The Legacy (10 page)

She looked so vulnerable. She must never know his plans. He must find a way to keep them hidden.

In the meantime, he saw no reason why they couldn’t be friends. Yes, they would part as friends … if he could just keep his hands off her until then.

Chapter
6

W
hen dawn filtered into the window the next morning, Sabina sighed deeply.

I am late for matins again.

The thought drifted through her mind before she remembered she was no longer at the convent in Nimbschen, but was in fact in a very comfortable bed in her new husband’s home in Wittenberg. Still, conscious of the fact she had hardly been productive during her stay here, but instead had been more like a lily of the valley neither sowing nor reaping, she decided it was time to get up and put some order back into her life.

She felt much stronger already. Though she had no matins to attend, she still felt obligated to maintain her morning ritual. The events of the last few weeks had made it difficult to maintain any sort of regular prayer schedule.

Still she did not move, but watched the dust motes in the air dancing in the morning light.

Was Wolf already out of bed, hard at work in his father’s print shop? At the thought of him, a faint recollection crept into her head, and she seized upon it, drawing it out.

She had an image of him beside her bed last night, his big hand stroking her hair from her forehead while he murmured soothing words to her.

She sat up abruptly. It could not be.

Yet—she remembered the feel of his solid heat, the strength of his arms around her back.

Surely she must be mistaken.

She lay back down, turned over, and punched the pillow.

She had endured the most confusing dreams last night. Yes, it must be a dream. Though she rarely remembered her dreams, last night’s she recalled in great detail. It had been about a dark wolf. She closed her eyes, trying to grasp the fragments of it and weave it back into a pattern.

She wandered through a black and unfamiliar forest, like the little girl in the fairy tale, lost in the woods, cold and afraid. And, in the way of such dreams, her brother appeared, not dead, as she knew him to be, but alive, vibrant. Then he was gone, and the wolf came to her instead.

Strangely, she did not fear him. He was big, but she stretched and pulled him to her, seeking his heat. She climbed up on his back and wrapped her legs around him, knowing he would carry her anywhere she wanted to go. He rubbed himself against her, his rich pelt silken and warm. Joy poured through her. She was on a voyage, the journey pleasure itself. She felt strange and wonderful all at the same time, as though she held the key to a secret kingdom full of treasures she had only begun to imagine.

Sabina shifted restlessly at the memory, and felt an unfamiliar heat between her thighs. She had felt it in her dream, too. It made her impatient to get to the hidden land the wolf seemed to promise, but at the last moment, when she was close, the restive wolf had slipped from her grasp and glided silently away.

She remembered how she had woken up with a start, and called for him to come back; but of course, there was no wolf. She must have fallen asleep again because she remembered nothing else.

She marveled at how powerful daytime images could incorporate themselves into one’s dreams. She had met a man named Wolf, so she had dreamed about a wild animal with the same name. Wolf must have been on her mind, and his name simply became a symbol for … what? Freedom? Desire?

She pushed the thought away, reluctant to examine it. Still, she could not deny the effect he had on her. Even now, she yearned to feel the softness of the wolf’s pelt beneath her palms, its solid strength against her body. She lay amongst the pillows, breathing deeply … and smelled the faintly familiar scent of lemons and sandalwood on her skin.

She stopped breathing. Could it be …?

She shook her head, refusing to indulge in such ridiculous speculations. Of course it could not be.

Could it?

She lay motionless for a few more moments before she finally roused herself out of bed and performed her morning ablution, using the basin of water Bea had set out the night before. She dressed in a wool gown and plain gray overskirt, and topped it off with a lightly boned vest with laces down the front—a former servant’s uniform. She tightened the laces, grateful even for the humble gown. Over her hair, she placed a head cloth as befitted her newly-married status. Then she made the sign of the Cross and began her prayers.

Bea found her thus when she entered the room an hour later, the early morning sunlight streaming around her in a buttery pool of yellow while she kneeled in its light.

“Oh,” exclaimed Bea, who was almost out of the door before Sabina stopped her with a friendly smile.

“Nay, it is fine. I am just finishing.”

Sabina crossed herself again and stood slowly. Prayer always comforted her. It was the one time in her day when she felt at peace. Her knees did ache from the hard wood floor, though she had grown accustomed to the sensation many years before. Postulants were not allowed to comfort their knees with a soft pillow at Mass as some of the wealthy laity did. The Abbess had a saying: “Soft pillow, soft knees, soft souls.” She apparently believed the road to perdition was paved with feather down.

Despite her discomfort, Sabina greeted Bea cheerfully. “Good morning to you, Bea.”

Bea curtseyed to her, balancing a tray of food in her sturdy hands. “And to you,
Frau
Behaim. I came to bring you your morning meal in bed, but I can see you are already up.”

“Oh, goodness, Bea, you will spoil me with all this pampering. I am perfectly capable of breaking my fast with the rest of household now, if it is permitted.”

“Well, of course it is permitted, my lady.” She set the tray down on the bed. “But it is not pampering to let you recover from the ordeal you’ve endured, if you’ll excuse me for saying so.”

Bea’s sympathetic gaze still echoed the shock of what she saw the previous day. This morning she had the good grace not to pursue the subject any further, and Sabina silently thanked her.

Suddenly, Sabina became aware they were no longer alone. She sensed rather than saw Wolf. Her stomach fluttered, but she forced herself to stay calm.

“Good morning,” Wolf said from behind Bea, and the housekeeper gave a startled shriek. Clutching one hand to her ample bosom, she turned and confronted him.

“Wolfgang Philip Matthew Behaim, how dare you go lurking about in doorways like some little boy. The nerve!” She turned to Sabina, and blew out a flustered breath. “Used to scare the Spirit right out of me. He could be quiet when he wanted to, that one, and then leap out of corners and doorways at unsuspecting maids all the time. But I spanked him for it then, and he’s not too old to spank him for it now, master of the house or no.” She said this last bit with a wink.

Wolf’s brows rose in annoyance at this revelation of his childhood antics.

Sabina gave an unladylike snort of laughter at the image of the huge man being paddled across Bea’s knee before she clapped her hand over her mouth. Wolf looked at her queerly and pressed a finger against his lips to stifle a laugh.

Bea sniffed. “Never you mind. I’ll forgive you this once,” she said to him. “But I’d advise you to invite your bride to break your fast together, Master Wolf. She’s determined to be up and about, and it is a good enough time to become acquainted as any.” She smirked, lifting the tray back up again. “And since you’ve been lingering about here for the last hour instead of bolting out like you usually do, I am thinking we’re of the same mind on the subject.”

Bea winked at Sabina again and sauntered out of the room carrying the tray, her large hips sashaying from side to side.

Wolf stared after her. “I think I shall have to fire her someday.”

Sabina had a moment of apprehension before she realized Wolf would do nothing of the sort. Even disgruntled, she could see he held great affection for the buxom housekeeper and would never do her harm.

She smiled tentatively, feeling nervous about seeing him again.

He looked a little dangerous this morning: a dark shadow touched his jaw line, as though he had forgotten to shave. He had mussed his thick hair, and she remembered him raking his hands through it yesterday several times. It was a habit, which made her yearn for a comb, because the resulting tangle was far too appealing.

He examined her with a critical eye. “You’re feeling well, I trust?”

She nodded. “Much better, Master Behaim.”

“Please, call me Wolf.”

At the sound of his name, the images in her dream rushed back. She could hardly call him that now … she might blush. “Yes. Well, ah, I wanted to thank you again for all you have done for me since I arrived. I—I am without words to express my gratitude. If there is any way I can repay you …”

His eyes went briefly to the bed, and then came back to hers. They burned an intense green before the fire in them quickly banked. She remembered those eyes from yesterday, how they had weighed and measured her in every way.

He took a deep breath. She remembered what his chest looked like from yesterday, too—chiseled, rippled with sinewy strength, the flat copper-colored heads of his nipples pebbled from the cold.

Mortified, her mind screeched to a halt. The chamber suddenly seemed too small.

“Think nothing of it,” he said abruptly, and backed away from her as though fleeing her rapacious thoughts. He stepped into the hall and gestured toward the staircase.

“Are you up for a walk in the fresh air before our meal? The wind is brisk today, but I find it invigorating. The sun even put in an appearance and dried up most of the rain. We can enjoy a walk and talk at the same time. We have a great deal to discuss, agreed?”

For goodness’ sake: he was chattering. He seemed as nervous to be around her as she was around him. Still, she had not been outside in days, and she ached to see the sun.

She nodded. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

Wolf started off, but then stopped and held out his arm for her. She had already crossed her arms over her abdomen and hidden her hands in her sleeves, as had been her habit in the convent when she walked during her meditations.

Instead of lowering his arm, he continued to extend it out toward her, an amused expression coming over his face once more. Sabina hesitated for a moment, then came up next to him and slipped her right hand into the curve of his left elbow, where it settled comfortably.

Smiling faintly, Wolf stared above their heads. Of course, she looked up too, and finally could not resist asking. “What?”

“Just waiting for the lightning bolt,” he deadpanned.

Why, he was teasing her! She smiled shyly and walked with him down the stairs, where they paused long enough for him to retrieve two heavy cloaks and drape one over her before they made their way outside.

Sabina realized the wisdom of that precaution once they went outdoors. He had been right about the wind. Brisk and stiff, it whipped the Elbe River ambling behind the property into little white peaks of foam. They left through a narrow gate in the city breech wall; Wolf waved to one of the guards on watch. Sabina avoided looking at the river; too many dark memories clouded her enjoyment of it.

He stopped her and motioned back toward the breech wall.

“Take care not to stray from here on your own,” he said. “Thomas Müntzer is in Mühlhausen stirring up the peasants again. The leagues are active all over the region. We’re expecting trouble.” His eyes met hers. “You go outside the city walls only with me or one of my men.”

She tried not to take offense at his autocratic tone. “If you wish.”

He frowned at her response. “Is there a problem?”

She squinted up at him, since the sun was behind him, making him difficult to see. “It is just…” She sighed.

“You sympathize with them.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” she answered after a moment. “It seems the peasants grow more destitute every year. Do you not? Sympathize with them I mean, considering …?”

“Considering I descend from them?” he finished for her, but seemed to take no offense.

She nodded.

Instead of answering right away, he reached over to fasten her cloak, which hung askew. She tried to remember to breathe when his fingers accidentally brushed the high round part of her breast.

“Times are harsh.” He shrugged. “The Emperor levies more taxes on the nobles, who pass the increases onto the tenant farmers and serfs. It’s not as bad in Electoral Saxony without the serfdom, but still the conflicts spill over into the region.”

“I have heard about the
Bundschuh
leagues,” she said while they walked up the path.

He turned and, capturing her waist, lifted her lightly over a mud puddle that lay before her. The gesture made her lightheaded, but he seemed not to be aware he had even done it. He released her immediately, and they continued on.

“Yes, the secret peasant leagues,” he said, picking up the thread of the conversation easily. “They claim to organize for their own defense, but some of them are becoming violent. They target Church lands often enough.”

She put her hand atop her head as the wind tugged at her scarf. “I understand many of them feel the bishops and abbots are the worst oppressors of all.”

Wolf paused, considered, then resumed walking. “Mayhap they are right.”

He had surprised her. She knew he was no Reformer, and yet he seemed to be criticizing the Church.

She turned to him. “So you do support the peasants’ aims?”

He slowed, appearing to genuinely consider her question.

“I agree with the peasants’ right to have a basic standard of living,” he offered. “I agree they should have access to common forestlands and waterways to provide for their own needs, despite the nobles’ attempts to commandeer them. I agree the nobles shouldn’t take food out of the mouths of starving families who work the land to support them. However, I don’t agree with some of the leagues’ readiness to use the name of Christ, or violence and threats, to further their aims.”