The Legacy (7 page)

He nodded, his slight hesitation hardly noticeable.

“For a time I had hoped …” She shrugged. “In so many ways, a child has only her mother to stand between her and the world. What woman would not yearn for that? To love completely, to give everything, to protect with your very life—”

“To protect?” he asked, obviously surprised.

She bristled. “Yes. A woman has just as much need to protect those she loves as does a man.”

He straightened. “That’s absurd. A woman’s place is not to protect, but to be protected. It’s a man’s duty to see to those under his care.”

Her chin rose and she met his challenging glare.

“A duty many choose to ignore. My own adoptive father is a prime example.”

“He is an aberration,” he shot back.

“Granted. But the law, convention, the Church—all of them refuse to acknowledge the aberrations, and so unwanted children litter the streets. Where at least a boy may make something of himself, if he is strong and bold, the only choices the girls have left are the bawdy house or the cloister.”

“That doesn’t justify—” Wolf began, but stopped. A begrudging smile, a wry glance. “You’re an interesting woman, Baronesse. There you sit, sodden as a drowned rat, and yet you would debate society’s ills with me.”

She smiled. “You started it.”

His bark of laughter nearly shook the walls. It had a rusty, rarely used quality about it. Still, she found herself smiling broader in response. She had been enjoying herself, and she guessed he had as well. He shook his head, and tried, rather unsuccessfully, she thought, to wipe the grin from his face.

He crossed his arms over his muscular chest, now decently covered with a shirt, and considered her anew. He rubbed one finger over his jaw, and the movement drew Sabina’s gaze. They fascinated her, those hands. Mayhap it was because, despite their size, they were steady, gentle, and strong. She had discovered that when he had lifted her onto Suleiman, and again when she had taken the cup of wine from him.

“Are you a heretic, then?” he asked.

She started. “Nay, of course not. I believe in our Lord Jesus Christ. I believe he was crucified for our sins, and raised from the dead after three days to sit at the right hand of God. I believe he is both the Son of God, and God made manifest. As to the rest, well, I will let those more learned than I sort it out.”

She turned away, avoiding his intelligent eyes. “I suppose you could say I am a realist. I see what is, not what others want me to see.”

He came to her then, placed a finger under her chin, and turned her head so she faced him. She stared up at him, dark blue eyes clashing with emerald green.

“A dangerous occupation. Especially for a woman,” he murmured.

“I am not afraid of the truth.”

He released her. “Which is exactly why you need protection.”

Her temper flared. “And what of you, Master Behaim? Where do you stand on these issues?”

He pressed his lips together and she could not help but feel he stifled another laugh. Then his expression was seriousness again.

“I stand where my prince tells me to stand.”

“That is not an answer.”

He ran a gentle hand through the mass of her hair that even now dried in soft, loose waves. Then he seemed to recall himself, and pulled his hand away. He clasped them both behind him.

“My lady,” he sighed, “I’m just a common man. I cannot afford opinions. A few years ago, the Elector was a devout Catholic, so we were all devout Catholics. Today he appears to favor reform, so now I suppose we must too. In the meantime, I shall publish my books, print my pamphlets, and keep my nose out of where it doesn’t belong.”

“Then you are a cynic,” she accused.

He tilted his head and smiled slowly. “Nay. Just a realist, like you.”

Heavens, he was attractive. Her fingers itched to smooth back the tangled waves of hair falling around his ears. She looked away from him and tried to ease the sensation by stroking the fur rug instead. A tremor shook her, in reaction to either the cold or to him she was not certain, and she pulled the rug tighter.

“I am a fool,” he said abruptly.

She looked back up at him, surprised.

“You’re hungry and exhausted. You need food and rest, not talk. Come.” He offered his arm. She felt surprise at the realization she did not wish their audience to end.

“I assure you, I am quite capable—”

He shook his head. “Then have pity on me, if nothing else. I have been up since the wee hours and I still have work to do. Just because it’s my wedding day does not mean my books will get printed without me.”

When she still hesitated, he said, “Come, my lady. It has been, to say the least, a long morning for the both of us. Are you able to walk?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, unwilling to admit to any weakness in front of him.

Wolf admired her strength of will once more when she stiffened her spine and clambered up from the hearth. However, the effort she put into appearing normal was obvious. She swayed when she stood, so he took her elbow and stayed close to her, guiding her up the narrow staircase to the landing above.

He escorted her down a hallway with two heavy doors opposite from one another and opened the one that would serve as her chamber while she resided here. Inside, a large window providing a view of the river dominated the sparsely decorated room. For now, Franz had closed the shutters, and the rain drummed furiously against them. A simple bed stood in one corner of the large space. Draped in wool blankets, it had been made more comfortable by a feather mattress thrown over the straw-filled pelisse. The only other piece of permanent furniture occupying the room was a prized Venetian mirror. Wolf had recently bought it back from the merchant his father had pawned it to, and now he was grateful for that. It gave the room a distinguished air and served as a gilded reminder of better times.

Wolf motioned her into the chamber. A fire burned in the grate, making the room warm and inviting despite its sparse furnishings, and in front of it sat a tub, filled with steaming, soapy water.

“I realize there isn’t much to the room,” he said by way of apology. “We’re … redecorating. I hope you will find it comfortable. I know it’s less than you’re used to.”

Her reaction was unexpected. She clapped her hands in delight. “A bathing tub. A genuine bathing tub.” She turned to him. “It is much more than I have been used to for many years. Thank you for your hospitality. As an unwelcome guest in your home, I have no right to expect such kindness from you, and I am grateful for it.”

He frowned. “You’re not exactly a guest. And you’re not unwelcome.” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. He felt a flush creep up his neck. “I hope nothing I’ve done has made you feel that way. I understand we’re both just pawns in a larger game. I should never blame the chess piece for losing the match.”

She smiled up at him. “Well, then, God bless you, Master Behaim—from one chess piece to another.”

God’s bones, but she had a smile.
It was as though a ray of sunshine had been captured here on earth. He stared at her, drawn to those delicately full lips. A mouth like that could become an obsession.

Sabina suddenly blinked, and her smile faded. She bit her lip in a nervous gesture, and cast her gaze about as if searching for somewhere else to rest it. She finally glanced with curiosity at the door directly across from where they stood.

“That’s my chamber,” he said, reading the question in her gaze. “If you need anything in the night, just knock—I’ll assist you if I can.” Although what she could want in the night didn’t bear thinking about.

“I have few needs,” she said quickly, looking away.

“Which makes the ones you have even more pressing, I imagine,” he murmured.

Sabina whipped her head around to stare at him. “I—I would not wish to disturb you,” she stammered. “I am certain I have disturbed you enough as it is.”

He drew in a breath. “More than you might suppose.”

Why had he thought she was plain? It was true, she was no great beauty in the usual sense, but she had a radiant smile, her eyes reflected a fierce intelligence, and except for the color, hair like Venus arising out of the mist in a mural he had once seen on his Italian travels …

His eyes drifted to her throat and he watched her pulse gently beating there. The chamber suddenly seemed much warmer.

He forced his eyes away from her and made his expression as neutral as he could. “Still, do not hesitate to ask.”

Dismissing the subject, he turned from her then, and glanced around the room as though surveying its contents for the first time while he tried to catch his breath. His heart was pounding, and he felt as though he had just run a league.

Good God, get a hold of yourself.

“So, you have your bath. In addition, a bowl of hot stew—” he lifted the cloth off the trencher Bea had placed on the bed and sniffed appreciatively, “—as well as a few other treats.”

At the mention of food, Sabina hastened to the trencher and snatched up a handful of roasted chestnuts. She ate them quickly, and only at the last mouthful did she seem to remember he was there. She ducked her head, turning then to the tub before the fire. It was just big enough to sit up in, but small enough to fit comfortably. She carefully licked the sticky remnants of the chestnuts off her fingers, dipped her hand into the steaming water, and swirled it slowly back and forth, gazing into its depths.

Wolf watched the entire process, almost comically aroused at the unintentionally sensual gestures.

“Oh, it all is so wonderful,” she said. “The bread was superb, but I fear I could eat a small horse about now. I suppose it means Suleiman is safe.” She laughed nervously, and looked away when he didn’t join in.

“However, the bath appeals, too. The baron allowed me to bathe before the wedding, I think because he was afraid I would embarrass him, but it was just a basin of river water, and it was so cold—” She stopped.

He realized she had revealed more about her father’s treatment of her than she had intended.

“What I mean to say is, Sister Katie—she was one of the nuns at the convent? She said we only learn to appreciate the smallest mercies after they are withdrawn.”

He felt sympathy well up in him, and he couldn’t disguise it. He could tell it unnerved her. When was the last time anyone had shown her sympathy?

“Sister Katie sounds like a wise woman,” was all he said.

Sabina turned away, and trailed her fingers in the steaming water once more. She looked at the food, then at the bath, then at him, her expression filled with yearning.

In a voice a child might use when hoping for a longed-for treat, she asked, “Would it be permissible for me to bathe first while the water is still warm?”

“Would you like some help?” The words were out before Wolf had a chance to think them through.

“Nay!” She flushed a becoming pink. “That is, I mean—”

Wolf held up a hand to silence her stammering response. “I only meant I would send Bea up to assist you. We don’t have ladies’ maids here, but I’m certain she would gladly help.”

She looked alarmed. “Oh, nay, it will not be—”

“I refuse to find you floating face down in the bath later,” he insisted.

“It is hardly big enough to float in,” she observed.

“Still.” Though he spoke with great seriousness, the conclusion she had drawn from his earlier statement actually amused him.

Then again, mayhap it wasn’t so amusing, since a part of him would like to assist her with her bath. He imagined slipping the wet gown off her shoulders, slicking the steaming hot water over her slim body, rubbing the soap over her breasts, trailing his fingers down to—

He slammed a door on the image.

What had come over him?

He had always been a physical sort of man, but since Beth’s death, he had poured all of his energies into making his print shops a success and raising his daughter. In all truth, sexual congress had been the least of his priorities since losing his beloved wife three years before. When necessary, he made his way down to Halle to the widow who asked no questions, and required no commitments from him. His visits there were sporadic and brief, as he always felt a vague sense of guilt as if he was betraying Beth. With his father’s death, those needs had gone completely by the wayside. Had he ignored them for too long?

Wolf sensed Sabina’s steady gaze. She must have answered him while he was building castles in the air and now expected a reply. He had no idea what she had said.

“Er, very well then,” he offered, in what he hoped was a suitable response. He felt like an idiot. “If you wish, I could arrange for—for …”

She licked her lips self-consciously, leaving them wet and glistening.

Whatever he had been about to say fled his mind completely. His voice trailed away, and he realized he was staring at her mouth.

Hell.

She nervously drew a slim hand across her throat, and he couldn’t help imagining the feel of her skin beneath his hands. She caught at a dark lock of hair, and fretfully turned it around her finger; he visualized his fingers doing the same. Her every movement seemed designed to inflame him, though he suspected she wasn’t aware of it.

For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the carnal sixteen-year-old of years before. She must have been a ripe plum for the taking, all those years ago. He thought of the villain who had plucked her, squeezed the sweetness out of her, and taken what should have gone to a husband who could love and cherish her. A hot anger toward the careless stranger who so casually ruined her life bubbled up within him; any thoughts of betraying Beth were eclipsed by the confused, heated tangle of emotions he suddenly felt for this woman whom he barely knew.

The urge to possess her somehow—mayhap to touch the place where her pulse beat a lush rhythm beneath her skin—became irresistible. Wolf took a step toward her and reached out his finger, barely touching her, following the path she had made down her throat.

Her lips parted on an inhalation of surprise.

Like a man in a dream, he caressed the delicate cradle at the base of her neck, just above her collarbone, lingering there for a moment.