The Legacy
Accolades for TJ Bennett’s
THE LEGACY
“Bennett delivers a powerful evocation of an exciting period in history most romance novels have ignored. Her full-blooded characters take you on an emotional rollercoaster, for a trip you won’t soon forget. We’ll be seeing more of this author, and I can hardly wait.”
—Susan Squires, author of
Danegeld, Danelaw, No More Lies,
and
The Companion
series
“Tempting, tantalizing, and terrific! TJ Bennett is an exceptional new talent who delivers a fresh, satisfying romance.”
—Shana Galen, author of
Good Groom Hunting
and
When Dashing Met Danger
5 OUT OF 5 CUPS
“This story is superb…. THE LEGACY is a riveting story that explodes with tight action. It is an interesting plot with in-depth feelings that even pierced this reader’s heart. There are situations between this loving couple that made my heart leap for joy. Drama at its best, this is one overpowering, extraordinary tale.”
—Cherokee, Reviewer for
Coffee Time Romance
DEDICATION
:
To my mother, Dottie. I miss you.
Published 2008 by Medallion Press, Inc.
The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2008 by TJ Bennett
Cover Illustration by Adam Mock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro
ISBN# 1933836369
ISBN# 978-193383636-2
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
As Alice Walker once wrote, “Each one, pull one, up into the sun …” There were many people along the way who helped to pull me up. I would like to thank a few of them by name.
To Susan Squires for mentoring me, even when she didn’t know she was doing it. From her I learned to THINK BIG. And to Harry Squires, who taught me that I could.
To Madeline Hunter, who made time for a panicky stranger out of the goodness of her heart and continues to pass it forward. May I remember that when it’s my turn.
To the Los Angeles Romance Authors chapter of RWA, the most encouraging group of romance writers on the face of the planet. LARA rocks!
To Rob, Jack, and Will, for being patient and understanding when things didn’t get done because Mommy was writing … and writing … and writing …
To my brother, Clay, for being my very first co-writer.
To my parents, Sonny (Luther) and Dottie (Dorothy), whom I wish could have lived to see this, my first novel published, but I think they know anyway.
To my sister Tai Shan, who always believed and supported, and who was my favorite “go-to” cheerleader.
And finally, thank you to the fabulous “Four F’s,” the best critique partners ever: Kiki, Peaches, Roxie, Trixi, and Bubbles. There are no words, ladies. Oh, wait. Yes, there are—and because of you, they are all in here. Love, Candi.
Table of Contents
Chapter
1
Anno Domini 1525, Wittenberg, Electoral Saxony
B
aronesse Sabina von Ziegler lay on the floor and listened to the sound of scampering feet in the darkness, bolting upright when her shadowed enemy scurried closer.
“Stand up. Now,” she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse from lack of use. “The chains, Sabina—rattle the chains.”
A soldier obedient to her own command, she complied; the clanking barely penetrated the darkness. In the corner, the rushes whispered with activity. Her muscles tensed in anticipation. “Stay calm, stay calm …”
The rat streaked toward her ankle, teeth bared. She screamed, despite her resolve, and kicked out, her naked foot connecting with something solid. An enraged squeak gave testimony to the strength of her kick. “Filthy beast!”
Slanted eyes shone back at her like pale glass, even in the darkness. A blink and they were gone. The scampering receded into the far corner of the chamber, where she imagined the rat whispered with its cohorts. Sabina knew it would simply wait for another chance. Shivering and hungry, she slumped against the wall, despair whispering in her ear it was only a matter of time before the rats got their meal.
A silent tear slid down her cheek. Reaching over to the basin beside her, she rapped her fingers against the crust of nearly frozen water, breaking through, and dipped her hand into its chilly depths. A splash onto her face. A square of fabric torn from her hem to wipe up as best she could. There.
When she went to her Maker, at least it would be with a clean face. “Pray,” she rasped. “Pray.”
She clasped her hands together, searching for words of comfort, but only the Lord’s plea on the cross found its way into her prayers:
My God, my God … why have You forsaken me?
A squeak of metal against wood interrupted her thoughts.
She held her breath while the bolt on the heavy door drew back and swung open with a creak, the light of a torch spilling into the chamber. She pulled herself upright to await her destiny with as much pride as she could muster.
A man entered, the torch held aloft. Sabina had not thought of him as her father in many years. Baron Marcus von Ziegler, the
Schenk
of Wittenberg, had married her mother and adopted Sabina when she was but two. He was the lineal holder of the Castle von Ziegler, her former home and her current prison.
His pale eyes rested on her. “So. You still live.”
She lifted her chin in defiance. “Despite your best efforts to the contrary.”
“Such a hardy soul. It was always your gift and my curse.” He shrugged. “God’s will. I’ve come to tell you the search is over.”
She clutched at the wall behind her.
“Nay.”
“I’ve done quite well for you, actually. Better than you deserve. The wedding will be in two days.” His narrowed glance flicked over her thin frame. “We had better clean you up. Mustn’t frighten the man away, after everything I had to do to … persuade him of the match.”
“I will not marry a man of your choosing,” she croaked. “I would rather starve to death first.”
He advanced on her, lowering the torch until she could feel the fine hairs on her forearm shriveling from the intense heat. She shrank back against the wall and averted her face. Beneath the hiss and pop of the flames, she heard his cold voice.
“That
can be arranged.”
A chill went through her. She had lost. Still, something in her refused to bow down. It had always been thus between them. Throat constricted, she forced herself to speak.
“All I want is my mother’s bequest. It is what I came for, nothing else. Promise me you will not stand in my way, and I will disappear forever.”
“If I had wanted you to disappear forever, I could have made it happen long before this,” he snapped. “But you might prove useful to me yet.”
She met his cold, speculative gaze. “Why do you hate me so? Why will you not release me?”
The baron’s eyes darkened with remembered enmity, and he murmured,
“You
know.”
Sabina covered her ears against the well-worn litany of blame. “I never meant to hurt Carl. I’ve begged your forgiveness.” She raised pleading eyes to his. “Please. It was my mother’s wish—”
“Oh yes, your mother was very clever.” The flaming torch reflected in his eyes like twin fires of Hell. “Too clever, perhaps, for her own good.”
She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He did not answer. Instead his eyes burned hotter. “You have a choice. You will marry this man, or you will stay down here, and no one will ever know.”
She shook her head in denial. “The … the servants … someone will talk.”
“Nay.” He looked at her with a satisfied smile. “No one will. They all believe you returned peacefully to the convent from whence you came days ago. Or, should I say, from whence you escaped? I am the only one who knows you are still here.” He leaned his face close to hers, and the tannic smell of new wine washed over her. “And I am not
about
to tell.”
Sabina slid to the floor. He would be rid of her one way or the other, but while she breathed, she could not release her grasp on hope. “I … I will marry this man, but you must promise not to give him the rights to my inheritance. Put it into the marriage contract. Show me the document, and I will do as you say.”
“Silence! You are in no position to bargain.” His heavy, gray-tinged brows drew down over eyes the color of steel, so unlike the midnight blue of hers. She had inherited her coloring from her long-dead mother. Another mark against her.
The baron cocked his head and regarded her thoughtfully in much the same way a cat regards a mouse trapped under its kill-sharpened claws.
“However …” he shrugged. “I am nothing if not flexible. If that is what it will take to end this little war between us, then very well.”
She lifted her head in surprise. “And in a few weeks’ time, when I reach my majority, you will do nothing to stand in my way? You will not change the terms?”
“By that time, I promise you I will do absolutely nothing.” His lips stretched in an excuse for a smile. “There. Satisfied?”
Slowly, she nodded in agreement. She felt as though she had just struck a bargain with the devil.
Freedom. After so long.
But what sort of freedom, and at what price?
The sun reflected through the stained-glass windows, bathing the inside of the church in a prism of light. Sabina blinked at the dance of colors, enthralled. In deference to the weather and her station, Elector Frederick the Wise had given the baron permission to hold the ceremony inside the church rather than in front of the church door, as was the custom. The light, after so many days in darkness, brought both a physical pain and a palpable joy. Nevertheless, despite the sun’s teasing approach, the clouds slowly returned and the promised bright bowed to dawning gray.
A lone, fat taper on the altar sputtered out with a hiss, and a robed attendant hurried to relight it. It would not do for the groom to be unable to see his bride, should he care to look, which he had yet to do. In fact, Master Wolfgang Behaim had looked at everything but her—the baron’s armed attendants, the Reverend, the closed door behind her—anything but her.
He had clad himself for his wedding in a costume reminiscent of mourning, the somber doublet and hose eschewing the slash-and-puff patterns of the day. Still, the conservative suit did little to disguise the powerful body beneath. Though his clothes seemed of serviceable material, watching him was akin to watching a fully dressed lion on the prowl. One imagined him hampered by the seams and sleeves of convention when his own tawny skin would have befitted him better. Even naked, he would be formidable.
The blood rushed to Sabina’s cheeks when she realized she entertained such intimate thoughts about a man she’d just met.
The Reverend Bugenhagen pronounced them man and wife and began a lengthy blessing. Sabina’s new husband tapped his foot with barely concealed impatience. No fool he, the Reverend hastily completed the blessing and turned to Master Behaim with a kindly smile. “If it be your pleasure, you may bestow a kiss upon your bride.”