Author's note: This part 1 of a gift for the extraordinarily talented Certified_Ceraunophile for the Klaroline Winter Gift Exchange 2021. I can't tell you what a thrill it was to get your assignment; you're one of my favorite people! This is a historical human AU - Caroline is the daughter of a powerful lord while Klaus is an artist under their patronage. How far can forgiveness reach when a dark secret and a revenge plot stand in their way?
Warning: Angst. Smut. And did I mention the angst?
Also, thank you so much for all of your reviews and wonderful words of encouragement with this series! I won the following 2020 KC Awards — I'm overwhelmed by your support for my work!:
· Best comedy one-shot: A Beautiful Symmetry, Chapter 113: Did You Ever Find Your Pants?
· Best comedy multi-chapter: A Pregnant Pause
· Best comedy author
"If we say that we have no sin,
We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us."
― Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus
It's not how she preferred to be smeared in honey. After all, Klaus had shown Caroline such inventive ways with her family's pantry. However, her training had been quite vigorous before supper and she'd been neglectful with her footwork, causing her side to catch the edge of Captain Saltzman's blade. She'd managed to wash the wound with vinegar before applying the honey and herb poultice, but the stickiness left her in a foul mood that even Klaus' sweet kiss to her brow couldn't remedy.
Klaus knew her moods intimately, and favored her with an indulgent smile as they walked into the great hall together. Together — but with a respectful distance. As an artist under her father's patronage, he was granted board and provisions to create his masterpieces in the quiet solitude of the Forbes' estate. And while Lord Forbes was considered a reformer with his peculiar notions regarding the fairer sex, that didn't mean she and Klaus could openly flaunt their carnal liaisons. She bore the weight of her familial obligations.
With a fond smile, she watched the way his hands trembled slightly as he poured the wine for her and her father. Such an attentive lover. She was a fortunate woman. Klaus had stayed in their home for several months now, and each day, she felt their connection more keenly. Each time she sank into her lover's embrace, there was a kindship, an understanding that burned like the sun. And eventually it would burn them both as she was duty-bound to marry her equal.
The chamberlain appeared, announcing her father in a lofty voice that always made the jovial lord guffaw at his pompous ways. With a twinkle in his eyes, Lord Forbes toasted the pair of them as Klaus handed him a goblet. "It's been a fine day; you should've abandoned your frivolity and joined the boar hunt!" With a voice tinged in boastful pride, he turned to raise his goblet to the double-bladed battle axe that hung between the crimson and gold tapestries. "While nothing compares to the thrill of besting our good king's enemies, the boar led us on a merry chase," he chortled.
Caroline smiled indulgently at her father's words. She'd fought at his side at the Battle of Wickery Bridge, her heart filled with gladness when he'd captured Ansel of the North, a powerful chieftain who led a rebellion against their king. The traitor's execution had been swift and delivered with far more mercy than the bloodthirsty barbarian deserved. "Such a mighty warrior," she told him with a laugh, "you make my own turn with the sword an immovable mountain."
"Nonsense, dear daughter," he told her with a benevolent smile, glancing at Klaus as he boasted, "my captain sings your praises as you masterfully wield the weapons of our kinsmen. You are a credit to our ancestors and one day will lead my soldiers with all the vigor and fearlessness that your mother once did; may the gods rest her soul."
Earning her father's praise was no easy task, and to hear such encouragement fall from his lips was like a blessing of the gods. He'd put blades in her hands when she was a youngling, and instilled within her a sacred purpose to lead her kinsmen through valor and honor.
"Lady Caroline is a magnificent warrior. Her gift with blades surpasses even that of the Goddess Nemain," Klaus offered, making Caroline flush with pleasure.
She bowed her head, blonde curls tangling around the pearl combs in her long plait. Her lover did not recoil from her prowess as a warrior; it was a rare man indeed who celebrated the strength of his woman. His woman. That lovely thought filled her with melancholy. Would her father eventually promise her to a man who understood she was his equal? Or, would her future husband balk at her battle scars? Klaus adored her marks and always watched her lessons with Captain Saltzman, loudly professing his admiration as she bested her father's soldiers. An honorable man. Who never could be hers.
"Such a flatterer, kind sir, with your pretty words dancing on a silver tongue." As soon as Caroline spoke, she blushed furiously, immediately thinking back to earlier when Klaus' eager exertions had made her tardy for her lessons.
The straw had been warm and soft, her loosened corset keeping the rough edges from marring her skin. She loved the feel of Klaus' stubble when he grew too engrossed in his art and misplaced his razor. He bent his curly head, rubbing his cheek along her inner thigh. She sucked in a breath at the sharpness, that unspoken line that hinted at danger. She loved the surrender of it all.
"Delicate skin shouldn't be punished so sweetly," she panted, quivering as she felt the welcome pinch of his stubble over and over. A whinny from one of the horses made them chuckle; the floor planks creaking in protest as some of the horses clomped their hooves at the disturbance.
Klaus raised his head, favoring her with a devilish smirk as he murmured, "Oh, yes it should." His touch was firm as he wound the silk from her belt around one ankle and then the other, threading the edges through the iron rings along the wall. "It should be punished quite vigorously, my love." He whipped his arms outward, pulling the silk taut to spread her open.
It was positively indecent the way he made her writhe with the gentle brush of a finger, tracing her bare folds before cruelly taking away that warmth. Blue eyes narrowed as Caroline studied his amused grin. Klaus wanted her to beg. Beautiful, infuriating bastard. She mockingly glared at him, stubbornly clamping her lips shut as she shook her head.
"No begging, hmm," he said, delivering a playful tap to her little nib. "Permit me to change your mind."
Right bastard that he was, Klaus knew how tightly she was wound. He took his time, tracing along the contours as she barely kept her pitiful whines at bay. He pinched and plucked ever so sweetly, his fine artist's hands finally wresting a gasp from her that echoed in the stables.
"Curse you, wretched fiend for making me feel this way, Caroline moaned.
Klaus seemed oddly defeated as he sighed, "Indeed. Curse us both, my love." And then he took his tongue to task, coyly flicking along that aching flesh.
A cascade of shivers pelted her skin and she felt the smooth silk restraining her movements. Restrained — it wasn't a warrior's way — but there was something about this man that made her give freely of herself.
"Look at my feast," he told her, his tone possessive as he trailed his lips along her folds. The tip of his tongue dipped into her velvet, pulling out her moans. Demanding them. "Louder, let it out," he commanded. When Klaus' hands swept her ass up and brought it up to his lips, Caroline let out a shriek. "Good girl," he cooed, and then rewarded her with the thrust of his tongue.
Like a starving man he supped, his teeth and tongue a sweet pain that made her tremble and shake as she tipped over into ecstasy.
"More," she pleaded, delighting in the way his gray eyes darkened with desire.
"More of what?"
Her back arched at the feel of his hands along her thighs, and Caroline hoarsely demanded, "Take your cock and fuck me. Now."
A low growl escaped his lips as he excitedly tossed away his tunic and tugged at his trousers. Klaus freed his cock just as she tore at her bodice, fingertips rubbing her nipples that had grown swollen from her lover's attention. "That's it, my love, pluck at your beautiful breasts," he praised, stroking his cock slowly, the heat of his gaze boring into her.
Searing her heart until she welcomed the flames.
Klaus brushed his palm to her breast, the slick, wet stain of his desire making her sigh pleasurably. His body's passion belonged to her just as she to him. "A taste," he whispered, touching a finger to her waiting tongue. The bitter salt was such a delicious distraction; her lover was on her lips as he pushed inside, hard and wet and wanting.
"Yes," Caroline hissed, smoothing her hands along the hard planes of his chest. How he split her with his cock, that sensual divide that she craved. His hips rocked into hers, that steady push-pull that made her cry out his name.
"Fuck me, what a delight it is to tickle your sweet trench," he purred in her ear, strokes long and hard. With a groan, he jerked away, cock spilling along her belly as he fed it to her waiting mouth. His fingers tapped along her nib, in time to his shallow thrusts as she suckled him.
With a satisfied grunt, he collapsed against her, the warmth of his skin sinking into hers as the horses snorted lowly, their muscular bodies shifting in their stalls as they settled back down.
"Why does that always feel like the last time," Caroline asked softly, watching her lover with hazy eyes as he gently freed her ankles from the silk.
Klaus watched her carefully, something unreadable flashing in his gray eyes as his voice was filled with melancholy. "Because it could be. Each day brings us closer to an unshakable truth."
She sighed. Of course it would weigh heavily on his mind just as it did hers — her duty to her family to marry well. "What I feel for you is unexpected. The way you've blossomed in my heart is a gift. A wonderful, terrible gift because I love you but I also —"
"Your allegiance is to your kinsmen," he finished for her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he smoothed away her curls. "I understand. Family above all."
"I love you," she told him fiercely, hating how he seemed so far away in that moment even as their fingers were entwined.
"As I love you," he replied just as resolutely.
An understanding passed between them, something unspoken that beat wild and untamed beneath their breasts. Caroline was certain it was a connection that only would serve to hurt, but one she refused to regret.
"Dearest, is the wine too strong? You've grown quite flushed," her father commented with concern, interrupting her thoughts.
She sputtered mid-drink, clearing her throat as she set aside her goblet. "No, father, I am well." She cast about her mind for an appropriate subject, and nodded toward Klaus. "You must see Klaus' latest work. He's brought to our lands a new technique from the north."
"Chiaroscuro," Klaus explained, "it employs light and shadow to provide depth to the elements." He wistfully added, "The artist is burdened with creating the perfect balance of light and dark. It's difficult to attain."
Rolling her eyes, Caroline replied, "Why are you still going on about your brushstrokes being too heavy-handed?"
"Because they are," he replied with a curling smile, taking a bite of the roast pheasant.
With a disgruntled harrumph, Lord Forbes took a pinch from the salt dish, scattering it across the parsnips and carrots as he said, "Silly blather. Klaus has a gift only the gods may grant; I wouldn't suffer a talentless fool under my patronage."
The scrape of the heavy oak chair as Klaus shifted uncomfortably made Caroline smile. Her father's praise always seemed to grant him discomfort rather than pleasure. Ever the temperamental artist. She favored him with an encouraging nod, knowing that much of his insecurity stemmed from his illegitimacy. While he'd only spoken haltingly of his status as a bastard with an unknown lineage, his fleeting, sorrowful expression spoke volumes about his painful past.
"Have the good grace to accept a compliment, lad," Lord Forbes lightly admonished, coughing as he took another hearty gulp of wine.
Caroline grew concerned when the troublesome cough continued, and asked, "Father, are you well?"
He waved her off as she started to stand, but the silver filigreed goblet fell from his trembling fingers. Wiping at the sweat of his brow, he said, "It's just a touch of fever, child, nothing more." With another hacking cough, he unsteadily rose to his feet, patting the scarlet velvet of his tunic as he joked, "Let us hope it's not a case of the flux!" Gesturing toward the table piled high with savory meats served with jellies of ripened fruits, he told them, "I'll take to my bed for the night, but please stay and enjoy the feast."
Caroline exchanged a grim look with Klaus, unable to give voice to her worries. The gods were cruel; pestilence rose and fell as easily as the wind would change. With a heavy sigh, Caroline excused herself as well, permitting Klaus to give her a chaste kiss to her cheek. She was bewildered by the frantic kiss he impulsively pressed to her palm as she left the great hall, but her thoughts were with her father, praying that the gods would be merciful.
But she knew better than to trust in such foolishness. Everyone knew the gods were cruel.
When her maid shook her awake, Caroline already felt the tears start to form. With a short nod of understanding, Caroline tied the sash of her dressing gown, donning her brocade slippers as she followed her maid to her father's quarters. The chamberlain met her at the doors, head bowed in mourning.
"Our lord has passed, Lady Caroline," he murmured sorrowfully.
It cannot be. No more races to the forest's edge, where her father would encourage his horse to greater strides with a high-pitched yipping noise that scared the birds and echoed down to the valley. He'd been incorrigible, employing all manner of trickery to escape whatever silly wager they'd settled upon. But no more.
With a sob, Caroline pushed the doors open, the sour-sweet smell of decay assaulting her as she knelt at the raised platform of her father's bed. It was too soon for the rot to take hold in this manner. With trepidation, she raised her eyes to her father's still form, noting with distaste the blackened flesh that marred his lips. Poison. She knew what was expected; the wearisome tasks that would fall to her to see this through. But not yet. Instead, she stubbornly knelt at his bedside, clasping his cold hand in hers as she mourned. Her heart bled out as she whimpered, pitiful noises that would shame her kinsmen.
The jagged blade of her hairpin stung as Caroline slashed open her palms, but she pressed on with grim determination as she painted her people's mark for war on her father's hands. With shaking fingers, she brushed her blood along one cheek, repeating the symbol as she prepared for what would come next. Vengeance.
Feeling her strength return, she stood before the servants, her voice steady as she commanded, "Summon Captain Saltzman." As she passed by her maid, she whispered urgently, "And fetch me Klaus." She needed a moment to fall apart in her lover's arms. Klaus would set things right.
The great hall took on a sinister quality as she observed the room by firelight. The servants had cleared away supper, but the discarded dishes remained to be scooped up with the morning wash. Her father's goblet rested on its side, a burgundy stain soaking into the embroidered linen. She crept closer, taking an experimental sniff and immediately hurled the cup away when the bitter smell flooded her senses. Only belladonna stank of weeds. Her father had been murdered by the cruelest of poisons. The wretched coward had wanted him to suffer.
At first, she worried that she and Klaus had imbibed the poison, but its dark berries were deceptively sweet, and she hadn't noticed a marked difference in the taste at supper.
"Lady Forbes," her maid timidly spoke, "I'm afraid Master Klaus is nowhere to be found. His quarters are empty as well." She bowed her head, flinching slightly as though awaiting Caroline's wrath.
No. Heart pounding, she commanded, "Leave me. Tell Captain Saltzman I will meet with him shortly." As her maid gratefully scurried away, Caroline allowed her chaotic thoughts to overtake her. Her father had been poisoned. Klaus was missing. Had enemies breached their home? But why take Klaus? As the only child of a powerful lord, Caroline was a much more valuable hostage. Blue eyes filled with tears, and in her anguish, she spied the goblet she'd thrown. And she remembered how Klaus' hands trembled that night as he'd poured her father's wine.
But Klaus' hands could've trembled for so many reasons — a sudden chill, insecurities of his own station, an involuntary shudder — she refused to condemn her lover this way. There were no falsehoods between them.
An errant draft made the gilt edge of the crimson and gold tapestries flutter, catching her eye as she recalled how proud her mother had been to hang her family's crest in a place of honor, framing her father's greatest triumph. The double-bladed battle axe of his enemy had been rightfully won on the battlefield in honorable service to their king. Ansel of the North had been a worthy foe. In fact, her father had —.
Caroline paused in her musings, blue eyes growing wide in alarm as she realized the axe was gone. Her father had been poisoned and his murderer had stolen his greatest prize. By the gods, no! She raced down the halls, slippers struggling for purchase along the well-worn stone. Every touch, every stolen kiss, every word from Klaus' lips echoed in her mind. She knew nothing. And everything. She merely refused to believe it.
She berated herself for standing outside Klaus' quarters like a timid child. With a furious hiss, she threw open the doors. A blazing fire merrilyburned in the hearth beside his bed. And his quarters had never felt so cold. Cupboard drawers were flung open, empty except for the linens he once used to strain pigments. The carved trunk at the foot of his bed had been kicked over to hastily scoop out the rest of his garments and sketchbooks. An enemy who would steal him away wouldn't take such care with his comfort.
Klaus hadn't been taken. He fled.
Caroline shrieked, a jagged wail that tore from her throat as she finally accepted the truth. Klaus murdered her father. And then he fled. Because he knew she would have his blood. It was the cruelest of betrayals. By the gods, only the blackest of souls could do this! Her father had been a benevolent patron to Klaus; he'd nurtured Klaus' talent and raised him from obscurity.
How long had he plotted against her? From their first kiss, she recalled how the faintest brush of his lips to her open palm had been a mild flirtation that quickly gave way to pure pleasure in the courtyard. Did he set out to seduce and murder within the space of mere breaths? How he must've laughed at the ease with which she granted him her heart.
Do something. She needed to feed the fury that made her head pound and her heart sicken. She gathered the ruined brushes and dusty, cracked palette Klaus had left behind, tossing them into the crackling fire. More. Everything must burn.
The rumpled sheets bore just the faintest outline of Klaus' form — or at least that's what her sadistic imagination told her. He used to twist that fine linen along her nude form, meticulously positioning her body to compose his next piece. A piece — that's all she'd been. She'd debased herself for a man who had murdered her father. Enraged, Caroline ripped them away, wadding the sheets into a messy ball before tossing everything onto the flames. As the embroidered family crest was set ablaze, she let go, her sobs echoing throughout the chamber.
The fire belched out smoke and she took a deep breath, imagining her lungs were filling with fire. Enough to burn away these wretched memories. Coughing, she moved to the small alcove, unlatching the shutters to air out the room.
And that was when she saw it.
Perched on the spindly-legged easel was a canvas richly painted in the chiaroscuro style Klaus had spent so much time perfecting. Caroline stood proudly on a battlefield, wielding the warrior's blades with crow feathers woven into her braids. He had painted her as the Goddess Nemain. Bastard. Caroline screeched, lashing out with a foot to snap the easel's base. As the canvas clattered to the floor, she noticed the back contained Klaus' writing.
Ignoring the sudden chill in the air, she gingerly picked up the painting, as though fearful of catching some malady. In his familiar, beautiful copperplate, Klaus wrote:
Caroline my love,
I don't expect your forgiveness, but my apology is yours all the same.
And I will go to my grave with your name burned to my breast.
With a love that endlessly yearns,
Klaus, son of Ansel
Heart racing, Caroline read his words again and again, understanding dawning. Klaus was the bastard son of Ansel of the North, the cursed traitor. Whom her father had captured and turned over to their king to be executed. Her blood had slain his.
Her fingers clenched the frame until the wood cracked. Blood boiling, she thought of the satisfaction he must've felt, taking the revenge he believed was his divine right. But there was nothing sacred in his act — their gods only knew how to take. She vowed to show this faithless man how a true warrior takes. With a ferocious battle cry, Caroline flung the painting into the roaring fire. The flames engulfed Klaus' meticulous work, and as the canvas curled and blackened, she prepared for war.
They called each other 'my love'.