Spun (8 page)

Still, it made Tillz nervous that Anja was alone, vulnerable. Werner had left her alone—for now—but there was no guarantee his mood wouldn’t change sometime before the following morning. Tillz badly wanted to enter the cottage to see for himself that Anja was unharmed, but he was kept at bay by the random servants, groomsmen, and gardeners who milled about the grounds as they carried out their day’s work. He simply could not get inside without being detected and putting them both at risk.

He cursed silently to himself. He should have never agreed to let her stay behind. While at the time he had convinced himself Anja’s ridiculous plan made perfect sense, he now realized he had only agreed to it out of his own selfishness. He wanted to be near Anja, and her current predicament gave him an excuse for access to her. If he had freed her, she would have no further need of him. While he may have seen her again around the village, he would never again be able to talk to her, touch her, never hear her laugh as he gently teased her, nor experience the exquisite torture of bedding her.

So he had left her there.

Alone in the cottage. At Werner’s mercy.

Damn him.

He didn’t know what he would do if any harm came to her. The mere thought of it filled him with a pulsing fury, made his blood pump hotly and every muscle clench in preparation for exacting bloody vengeance. He wondered vaguely at his reaction. While he noticed every detail about others, knew their tastes and habits and was adept at discerning their characters and motivations, he rarely turned that critical perceptiveness inward to himself. He was unaccustomed to questioning his own response to another person. Hell, he was unaccustomed to
feeling
any kind of response to another person. Yet he had felt strongly for Anja from the first time he saw her in the village, and it—this desire, this attraction, this inexplicable
something
—was only growing stronger and more ungoverned the more he was with her, until he feared it would overtake him completely.

He wanted her so intensely it scared him, and he could no longer ignore it, though he had been trying mightily. It wasn’t just the physical—though God knew the sight of her made him harden, made him pulse with a fierce desire he could barely control. It had almost killed him last night when he had touched her, tasted her, driven her wild with pleasure and then had to stop before it went any further. He had wanted to take her then so badly it made him shake with the need of it. He had wanted to plunge himself into her again and again until he drove them both off the cliff of release, until this mad wanting was finally slaked. But he could not do that to her, couldn’t dishonor her in such a manner just so he could fulfill his craving for her.

So there was the physical, yes, but what he wanted extended beyond that. He wanted … everything from her. It was as though he had come to know her from watching her in the village. He saw her strength and wit and compassion—and he wanted it all. And it scared him, this wanting. He had spent his life avoiding any entanglements with others, protecting himself from further tragedy or cruelty or disappointment. But he could not keep himself from Anja. He had tried to keep his heart closed off to anyone, but she had found her way in, and he was helpless to dislodge her.

Tillz watched the cottage for several more hours. Finally convinced she would remain safe until that night when he could go to her, he walked back down the hill to the village. He decided he would find her father and see how the miller was faring.

He found Gregor walking the village streets, going to different houses and shops, trying to gather a group of people who would go with him to the manor to free his daughter. Tillz remained out of sight, observing, and gathered Gregor had been to see the sheriff several times, pleading with him to arrest Werner and gain Anja’s release. But it seemed that while the sheriff had promised to uphold the law and punish Anja’s kidnapper, he had not actually taken any action. It appeared that, like the sheriff, the rest of the townspeople were too afraid of Werner to confront him. While they sympathized with Gregor and Anja, they would not go with Gregor to the manor.

Dejected, Gregor went home, and Tillz watched from the window while Gregor sat at his table and proceeded to get drunk off homemade spirits. Tillz had been content to watch Gregor from the shadows, but when the miller stood, swaying drunkenly but clearly resolute-looking, grabbed a battered bread knife and moved toward the door, Tillz knew he had to overcome his aversion to human interaction and stop the man. He was obviously determined to wage a one-man assault on the manor, hoping to get his daughter back himself since no one else was willing to help him. Tillz felt obligated to prevent Gregor from getting himself killed trying it.

Tillz intercepted Gregor as he stormed out of the cottage, pushing him back in the house and shutting the door behind him.

“Sit down, man, and listen to me before you take any rash action,” Tillz commanded.

Gregor stared at him, blinking, his eyes red and blurry. He gaze traveled slowly from Tillz’s face, down to his boots, and then back up to his face. Gregor’s gaze lingered at his scar. “It’s you,” he said. “It’s the
rumpelstilzchen
.”

Tillz rolled his eyes. This was not the time for that superstitious nonsense. “Yes,” Tillz said, “it’s me, the hermit from the woods. Though I am no goblin. Just a man trying to prevent you from getting yourself and your daughter killed.”

Gregor opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. The grief combined with the alcohol made him particularly slow-witted. “What do you mean?” Gregor asked.

“I know you are thinking of storming the
rittergut
, just you and your bread knife, and I’ve come to tell you I won’t allow it.” Tillz pushed Gregor back down into his chair.

“You can’t stop me!” Gregor cried, rather unconvincingly.

“There’s no need for you to do it,” Tillz said, ignoring Gregor’s outburst. “I have seen myself that Anja is safe and unharmed, and that she will be released in the morning.”

“How can that be?” Gregor asked, his speech slightly slurred. “Werner has demanded she make him gold, but that’s impossible. I was lying when I told him she could. Made it up to save my own skin, and now she’ll be killed.” Gregor sobbed into his glass of spirits. “Anja! My Anja!”

Tillz grabbed Gregor roughly by his shirt. “Keep it together, man. Werner has his gold, I have seen to it, and tomorrow he will release her or I will remove her from the cottage myself.” Tillz shook Gregor slightly, then released him.

Once again, Gregor sat and blinked, looking confused. “But how…”

“I am the
rumpelstilzchen
,” Tillz said with a wry shake of his head, “of course I have given her gold and procured her safety. Of course I know of Werner’s plan to release her and will enforce it. I can acquire any object, defeat any nefarious plot, rescue any damsel … or not, as I see fit.”

Gregor nodded in agreement, as if what Tillz had said was the most logical thing he had ever heard. Tillz realized the
rumpelstilzchen
nonsense actually had its attractions, that he could use it to his advantage. He should have realized this years ago.

“So there is no need for you to go to the manor,” Tillz said. “I will keep an eye on Anja and make sure she remains safe. You will stay here and wait for her return. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Gregor said, obviously relieved that Anja would be safe without him having to confront Werner. He refilled his glass, slumped back in his chair, and took a long draught.

Tillz watched Gregor for a few more minutes until he was properly convinced Gregor had no more desire to wage his foolhardy rescue mission. Soon the miller would be too drunk to attempt it, anyway, even should the impulse strike him again.

Tillz left the cottage. He had a few hours yet until it would be fully dark and he could sneak into Anja’s cottage unnoticed. He would go to the tavern. Roulf would surely be there—he seemed to never miss a night—and Tillz hoped to glean information from him that he couldn’t get from spying on the cottage: what was Werner’s mood? Did he still plan to release Anja? Had anything changed?

* * * *

The evening was clear and calm, warmer than it had been in weeks, and the good weather brought the village men out to the tavern in larger numbers than Tillz was comfortable with. He didn’t want to go in. Every impulse screamed at him to keep walking, to not stop until he was at his home in the forest. He
would
go in, though. He would override ever instinct and desire to leave the village for the simple fact that he must know what information Roulf had about Werner and Anja.

He pulled the brim of his hat low and the collar of his coat up high and slipped into the tavern in the unobtrusive way he had. He avoided notice through sheer force of will it seemed, because by rights a man as large and unusual looking as he should gain attention wherever he went. He moved to the back of the tavern where a small knot of men were engaged in a heated discussion. Strangely, Roulf was nowhere to be seen.

Tillz ordered a glass of brandy, downed it, and asked for another, then another. The warmness of it just settled into his limbs when the group of men finally caught his full attention.

“I tell you, I’ve seen ’im!” the tallest of the men said. “I’ve seen the
rumpelstilzchen
right here in the village!”

Some of the men shook their heads, muttering at the impossibility of it, scoffing at the idea of the very existence of the creature. Others, however, nodded, swearing they too had seen the man.

“I saw him last night, ’round midnight, walking my fenceline,” said another man.

“Me too!” cried another. “And two of my lambs have gone missing this week. It’s ’im that took ’em!” he shouted.

Tillz grimaced. The group was working itself into a frenzy, blaming Tillz—or rather, the
rumpelstilzchen
—for everything from missing livestock, to curdled milk, to a lightning strike on an old man’s barn. The men had seen him everywhere: in their pastures, cottages, in bed with their wives. None of it was true. Tillz hadn’t been in any of those places.

“And I’ve seen him up at the
rittergut
,” a young man said.

Tillz froze, his brandy glass halfway to his mouth.
That
was true. He wondered how the man had noticed him. He had been sloppy apparently, distracted by Anja and what he was doing with her.
Verflucht und zugenäht!
he muttered, admonishing himself.

Tillz gulped the last of his brandy and stood. He had best leave the tavern now before any of the impassioned men arguing about the existence of the
rumpelstilzchen
actually looked up and noticed him standing right there. Glancing out the front window of the tavern, Tillz saw it was fully dark now, anyway, and it was time to go to Anja.

* * * *

Anja sat at the table, tracing lazy circles in the scarred wood with her fingertip. The boredom of the day left her tired and somewhat muddle-headed. She had spent the last few hours idly pacing the cottage, vacillating between worry over her father and anticipation of seeing Tillz again. Now it was dark, the grounds of the manor were quiet and empty, and Tillz should be arriving at any time.

Anja’s body responded to the knowledge that soon Tillz would be near her again. She couldn’t wait to have his hands upon her, to taste him on her lips. At the same time, she feared what would happen once the night was over. Would Tillz disappear to wherever he had come from, and she would never see him again? She wasn’t sure she could bear that. He had awakened something within her, spun her world on its axis, and she knew she would be empty and bereft with him gone.

It wasn’t just the physical, though she couldn’t deny the powerful attraction between them. Talking with him the last night, it was as if she had been stranded alone on an island and he was the first person she had seen in a lifetime. She laughed harder than she had before, felt more sorrow at the heartbreaking tale of his parents than she had thought possible, and it was as if everything he had said was the most important, interesting statements ever pronounced.

She wondered if she could convince Tillz to stay with her, to at least not disappear forever. Would he want that? She couldn’t be certain the last few nights hadn’t been just a pleasant diversion for him. She knew he desired her, but did it go beyond that? Did he feel even a modicum of what she felt for him? Enough that he would want to see her again once she was free of Werner? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t know if she was brave enough to ask.

Anja’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the rattling lock. Tillz had come. He stood in the doorway, his huge frame blocking out what little moonlight would have streamed in from behind him. Anja’s heart beat a tattoo against her chest. Tillz shut the door, locking it behind him, and then crossed the room to stand before Anja.

“Tillz,” she said, “I’ve missed you. I’ve been waiting all day for night to fall. I—”

Tillz pressed his lips to hers, cutting off what she had been about to declare. He cupped her face in his hands, stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. He moved a hand to her hair, ran his fingers through the thick waves. He brought his other hand to her waist, lifted her to her tiptoes so he could better reach her. He drank from her again, as if trying to get his fill.

“I see you are still well,” he said, setting her down. “Werner has not changed his mind about releasing you tomorrow, has he?”

“No,” Anja said, “he has not changed his mind. He said this morning when he came to get the gold that he wanted one more night’s worth.” Anja gestured to the jars of metal on the table. “He said as long as he got those jars’ worth of gold, he would consider my father’s debts paid.”

“Good,” Tillz said.

Anja put a hand on his chest and leaned up, letting him know she wanted him to kiss her again. He complied, bending down to meet her lips. She moaned softly, melted against him, a warm weakness taking over her body. They sank to the floor, Tillz placing kisses along the neckline of her gown.

A thousand thoughts swirled in Anja’s mind, a myriad of words pressed against her lips. She wanted to tell him things, make declarations and pronouncements. And she wanted to ask him things, to discover what other secrets and surprises Tillz kept hidden beneath his surface. She couldn’t speak, however, couldn’t give voice to any of it because she was too consumed by physical desire to even form the words.