The Legacy (23 page)

“Why choose the grandson of a peasant to lead a company against them?” Wolf asked, ignoring the blatant attempt at flattery.

“Because,” answered the captain, “the Elector prefers to see the least bloodshed as possible in his region. As you know, he has a small sympathy for these people. To put a noble in charge under such incendiary conditions might be a mistake, do you not agree? However, a man like you would minimize the damage as much as possible. Please, I must humbly ask you to join us.”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “Why do I have a feeling you will insist if I say nay?”

The captain merely shrugged, as if the decision was out of his hands.

Wolf sighed. “Very well. Who are your ‘deputies’? Do we know them to be trustworthy and reliable? I don’t wish to be left at the head of a charge by myself while everyone else is in an unexpected retreat.”

“Yes, Master Wolfgang,” interrupted Franz, “I know many of them. Good men willing to protect their homes and families at any cost. Most of them should be fine.”

Wolf nodded. “Then I’ll attend to them in a moment. Franz, send Young John to saddle Suleiman, and prepare my weapons. Tell Bea to pack some food and drink, too, and bring Gisel down so I may say goodbye. I might be gone awhile. And get my ink well and paper. I’ll need to leave instructions for the print shops in case my return is delayed. I’ll meet you in the study shortly.” He started to withdraw, but stopped. “Hold.”

Wolf looked at Peter. “Do you ride with me?”

Peter looked almost insulted. “Was there ever a doubt? I’m a citizen here, too.”

Wolf grinned and motioned to Franz. “Then we had best have enough for two.”

Franz nodded and hurried off to make ready their horses and equipment.

Wolf looked over his shoulder at Sabina. She stood with her head down, her arms wrapped around her in an unconsciously defensive gesture.

“Give us a moment, would you?” Wolf asked his brother. Peter glanced past him, nodded, and turned away to confer with the captain and his men.

Wolf went to Sabina and put a finger under her chin, forcing her to face him. She blinked, crystal droplets shaping her soot-colored lashes into little spikes when she tried to keep the tears from falling.

“You heard?”

She nodded.

“I must go.”

She made an awkward gesture. “It does not matter.”

He cupped her chin. “It does.”

She looked up. What he saw reflected in her eyes, amidst the now-cooling passion, was shame and regret. He pulled her to him. “I can’t do anything about it right now, but mark me well. You’re my wife. There’s no shame in wanting me. Just as I want you.”

He silenced her feeble protests with a finger across her lips. “By the by, I believe I won.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“The wager,” he reminded her, and he felt her tense. “And for my reward …” He held her gaze for a moment. Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “You’ll be here when I return.” It was a statement, not a question.

“That is all?” she asked, drawing back to look at him.

“We have much to discuss. I need you here when I return.” He pulled her to him, held her closely for a moment. A sense of apprehension overwhelmed him. “But more than that, I need something to look forward to.”

Astonishment, and then a shadow passed over her eyes. She looked toward the door where Peter and the Guard waited outside, then back up at him. She suddenly gripped his shoulders.

“Take care. I would have you return.” She blushed and dropped his gaze. “Gisel needs her father.”

It was Wolf’s turned to be surprised. “Worried, little fox?”

She hid her eyes from his and picked at a piece of nonexistent lint on his shirt. “There are things to be settled, as you said.”

He turned her face up, pressed his lips to hers—one hard, brief kiss, he dare not risk more—and stepped back. She gazed at him and her lower lip trembled.

“One thing has already been settled.” He strode to the door. “Decide when you will move into my chamber. I intend to have you in my bed. I’ll leave the choice as to when up to you.” He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Sabina?

She gazed at him.

“I’m a patient man, but let it be soon, my sweet. Let it be soon.”

When he pulled the door shut behind him, he thought he heard her burst into tears.

Chapter
17

S
abina sought her handkerchief and wiped the tears off her face, determined to shed no more. Some of the embroidered cushions Wolf had tossed haphazardly aside in his haste to possess her lay scattered across the floor. They were a visual reminder of the hollow ache she already felt at his absence; she picked them up and returned them to their rightful places.

Unfulfilled ardor left her restless, and she abruptly turned and left Sanctuary for a walk, not even bothering with a cloak.

The wind bit sharply into her cheeks. The cold felt like a slap in the face. Or perhaps it was reality itself that slapped her.

Wolf had nearly succeeded in seducing her with a few kisses and a few well-chosen words. What kind of woman was she? Hadn’t she learned from her first experience with a man the pale virtue of such a temporary joy when compared to true commitment?

What had she expected? Wolf would kneel before her and beg for her love? He would declare his undying adoration of her? She knew better than to believe in such silly maidens’ dreams. She’d learned that hard lesson years ago, when she’d allowed George and his foolish fairy tales to ruin her life.

She went to the shadow of a large oak tree and looked up into its leafless bower. Without knowing why, she embraced the trunk and laid her head against its rough bark.

Men did not love women; they made use of them. Had not her own experiences, and the example of her mother, taught her as much? Even a man like Wolf Behaim could not be expected to rise above the natural order of things. Men needed women to satisfy their lust, to produce heirs, and to obey. Love was rarely, if ever, part of the equation. She knew that. Everyone knew that.

Then why do I continue to rebel against it?
she asked the indifferent oak.
Why does my heart still long for a love I will never know?

Her mother told her a fairy tale once, about a white unicorn who was not supposed to exist, but did because a pure maiden believed in it. The day the maiden stopped believing, the unicorn ceased to be. Was true love like that, too? Something that existed only as long as one believed in it?

She fisted her hand against the trunk. Fairy tales. There was no such thing as happily ever after. She shook her head at her own foolishness and shifted so her back rested against the tree. From where she stood, she could see the Elbe River. She watched a sailing vessel slowly making its way up the blue-green waters and thought of Wolf.

Aside from the obvious physical pleasure of their union, part of her longed for the other things Wolf offered—a home, companionship, a family, a place to belong. But another part of her, the part yearning to be loved, would not allow a surrender of the voiceless dream she held dear: the dream of becoming, for the first time in her life, essential to another person, not for what she represented or what duty she was prepared to perform but for who she was.

She sighed with hopelessness. The chances of that happening, especially with Wolf, were very unlikely.

She could be strong if she were alone. She could wrap her heart in protective wool, and encase it deep inside her, never giving anyone a glimpse of the precious treasure inside. How could she live every day beside a man who would draw out her heart little by little until it lay tender and vulnerable in his hands—knowing it was a gift for which he had no use?

Worse, a vision of hers and Wolf’s children now shimmered before her, within her grasp. Despite her mother’s sad experience, having Wolf’s children would be the bittersweet fulfillment of a wish she had dared not utter.

She gazed at the roiling river, a mirror for her thoughts. Her thoughts drifted to her desolate childhood and as a consequence to her brother.

Poor Carl. He had been so sturdy, so handsome even at fourteen. He had already begun to show signs of the great man he would become, given the chance. He had been the only other living soul, besides her mother, who truly cared for her. Even her mother had rarely attended to Sabina until it was almost too late.

How many miscarriages and stillbirths had her mother suffered over the years? Sabina could hardly count them. The baron had finally left her alone after the last one, probably reasoning she would never produce another living child for him and he’d have no replacement for his beloved son. Then her mother had died suddenly just shortly after the baron sent Sabina to the convent. Sabina had not even been allowed a proper mourning. The wound that had left would never heal.

She’d learned from the Abbess the baron had remarried not even six months after her mother died. The young woman had produced no living issue in their six years of marriage before she, too, had died, only from an accident. Still he kept trying. He had let it drop to Sabina he was currently working on impregnating his fourth wife, a girl not much older than she was when she entered the convent.

Woe to
this
Baronin if she was unable to produce the required male heir.

Sabina watched idly as a sailing vessel slid into the harbor. Even from a quarter of a league away, she could see sailors scrambling to tie up to the pier. One lone figure separated itself from the wave of humanity on the docks, and walked slowly toward town.

Ever since her return home, Sabina had wondered about the deaths of both her mother and the baron’s third wife. Her adoptive father, who was so intent on producing a male heir in order to retain the title of Baron von Ziegler in his direct line, seemed even more obsessed since her departure to the convent. Since her return, she had seen the taint of madness in his eyes that exacerbated his already harsh cruelty.

Could he be responsible for the premature deaths of both women?

She supposed her mother’s death could be explained by her somewhat fragile health, aggravated by the burden of years of pregnancy with little respite. She would never know for certain. As far as she knew, no doctor had been sent to determine the cause of death.

But what of the third wife? Sabina knew little about her. Was her death really an accident, or something more sinister? Sabina resolved to discover what she could about it if an opportunity presented itself.

She leaned against the tree for some time, turning the situation over in her mind, and finally put it aside. She had other things to think about. She would not give up on her dream of a haven, no matter what. There must be another way. She would pray to God for another chance to be of service to Him.

For now, she looked askance at her untidy gown. With chagrin, she tied to brush out the wrinkles Wolf had crushed into her skirts.

Wolf…

He could obviously have any woman he wanted. Why had he not remarried and had more children before now? His daughter was wonderful, of course, but could she be enough for him? Why did he not have the lust for sons to carry on his name as other men seemed to have?

Sabina’s head began to pound as the thoughts whirled around.
Enough.
As Wolf had once said, what will be will be. She leveraged herself off the tree and trudged wearily back to the house.

She had just closed the door behind her when she heard a knock. Without thinking, she opened it again.

She drew back in shock at the sight that greeted her.

A man, tall, with intense green eyes and a striking face. A wide jaw, high cheekbones, and a dangerously sensual mouth nearly hidden beneath a dark-blond beard. He had a rolled sack thrown over his back, and his gaudy clothes were streaked with dust. She could see the hilt of a great sword strapped over his back. He squinted down at her, obviously as surprised as she.

Too late, she realized the stupidity of her action. He could be one of the very men Wolf now pursued, and she had allowed him easy entrance. She made haste to shut the door, but he pushed his foot across the threshold and would not budge. He opened the door easily, shoving it wide although she tried with all her might to prevent it, and eyed her with a scowl.

Frightened to death, she gathered her wits together enough to cry for help. Her scream pierced the silence, shrill and long.

The sound jolted the man into speech. He covered his ears with a wince.

“‘Swounds, what kind of help is Wolf hiring these days? Can’t a man come in to his own home without being accosted by a lunatic?”

Chapter
18

S
tunned, Sabrina stopped screaming, even as Franz and Bea hurried in from opposite directions to see what was amiss. Young John from the stable rushed in with an ax, and even the visiting seamstress came clutching her scissors, trailing spools of thread behind her.

Bea shrieked with joy. “Master Günter!”

She threw her arms around him. The others reacted similarly, and Sabina realized with horror she had just tried to shut her brother-in-law out of his own home.

He looked at her from over the welcoming heads of the others in a way that indicated she was mad and must be seen to immediately. She realized what she must look like to him; she was staring at him, mouth wide open, and had yet to say a word.

He pointed. “What in the name of God is wrong with that woman?”

Bea laughed, as did the others. Sabina blushed furiously.

“Oh, Master Günter. I am certain she did not know who you were,” Bea answered. “She must have mistaken you for one of those awful men trying to take over the city. Master Wolf’s out with the armed patrols even now.”

His green eyes, strangely familiar, traveled over her. The resemblance to both Wolf and Peter became unmistakable in one glance, as did the chiseled set of his jaw and his unusual height. His hair was lighter, nearly blond, making an interesting contrast with his dark eyebrows, but otherwise, it was obvious he was their relation.