The Legacy (9 page)

Surprised, Sabina said, “There are four of them?”

Bea nodded. “Master Wolf, of course, took an apprenticeship in Nürnberg when he was only ten. He finally got his own print shop, and is a master in the Guild. But since William the Younger’s death—Master Wolfgang’s father—he’s stayed home to see to the business here.”

Sabina took another bite of the cheese and chewed thoughtfully. “I would think the family would be here, to settle the inheritance.”

“Well, Greta stayed as long as she could, but had to return home to care for her children. Master Wolf sent a letter to Günter, but no one has heard from him yet. He’s hired out to the Emperor’s troops right now, so he is always on the move. It is difficult to know how to reach him.” Sabina heard the fearful worry in her words.

“The others agreed the printing business should come to Master Wolf, though each of them will get a share of the profits, if there are any. He wants to keep it running. Although,” Bea said, glancing around and lowering her voice dramatically, “the gossip is his father’s creditors have tried to force a sale of all of his properties. Master Wolf will not sell Sanctuary, though. It means too much to all of them. And the rest of us will keep our positions. He has sworn it. And when he gives his word, you can depend on him to keep it.”

The fierce loyalty the older woman felt for Wolf was more than obvious, and reassuring, as well. Few men could inspire such devotion in a servant if their character and actions did not warrant it. However, if the family business was in financial straits, despite Wolf’s apparent success in Nürnberg, then their hasty wedding was beginning to make sense.

The news alarmed her. She was, after all, an heiress—despite her scandalous background. She knew well it would not be the first time a man married a woman for financial gain. Though he did not seem the type who would resort to such a thing, most marriages, even amongst commoners, were made for economic, not emotional reasons. Mayhap he had hoped her father would be generous to them. Little did he know.

She would need to find a way back into town soon, to confront the Wittenberg Marriage Council and convince them of the baron’s coercion, and seek immediate release from her vows. There was small chance they would listen to an unchaperoned woman, but it was a chance she must take.

“I know he was married before,” Sabina said to Bea. She had assumed so, since the baron had hinted at it and Franz had said he had a daughter. “When did his wife die?”

Bea gave Sabina a speculative look and pursed her lips.

“She died three years ago, giving birth to Gisel. You’ll meet the little girl soon, no doubt.”

“Had they been married long?”

“Not long,” Bea sighed with a shake of her head. “That’s the tragedy of it. They had loved each other for years, but because of Guild rules, they could not marry until Master Wolf passed his journeyman levels. They were so happy when he did, and married the day he received his appointment. But within two years, she was dead.” Bea sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

Sabina’s heart contracted with sympathy for him. So much sadness in his life.

“What was she like?” Sabina felt as though she treaded on a grave in asking the question, and suppressed a light shiver. She picked at the food, no longer hungry.

“Frau
Elisabeth?” Bea asked. She bit her lip and stood up. “Oh, I do not think it is a good idea to be speaking of the dead wife, particularly with the new wife, if you don’t mind my saying so. Bad luck,” she said, and crossed herself.

“Please.” Sabina held her hand tightly, encouraging her to go on.

Bea considered for a moment, then relented. She sat back down and plucked at her apron with nervous fingers.

“She was a beautiful child,” she said finally. “Kind, too, God rest her soul. Blond as a fairy princess and with a laugh like a silver bell. But so fragile—as though she were an angel only visiting this Earth.” Her expression took on a faraway look. “You just knew God would want her with Him, any day, and you treasured the time she was here.”

Bea was silent for a long time, staring at nothing. Then, with a click of her tongue and another shake of her head, she seemed to come back to the present.

“Mind you, she was no wilting flower either,” Bea said. “She had a way of getting what she wanted. She was fragile on the outside, not on the inside, if you take my meaning. Gisel looks just like her. A real treasure, but I can see her mother’s stubborn nature in her sometimes, too. But
you,
my lady.”

Bea pointed a finger at her, and Sabina jumped at the abrupt change in subject.

“God made you strong, to survive what you must. You have been ‘purified by fire’—I once heard the priest say that about Joan of Arc, whom those English bastards killed, excusing my language.” She tapped Sabina on the chest.

“You’ve patience, yes? And a strong mind and heart? All the things a man like my master needs, all the things that survive. Yes, perhaps you’ll do, after all,” she said, almost to herself, “perhaps you will.”

“I will do for what?” Sabina asked with a growing sense of unease. She was not certain she liked the look in Bea’s eyes, and she had no idea what her rambling speech had been about. She regretted the impulse to ask Bea about Wolf in the first place.

Bea stood up and briskly clapped her hands together. “Come now, off to bed with you.”

“To bed?” Sabina glanced out the window. “It is still morning!”

“Yes, and you sitting there with your eyes drooping. You’ve let me chatter away, when God knows the last time you had a proper sleep.”

“Oh, I could not possibly,” Sabina said. “It is far too early—I would be up all night.”

“Well, I have a potion which will do the trick. My mother was a midwife, and knew more about potions and such than any apothecary ever did. Everything she knew, she taught to me. If you’ll trust me, I’ll mix one up for you. I’ll not make it too strong, but you’ll sleep like a babe tonight too, I warrant.”

Sabina eyed her doubtfully.

“My lady,” Bea said with a soft smile, “you have a big life ahead of you. Best to face it with a clear head and a good day’s sleep.”

What an odd way of putting it. However, for some reason, Sabina agreed with her and nodded in assent.

Wolf awoke with a start. He blinked drowsily and tried to calculate how long he’d slept. It couldn’t be long, since he rarely slept more than a few hours together anymore. He peered out of the window. The storm had blown itself out, and now dim stars peeked out of the dark blanket of the sky. He cocked his head and heard again the sound that had awakened him.

“Nay—stop!” Sabina’s muffled voice cried out.

Wolf leapt out of bed and, despite his naked state, paused only long enough to find his dagger in the dark. No time to dress. He flung opened the door and peered down the hall in case an assailant lay in wait for him, but he saw no one.

Hearing her anguished cry again, he rushed across the hall to her door and burst through in an attempt to surprise the attacker who held her in his grasp.

Sabina lay alone in the bed, the covers tangling around her legs while she thrashed from side to side, obviously suffering from a nightmare. Her hair flowed like a river of dark silk across the pillow.

Wolf lowered his blade, trying to slow his heartbeat. He went to her bedside, surprised she dreamed so actively since Bea had given her a sleeping potion which should have kept her quiet for hours.

She cried out again. The nightmare held her hostage. Wolf dropped his weapon to the floor with a clatter and gathered her in his arms without a thought for propriety.

“Sabina!” he called out.

“Carl? Is it you?” Her speech had the slurred tones of a child talking in her sleep.

Why was she calling for her dead brother?

“Carl, please!” she whimpered, clutching at him.

“I’m here … it’s me,” he whispered, having no idea why.

“I thought you were dead … Father said …” She mumbled something else, but it was incoherent.

“Everything will be fine. I’m here now. Go back to sleep.”

His voice seemed to calm her, and she lapsed into silence. He rocked her gently, stroking his hand over her hair until her breathing slowed. He meant to leave her then, but she clung to him even though she slept on. Tears tracked down her cheeks, spilling carelessly from beneath her closed lids.

He couldn’t leave. He may be a hard-hearted bastard at times, but even he couldn’t leave her like this. Instead, he awkwardly held her, one foot on the floor, one knee leaning on the bed while she slept on in a fitful slumber. After some time, his muscles began to ache in such a strange position, so he lay next to her, trying not to awaken her. She burrowed closer and seemed to draw comfort from his presence.

He felt a pang of sympathy for her again. Try as he might to deny it, something within him responded to her. In a way he couldn’t identify, he wanted to take care of her, protect her from the world and all who had hurt her.

However, as he held her against him, he knew something else about himself: he couldn’t consider her solely in terms of someone in need of his protection. His body refused to think of her in a platonic sense. In truth, she was fine, and soft, and a woman—and he hadn’t felt this level of desire in a long time. He suddenly realized the danger, and knew he needed to leave immediately.

At that moment, she rolled atop him, wrapping her arms around him as though trying to fuse their bodies together. She curved her slenderness into his strength with a deep sigh.

Dumbfounded, he couldn’t move. Her breasts pillowed against his chest; her legs trapped his. He pulled back his head like a turtle and stared into her face. She still slept, Bea’s potion apparently enough to prevent her from waking, but not enough to incapacitate her entirely.

His staff, realizing a rare opportunity to enact one of his more arousing dreams, vigorously marshaled its forces. Wolf gritted his teeth against the sudden onslaught of desire pouring through him. With a will of their own, his hips shifted until his growing hardness pressed intimately between slim thighs covered only by a nightdress.

He groaned and buried his face in the sweet confection of black hair draping over him like a curtain. He ached from heel to head with confused and guilty desire. He should end this sweet torment, before it got out of hand.

“The wolf…” she murmured.

Was she saying his name?

She grew restless and shifted on top of him. He groaned again and slowly pressed his hips up, rubbing against her heat, then struggled to stop, only just managing to do so. She moaned, sliding her legs along either side of him, nearly riding him now, each of her movements sending him into a paroxysm of need. The perfumed heat from her skin surrounded him; his body grew damp with desire.

He had never experienced such sustained titillation before. It was unbearable—and so erotic it astounded him. He desperately gripped the sheets to keep from touching her, feeling as though he journeyed through both Heaven and Hell.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, but when she turned and nestled her lips into the curve of his neck, he realized he could bear no more. Teetering on a knife’s edge of self-restraint, he lifted her away and compelled himself out of her bed before he no longer could and dishonored them both.

Like a coward retreating from an advancing army, Wolf tore from the chamber and slammed the door shut behind him. Whether it was to keep her in or him out, he wasn’t certain. He leaned back against the cool wood while his chest heaved from the exertion of maintaining control.

He heard her voice calling out and went still.

He was agonizingly aroused and aching with need. He knew if she called to him again, he’d go to her like Odysseus to the Sirens’ song, unable to resist his own destruction. She said nothing else, and he realized she must have gone back to sleep. He blew out his breath.

How could he have allowed that to happen? What in God’s name was he thinking?

Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been thinking, at least not with the part of his body between his ears. If he took her now, honor would demand he keep her as his wife. In addition, he suspected once he took her he would never let her leave his bed, and a babe would be inevitable. Dissolution was the only answer.

It was, wasn’t it?

The questioned echoed in his mind. Of course. It was for the best. If she knew the truth about him, what he had done, she would despise him almost as much as he despised himself.

Nay, best to stay away from her; convince her the marriage would never work … for if she got too close, he might be tempted to drown in those deep blue eyes and confess his sins … to cleanse the black spot on his soul for which he could not even ask God’s forgiveness.

Better she go while she still had the chance.

About to return to his chamber, he realized with a start he’d left his dagger behind. He smacked his forehead with an open palm. He contemplated leaving it, but decided if she found it in the morning it might require an awkward explanation. He girded himself mentally and slipped back into her room. He picked up the dagger, but stopped to gaze at her one more time.