Free Castle of the Wolf by Sandra Schwab

have, for if they continue to stay here, they’ll have the servants revolting in no time at all.” He gave his master a bland smile.
    Fenris narrowed his eyes at him. “What did they do?”
    “Well, first they had us all lined up, and then Miss Fussell commented that Lisa needed a new apron, which promptly made the girl burst into tears.”
    Fenris gritted his teeth. “And then?”
    “Then they went away and the older woman chose a room for herself, which Miss Fussell ordered to be cleaned.” In a probably unconscious gesture, Johann brushed at the large dirt stain on the sleeve of his jacket. “ Thoroughly. ” He grimaced. “Until this afternoon. And then they…um…found the normal dining room. And Miss Fussell ordered that from now on meals should be served there.”
    Fenris’s throat felt tight. God, he didn’t need this. Didn’t need some little miss marching through his castle, through his life…
    No, not his castle. Not according to his father and that woman. It had never been his, for his family had lost it sixteen years ago, just as they had lost everything else. Because of him.
    His stomach cramped. Fenris felt sick.
    Sick of himself.
    Sick of his life.
    He buried his face in his hands, dug his fingers into the flesh until they rubbed painfully over the bone beneath.
    “Fen…”
    “We have to get rid of her.” He looked up, hated the worry on Johann’s face, the compassion he saw in the other man’s eyes. God, what a weakling he was! Fenris shook his head. What a bloody loser. Not only had he managed to wreck his own life, no, he had also wrecked the life of his family. Hell. “We have to make her leave the castle.” He pushed unsteady fingers through his hair. “We have to make sure she will never want to come back again. We have to win Wolfenbach back.” Leaning his hands on the desk, Fenris got up and reached for the lantern sitting under the desk. “Come on, Johann, we’re going to the cellars.”
    His friend’s brows creased a little. “The cellars?”
    “Indeed, the cellars. Where the rats are.”
    ~*~
    “I felt a little bit like the evil bishop of Bingen,” Mrs. Chisholm confided the next morning over breakfast in the small, comfy dining room they had discovered the previous day. In the corner, a dark green tiled stove created comfortable warmth, while a faded carpet on the floor held off the chill rising from the stone tiles. “Only, of course, the bishop had been eaten up by mice instead of rats.” Cheerfully, Mrs. Chisholm took a sip of her coffee, but immediately grimaced. “Oh dear, what kind of brew do they drink here? And do look at that color! Like a caramel toffee! This is quite shocking, dearie. Quite, quite shocking!”
    “The rat?”
    “Of course not the rat! Whatever are you thinking! The—” The sound of the door opening made Mrs. Chisholm turn around. Her eyes widened. “Oh my,” she whispered in appreciation.
    Fenris von Wolfenbach loomed on the threshold, his dark hair tousled, his eyes gleaming. The harshness of his expression and the wooden leg he again blatantly displayed lent him a dangerous edge, a hint of menace.
    And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
    Hope withering fled, and Mercy sigh’d farewell!
    A shiver of ice ran down Cissy’s spine. Only too well she remembered her own helplessness when he had manhandled her two days prior. She gripped her fork tighter. But she was no longer alone, and she would not let him bully her a second time. Haughtily, she raised her chin and met his glare.
    Mrs. Chisholm’s face lit up. “Good morning, good morning! You must be Herr von Wolfenbach, no doubt. How very lovely to finally meet you! Will you not sit down and have some breakfast with us?”
    Momentary confusion flickered over his face. He cleared his throat. “Well…good morning.” His voice sounded slightly rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in a long while.
    Or at least not in polite company, Cissy thought nastily. “Rambach,” she said to