Red Magic Page 3

  Caterina began a protest, but the cool, stern voice of her mother rose, continued.

  "Your Papa needs a grandchild, he needs to know that his land, the land which he loves so much, which you love so much, will be passed on through you."

  This speech held more power than slaps. How often had Caterina and her Papa ridden that land together, those lush green pastures where the cattle grazed and grew so fat, the shaded, leafy bowers where the ancient willows stooped to finger the water! Now that Wili was gone, it was all in Caterina's hands, the sweetest water and the richest meadows in the valley. In a vision, all senses engaged, Caterina experienced it, the smell of dark earth after plowing, the summer grain, the sedate, ruffling rows of turnip. Above were the hillside vineyards, clustered with grapes.

  "By this marriage, Caterina," Lady von Velsen said, "This beautiful place will pass to your children and grandchildren."

  "But, oh! Mother of God! Wili's dead!"

  "Yes. Our dear sweet Wili's dead and there's nothing to be done except to go on with living."

  For a time nothing more was said. They wept and embraced. "I know you aren't prepared for marriage, but here it is, and we shall just have to make the best of it. I know you're brave. I've seen you take those fences on a hunt just as cool as any of the men, but now it's time for a different kind of bravery. It's well known that you're as brave as a man, Caterina. Now let's see if you're as brave as a woman."

  Cat's green eyes widened.

  "Yes, my dear," Lady von Velsen went on softly, stroking her daughter's pale cheek, "you've never thought like that, have you? You've always imagined that courage is only for men, but that's because women's bravery is taken for granted. I think you are going to discover that every day we have to be both braver and stronger than any man. You're still so young and I knew someday you'd learn, but this is forcing the lesson, like bitter medicine. I wish there were more time, Caterina, but there isn't."

  Cat had never seen her mother like this. Mesmerized, she listened.

  "You must stop acting like a child and start acting like a woman, a noblewoman, born not only to wealth and privilege, but to responsibility and duty. Life is hard for women, whether they are noble or common. We are seldom allowed to make our own choices and I blame your papa for making it harder for you. No matter how well you ride, or what you know about hunting or about horses or the business of the manor, you're still a woman with a woman's destiny and not the son he wanted so much."

  "But it's not fair," Cat exclaimed. "Wili loved Christoph. She wanted him and I don't. Oh, I don't!" She hadn't cried while trading blows with her father's heavy hands, but now Cat leaned against her mother's warm bosom and began to sob.

  "There, there, baby," Lady von Velsen soothed, caressing her child's scarlet head. "It will be difficult at first. To say anything else would be a lie. Christoph has been irresponsible and cruel, but I believe the terrible thing that has happened will temper his resolve to do the right thing. He's your kinsman, Caterina, and once he was your playmate. He will be good to you. I'm sure of it."

  Caterina clung to her mother and trembled. The secret desire she had felt for Christoph ever since last year was now doubly shameful. Into her mind came images of things witnessed in the barn and pasture, of the swift collision of brute pairing, all mingled with memories of that day at the riverbank, memories that had haunted her continuously since it had happened. She remembered the feel of his muscle. She remembered the amused speculation in his brilliant eyes as he'd tumbled her on top of him, as he'd caressed her, aroused her, and then, so casually—set her free.

  In six weeks the scene would play differently. A ring would be on her finger. Duty to family would provide the voluptuary with both impulse and excuse. In the sanctity of the fresh linen bridal chamber, in the very house she'd grown up in, she imagined his beautiful, self-satisfied smile as he exercised his rake's expertise upon her.

  Safe in her mother's arms, Cat shuddered, swore an oath to herself. Married or not, Christoph would not find possession easy. Even if he consummated the marriage by force or by seduction, the mere act would not make her weak like all the others. She would never pine for him, never be reduced to a lovesick toy, a toy he could abandon or pick up as the mood took him.

  Chapter Three

  "Soon it will be time to put on your dress."

  "No." Cat spat the word, didn't break her pacing. "I can't!"

  Lady von Velsen had spent much of the last few weeks sharing her daughter's bedroom prison. For the first time since she'd been a very little girl, Cat had been glad to have her company. All her life it had seemed as if Mama had been the one pulling on her reins, yet now, in close quarters and under duress, Cat suddenly understood how much she was loved.

  "Now, Caterina," Mama said, "you know I wouldn't agree with Papa if I thought you were going to a truly bad man, to a harsh or cruel one. I think that when Christoph was so close to death he was forced to reflect for the first time in his life. When he returned to us this spring, he had changed. He'd not only made up his mind to do his duty, but to cherish Wili as a gentleman should."

  "He's sorry now, but how long will it last?"

  "I think he finally understood your sister, how truly, truly good she was. I think he'd begun to truly care for her. What has happened has hurt him just badly as it has the rest of us."

  Cat wearily rested her head against her mother's shoulder. She had heard the same thing every day for the last six weeks.

  "The problem has always been that Christoph von Hagen was made for women to fall in love with. He's handsome; he's intelligent and strong and brave. But I'm beginning to believe that he is good at heart too, that he is, at last, the kind of man Oncle Rupert wanted to raise. It may take awhile, but I think that in awhile you are going to have that rarest of things for people like us—love in your marriage."

  "Oh, I will never..."

  "I hear guests," her mother interrupted, "It's time for you to dress."

  "All right," Cat whispered, a lump in her throat, "but I only want you. Don't call the maids."

  Nodding, Mama got up and crossed the room. "I'll just put my head out and tell them," she said.

  There were some words at the door, for there were not only maids waiting, but the Landrat himself tramping bull footed up and down in the corridor.

  With only one person to help, getting ready took a while, but Lady von Velsen didn't rush. First she brought out a new white shift and chemise. Once Cat had slipped out of her morning gown, she donned those and then sat to pull on silk stockings and tie on the bright ribboned knee garters. Next, her mother set to work helping her tall, slender daughter into the back-laced stays just arrived from Vienna.

  When all the crisscross lacing was done, a ring of pillow was tied and settled at her waist. Next a heavy white on white patterned silk dress, intended to be worn again at some future introduction at Court, was slipped on.

  After Lady van Velsen tied up the polonaise tapes that would puff up the back of the dress, Caterina held her arms out to accept the sleeves. Then, with a button hook from the dressing table, her mother set about fastening the close fitted bodice.

  Finally, seating her daughter in front of the mirror, she declared, "I'm no hairdresser. Won't you let Ute come in?"

  Caterina fiercely shook her head "no."

  "If I braid your hair, our cousin Wagensperg will think you are terribly provincial."

  "Who cares what that awful snob thinks? I don't want my hair all ratted up like a hay stack."

  Lady von Velsen sighed, but proceeded to make two thick plaits, to coil and pin. In a few minutes a shining crown of red braid graced Caterina's elegant head.

  "Just like a Donau farmer's bride." Her mother said smiling into the mirror. "Still, why should a girl with hair like yours smother it under a wig or use powder? Now," she coaxed, "why don't we put on a little rouge?"

  Caterina lifted her hand, tried to brush the lamb's wool puff away, but Mama insisted, making a couple of pass
es along the line of her daughter's high boned cheeks.

  When this was done, a plain gauze veil was brought, but before Lady von Velsen put this on, she wanted Caterina to cross over to the long mirror.

  "I don't want to. This is the most horrible day of my life."

  "In two years, my contrary child, I'll wager you won't think so. I absolutely insist that you look into that mirror."

  Taking Caterina's hand, she drew her reluctant daughter after her.

  "Caterina Maria Brigitte, see! There's someone very beautiful."

  When she looked at her reflection, there was an astonishing stranger, a tall beauty whose slender waist was accentuated by the swelling of panniers, whose small breasts were raised in perfect alabaster rounds by the tightly laced stays. Above the long oval of her face, above her straight angel's nose, above the level green eyes, Caterina's thick hair flamed, a glorious scarlet crown.

  "Oh, my angel!" Lady von Velsen's eyes welled with tears.

  While mother and daughter shared a long embrace, chatter bubbled up from below. Dogs barked, hurried footsteps tapped along the corridor.

  "The veil now, love."

  As it came floating down, Caterina's world became enveloped in the sort of mist encountered in dreams. Holding her mother's hand, she went out through that door she hadn't passed for six weeks, along the hall and down the stairs, towards the cheerful clamor of servants and family.

  At the bottom of the long staircase, the Landrat appeared, dressed in his best black brocade. The retreat of his own sandy hair was hidden beneath an enormous brown curly wig, the one he wore when he sat judgment. His eyes, usually an icy shade of blue, warmed at the sight of his daughter.

  "Gottesblut! A princess!" A huge smile expanded across his broad face. "Where did you find her, my Lady?"

  "She's been here all the time, it seems," her mother replied, meeting his light tone.

  "Now, Caterina Maria," the Landrat appropriated his daughter's hand, "I trust that we are finished with your nonsense?"

  "I am not aware of any behavior that could be termed nonsense, Father. I am here to do my duty."

  "Gottesblut! Still that martyred tone, as if I were asking my beautiful red filly to stand for some toothless, potbellied donkey instead of the finest purebred stud in the valley." The pressure of anticipation had apparently sent the Landrat early to his brandy bottle.

  "Wilhelm. Please." Lady von Velsen glanced around, hoping that no one had heard.

  "It's the plain truth and she knows it," the Landrat rumbled, continuing to gaze at Cat with boundless approval. "Please be a good girl. And please, in the name of all that's holy, stop looking as if I'm taking you to be hanged."

  * * *

  Coming through the door of the house chapel, the place where she'd heard Mass ever since she could remember, today so crowded with expectant relatives, Caterina caught sight of her destiny. Christoph, tall and broad shouldered, had turned to watch her approach. The expression on his handsome face was appropriately solemn, but Cat thought she detected a distinct gleam of surprise in his brilliant eyes. The bridegroom's curly, dark hair was unpowdered and simply caught with a black queue ribbon. For the ceremony, he had chosen to wear his military blue and buff.

  Some men were improved by a uniform, but Christoph needed no embellishment. Standing there, square jawed, he was a living, breathing ideal of chivalry. Medals of valor and rank, bestowed by the Emperor after the last campaign, twinkled on his chest.

  A renegade thought whispered that it was just as her father had said. There was a deep physical surge, a moment of abandoned elation at the sight of him, but at once the twin specters of guilt and resentment arose to squash it.

  The long bridal Mass began. Cat, peering through her veil, saw Christoph attentive. With eyes that seemed unnaturally bright, he listened to the priest, and pronounced the responses of the ritual.

  At last the words of the vow were spoken. Gently but firmly the heavy gold band slipped into place upon her finger. The cousin she'd shared so many wild rides with, the one who'd chased her, tickled her, buried her in hay and teased her, calling her "Red" and "Stork Legs", who had so many times led on and let down her poor sister, had, with dizzying finality, become Caterina's husband.

  When he lifted her veil, she was surprised to see tears shining in his dark lashes. The unexpected sight moved her so that she, in a sudden impulse of charity, lifted her head and demurely accepted the tender brush his lips gave hers.

  Once more, unbidden, came the earlier, unseemly excitement. The clean manly smell of him was good, as was the up-close view of his regular features. Although brief and cousinly, the kiss, for some reason Cat couldn't fathom, moved her powerfully.

  * * *

  As they'd walked out of the chapel, the wedding ring burning her finger to the bone, Cat had taken her hand out of his. For an instant he'd looked at her quizzically, but he had not tried to recapture it.

  She was furious with herself for blushing—as if she were in happy anticipation of what was to come. How humiliating it was to feel the burning in her cheeks, how impossible to meet the guest's speculative eyes...

  * * *

  The wedding supper soured her mood. Some of the rowdy cousins, led on by Max, weren't above acting as if this were a regular wedding, as if they neither knew nor cared that Wili was barely cold in her grave.

  "Remember what he said last year when she was fox? About keeping his seat?" The whole group seated at the far end of the table burst out laughing.

  "By God!" Theodor shouted, leaping to his feet and thumping the table.

  "You weren't present," was the provocative reply.

  Christoph glowered at these rude cousins, but they were undismayed. Grins and elbowing continued.

  On the other side, Aunt Wagensperg's round fish eyes, aglitter with interest, surveyed her. Caterina began to wonder if this lady, who spent time in Baden and Vienna, would be taking stories of this wedding back to one of Christoph's mistresses.

  Meanwhile course after delicious course came in. Many gushing toasts were offered to the "most handsome couple ever" and many ardent wishes for "the blessing of children" from Oncle Rupert and the Landrat, who had both pledged their only children in this all important rite.

  No more than the formalities of the table passed between the new husband and wife. Cat picked at a breast of pheasant and ate some of the ripe, luscious berries that had been scattered along the cloth. She sipped a little of the dizzying Moselle her father had broken out for the occasion. Every other dish, the one of turkey stuffed with pigeons and song birds, of delicate poached bream in egg sauce, of roast piglet surrounded with heaps of savory glazed vegetables, she waved away.

  Christoph made no attempt to converse. He wasn't eating much either, although he was filling his glass regularly.

  Cat had expected him to attempt to proprietarily touch her, but he didn't. When he did speak, he kept saying things that sounded like echoes of the speeches with which Mama had daily plied her. He was nothing like his usual gay, cavalier self.

  Cat understood that he was sorry. Oh, yes, so sorry! And what good did it do poor Wili who had lived whole years in anticipation of this day? Watching him sitting there, drinking too much, ill at ease, sending an occasional caution in the direction of those others who were exactly the way he used to be, Cat grew angry.

  "Don't think I'm fooled," she finally hissed, "because I'm not. Even though you act so solemn, all I can think of is that Wili loved you and that at every turn you broke her heart."

  She had expected anger, but all she saw in Christoph's eyes was pain, so much, in fact, that no retort came.

  Caterina's father, seated on her left, was not so affected. "Caterina," he growled. "None of that. Remember what I told you."

  "Yes, I remember. You said that in this world a woman has less choice than a mare."

  His fist hit the table so hard that all the china and most of the guests jumped. Caterina leapt to her feet. To her great surprise her
father was right beside her, moving his bulk with all the terrifying speed of a wounded bear.

  "All right, my girl." His hand closed on her arm like a trap. "If you want to leave the table, it's fine with me. You aren't eating anything anyway and your husband—" the Landrat shot a furious look at Christoph, "—will soon slide under the table."

  He turned to face the speechless guests. "Well, you young dogs," he shouted, making the guilty cousins quiver, "You've done enough joking! If you aren't too drunk to stand, let's get to it. Let's put these two into bed. They can sort out their quarrels there."

  With a whoop the young men jumped to their feet, rushed to the head of the table, and, with a united effort, lifted the muscular six feet of the bridegroom.

  "Here, you, Wagensperg!" one of them shouted. "We need all the help we can get. He's as heavy as a bull calf." Skinny Count Wagensperg let out a whinnying giggle and rushed to add whatever strength was in his spindly arms to the task.

  The Landrat maintained a ferocious grip on Cat's arm as he dragged her down the hall. Lady von Velsen ran alongside, clucking and scolding Papa for his crudeness and Caterina for creating such a disgraceful scene.

  The women trailed after, eyes full of anticipation. Wili's special girl friends and most of the von Velsen household servants were crying, but it seemed to Caterina that everyone not an intimate of the family wore the usual wedding night smirk.

  When they arrived in the bridal chamber, Christoph was set upon his feet. Max von Beiler played valet and untied his cousin's stock, pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Christoph's servant, a one legged veteran of those fierce Turkish wars, hobbled in and began to neatly lay his clothes aside.

  Mama began to say that Cat should be undressed behind the lacquered screen and put into a nightgown, but Papa didn't agree.

  "She'll only start her nonsense again. Just get the dress and stays and all that underneath baggage off. She can go to bed in her shift." In spite of his wife's scolding, the Landrat refused to relinquish his hold on Cat's arm for an instant. He called to his butler, who stood in the crowd of servants that had followed the gentry up the stairs.