the striking young beauty as Helena, but she bore a strength in her gray eyes and the set of her chin he attributed to Brennalyn. Her skin was an olive tone like the people of the western kingdom of Pyros. He found himself wondering about the parents of these children, feeling sympathy for their loss.
“Pleasure to meet you, Beatrice. I hope you all are hungry. My cook is delighted to have more mouths to feed, believe it or not.”
The girls smiled at the mention of food. Were all children so eager to eat? The little one plopped her bottom to the bed. “I kept your picture!” she exclaimed, hopping off the bed and scurrying to a sideboard littered with girlish trinkets—a doll, brushes and combs, ribbons. She pulled out a piece of parchment and ran to him, holding out the drawing he’d sketched for her and the quiet boy earlier today.
“I see that you did.” He glanced at the portrait, thinking he’d quite captured her likeness. As he saw her. “And did you practice what I taught you?”
Her little mouth turned down. “A little. But then we had to pack evewything.”
“Right. How silly of me.” He crouched down to her eye level and handed the picture back. “Well, you keep this. It’s yours.”
Her sky-blue eyes brightened with a smile that could light up the darkest cave. “Weally?”
“Yes. And I’ll tell you something else.” He tapped her lightly on the nose. “Tomorrow, I have a surprise for you and your brother, Denny. I have a studio of my very own here in the castle with as much parchment, charcoal, and paint you could possibly want.”
Her tiny mouth fell open into an O.
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you. But now you must all get ready for dinner. I’ll see you then.”
He dipped a bow to the older girls, who curtsied. Izzy simply waved a good-bye and skipped back into the room. He walked farther down the corridor, the boisterous chattering of young male voices coming from the connecting suites where Brenna’s boys were settled. One of them had been in his own bedchamber when he was quite young.
“Do you think it’s real, though?” asked a young preadolescent boy. Must be the one called Emmett.
“Indeed. It’s very real.” Definitely the eldest, Caden.
He was now level with the doorway and watched them staring at a double-headed ax mounted on the wall.
“Well, I know it’s real. But maybe it’s just there for show. Might not have seen any battles at all,” said Emmett.
The youngest one, Jack, listened to his brothers argue. The quiet one, Denny, stood on their balcony looking up at the rising moon.
“Actually,” said Friedrich, stepping into the room. “That ax has seen many battles.”
They all swiveled in surprise. But Caden wasn’t fearful of him as the others seemed to be.
“Can you show it to us, Your Grace?”
Friedrich crossed the room and pulled it from the rack on the wall, holding the blade flat against his palm and lowering it to let them get a good look. Interlacing knots embossed the ironwork down the handle. The sharpened edges winked in the candlelight.
“This here is called Path-cleaver. It has seen many wars, but the most famous was the Thorn Wars. My grandfather always led his own troops into battle with Path-cleaver.” Friedrich lifted it and pretended in slow motion to slice through an invisible enemy. “To cut a path for his men, you see.”
The boys grinned and nodded, riveted to his every word. Friedrich remembered that age as a boy, captivated by any and every story of combat and war.
“The most famous battle of all was the Battle at Doreen, a vast plain in the west of the Pyros kingdom. My grandfather claimed to have killed ninety-nine men that day on the bloody field of Doreen.”
“Whoa,” said Caden, brown eyes wide. He was tall for a boy so young, his voice beginning to crack in his adolescent years, his mop of brown hair continually falling in his eyes. “Your grandfather must’ve been a great warrior. A great man, Your Grace.”
Friedrich sighed and put the ax back in its place on the wall, a relic of his bloody ancestry that haunted him. He placed a heavy hand on Caden’s shoulder, but he swept his gaze to each of them.
“Understand this, boys. A man may be powerful and strong and wield a mighty fist. But it is not the number of his slain enemies that makes him great. It is the intent of his heart.” He put a fist to his chest. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” they replied almost in unison, though the light of recognition was strongest in Caden’s dark eyes.
With a manly pat on Caden’s back, he said, “Good. Now you best clean up for dinner.”
Then he marched away. He was out the door, but his acute hearing let him catch the exchange as he left.
“He’s not at all what I thought the vampire duke would be like,” said Emmett.
“Me either,” said Jack.
“Me either,” agreed Caden. “He’s much better.”
Friedrich had never spent time with children his whole long life. As an only child, Marius was his closest kin in age, and they became comrades when Friedrich was a young adolescent. Grant was bordering on manhood when they’d finally connected as brothers.
He was surprised how much he actually liked these children. Something about their innocent and honest look at the world made him smile to himself as he made his way down the tower stairwell. Now he understood why Brennalyn loved being a schoolteacher and why she eagerly took these children in, even when she had so little to give them.
He had plenty to give.
You could offer her more; make this her permanent home.
He shook his addled brain. What a ridiculous idea. He experienced one afternoon of the simple joy of giving solace and shelter to those in need, and suddenly he was thinking domestic thoughts. Dangerous territory for a man who’d vowed to shun marriage or anything close to it after witnessing the heartbreaking fall of his parents’ blighted union, ending in tragic death.
“Focus on the prize, Friedrich.”
Though none of this was his original plan for the seduction of Miss Snow, he now had his tigress in his lair. A satisfied growl rumbled low in his belly as he stepped down from the stairwell and crossed the corridor leading to his wing. Tonight, he’d show no mercy. He needed to be inside her, in every possible way.
He stepped into his bedchamber, finding his tub ready and waiting, water steaming. He’d take his pleasure on the supple body of Miss Snow, and he’d hear her sweet moans in his ear when he came hot and hard inside her body. He whipped off his shirt.
“Tonight.”