The Ravens of Falkenau & Other Stories Read Online Free Page B

you, Captain," she said, her lips thinning.   "You have already made your disdain for my person abundantly clear."
    "As clear as your marked distaste of mine," I replied.   Even in the old black dress she was uncommonly beautiful.  
    "Well?" said Izabela.   "Are you going to ask for my hand or just demand it?"
    She would love it, I thought, for me to go down on one knee when I could hardly do so with any grace, a man decades her elder on his knees to his betters.   I would make a pretty fool of myself.   "Just demand it, madam," I replied, not sounding as harsh as I wished.
    Izabela folded her hands.   "I see.   Then I have only one request."
    "What is that?" I asked.
    "That the service be performed by a Protestant minister."   Her eyes met mine, perfectly level and grave.   "It is enough that I am forced to marry a man who has despoiled my lands and people without being forced into a state of concubinage by the officiation of a priest I do not recognize and the authority of a Pope I do not acknowledge!"
    I stared at her speechless.   "It is all one to me," I managed.   "I care not if we are married by priest, minister, or a devil of the South Seas.   If it would ease your conscience or make you an obedient wife to me, then you may have your Lutheran minister."
    Izabela did not look away from me.   "I thank you for that, Captain.   However, the devil himself could not make me an obedient wife to you."
    "Then you may find, madam, that I can be the very devil himself."
    "I am sure you can be, Captain," she replied.   "I am quite certain you are capable of beating into submission a helpless woman with no one to turn to and two babies to shelter."
    "Your frailty seems to come and go when it is convenient to you," I remarked.   "You did not seem so fragile the other night."
    Izabela looked at me for a long moment and then dropped her eyes in a submissive gesture I did not believe for an instant.   "As my lord wishes," she said.

    She had her Protestant minister, the same one from the village church who had married her to Lord Jindrich five years before.   My Second, McDonald, stood up with me in the old chapel of Falkenau.   Izabela wore black.   So did I, unrelieved by any ornament except a wealth of lace at throat and cuffs.   The minister was nervous, unwilling, and at one point stopped altogether.
    "Go on," Izabela said softly.
    The minister cleared his throat.   "Do you, Izabela Maria Oriana, take this man, Georg von Marianburg of the Imperial Army, as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and obey, from this day forward, until death do you part?"
    Her voice was clear and strong.   "I do."
    I do not remember my responses, only the look of surprised on her face when I put on her finger my heavy ring of rubies and pearls.   To my mind the ceremony was too plain, with no incense, no vestments, no choir, but I could not fault the beauty of the bride.   The black dress was no doubt meant as an insult, but I had foreseen that, and my black velvet matched hers.   Instead of clashing we looked as though we belonged together, for all that she was young and lovely as a candle flame.   I was the shadow to that flame, austere and solid as the stones of Falkenau around us.
    Her lips, when I bent to kiss them, were still and cool as a statue's.
    I took her upstairs myself after what passed for a wedding supper, instead of leaving her to the care of her women as is proper.   I was afraid there would be more knives, or perhaps a flying leap out the window.   More likely knives.   I could not imagine Izabela taking the coward's way out.
    My men yelled the usual rowdy jokes at us, nothing unusual in a crowd of mercenaries, but Izabela's jaw was clenched tight.   I laughed and assured them that I meant to plow my field well, and did not let go the grip I had gotten on her arm.   I felt it tremble a little as we mounted the stairs and I thought there was the fear at last, the fear of my hands and