The Legacy (12 page)

“Oh, I do not know … for certain. However, I have been thinking …” She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Do you remember our discussion yesterday? About the ex-nuns who have no place to go?”

“I am not so old and feeble-minded I would forget something like that so soon.” His tone gently mocked her. “What of it?”

“Mayhap … someone might consider making a place for them. Finding somewhere safe for them to stay.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Well, don’t look at me. Sanctuary is only so big.”

“Nay, nay, I did not mean—” she began, then stopped. Oh, how could she communicate this to him without giving herself away?

“Go on,” he urged.

“What if there was a place, a haven, if you will, where the women and girls who object on principle to being held captive in the service of the Church could come and live? Where they could work, and be self-sufficient, not forced to be a burden to the community by begging or selling their bodies for trade?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Those women should find husbands. Or return home to their families. It’s unnatural to propose anything else.”

“I know you might think so, but what if they were like me? If they had no one else to turn to, no such choices? Would you simply leave them to their fate?”

“Everyone has choices. They could choose to stay in the convent,” he pointed out.

“You do not know what it is like for such women. You cannot imagine.”

She went to him, clutched his arm, the need to make him understand overwhelming her. Her scarf dipped off her head when she tilted her face up to look at him. He looked surprised, and a flicker of something hot and dark passed over his regard, but he quickly blanked his expression.

She pressed on, heedless. “The women who cannot make their consciences submit are beaten, starved, isolated. And sometimes,” she whispered, “they are preyed upon by the visiting priests who are supposed to guide them. We have found babies thrown into the trash heap like garbage, or buried alive on the grounds behind the cloisters, only hours old. It became clear they were rejected by a nun who was raped or succumbed to temptation.”

He stared at her intently, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Did it happen to you? Did anyone touch you that way?” The deadly look in his eyes promised retribution on any who had tried.

“Nay.” She shook her head. “Only because I learned to sleep with a dagger at my side. And I carried it into the confessional. Always.”

“Dear God,” he breathed. “I had no idea.”

“Most men do not. Most men have no concept of what it is like to be at the mercy of another in the most vulnerable of ways, having to rely on someone else to protect you. And when that does not happen …” she released her grip on his arm, dropped her hand to her side. “It is … horrible.”

She turned away, and finally faced the river Elbe as its blue-green depths ambled by, saw the gentle hills beyond it, still brown from winter’s bite. Lost in her memories, she started when he touched her shoulder.

“How would you change it?” he asked quietly. “What would you do?”

She turned, gazing at him. She took a deep breath.

“I would buy a large property. Farmland. With cattle, sheep. A place to plant an orchard, to grow vegetables, to brew hops. Hire someone to teach the women all they needed to know to bring in a small crop to sell at local fairs. We—” she stopped and cleared her throat. “They would spin wool, make their own clothes, make some for the poor. Care for the sick in their community, teach the orphans about God, and worship the Lord in their own way. Without being a burden to others. If they found a husband, or a position outside the haven, or their hearts changed, then they would be free to leave. But that is the key. They would be free to
choose.”

Wolf remained silent for a long moment. “You appear to have given this considerable thought,” he observed.

She looked away. “I have had much time to, in the past nine years.”

Wolf tapped his jaw in contemplation. “It’s a radical proposal. Laden with problems. Not the least of which is, how would you … that is, how would one acquire such land? Not to mention the cattle and equipment, buildings and upkeep for such a place?”

The time had come to choose. Trust him: yea or nay?

“I … there is a way,” she said slowly, her heart in her throat. “I have an inheritance, from my mother. The baron must have spoken of it, during the negotiations for the marriage contract. When—when it is mine, in only a few weeks, I will—”

She did not expect the sudden curse he flung her way.

W
olf cursed before he could prevent himself. He had felt the inevitable coming and still had not expected it when it came. He knew too, the moment she spoke of her inheritance, their paths would be irrevocably divided, something he hadn’t admitted until this moment he no longer wished.

She gaped at him, no doubt convinced he had lost his wits.

“What is it?”

He had to think quickly. Had to stop her from speaking about her mother’s bequest, or of revealing the Devil’s pact he had made with the baron. He looked down and stepped backward into a deep patch of mud. The mud covered his shoes and hose, the dark splatters soaking up his leg. He pointed to it, feigning irritation at the mess.

“Curses. Look what I’ve done. We’ll have to go back to the house so I can change.”

She looked at him in apparent dismay, and said, “Oh, but I was about to speak to you on a matter of great import—”

“Well, I’m certain it can keep until I change,” he interrupted, and started backing away. “Come, our meal is likely ready as well. You must be hungry. We must get you fed.” He sped up, pulling her with him.

She looked over his shoulder, then back at him, alarmed. “Wait—”

“Nay, I insist. We will have plenty of time to talk later, plenty of time.” He would think of a way to put her off again.

“But—”

“Nay, no buts. Come now.”

“Master Behaim!” she cried, right before he, in his haste, went over the embankment behind him.

Unable to stop himself from falling, Wolf clutched at Sabina’s sleeves without thinking, pulling her down with him. She let out a cry, and they fell and rolled several yards down the embankment in a tangle of cloaks and skirts, arms and legs. After what seemed like an eternity, they came to an undignified halt near the water’s edge with her lying on top.

They stared at each other for a shocked moment. Then, as though this sort of thing happened to him every day, he cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “I really do think you should call me Wolf.”

Sabina giggled. It was a ridiculous sound. Wolf gazed up at her, grasping the absurdity of the moment a few seconds after she did. He chuckled with her. The feeling grew, and within moments, he was laughing so hard his eyes watered. Then Sabina, in the midst of a full chortle, snorted inelegantly, and started them both howling. They went on this way for quite some time, with much slapping and pounding of the ground for added effect.

They gradually returned to sanity, but the pleasurable afterglow remained. Wolf wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his fingers, his head resting on the ground. Sabina still lay sprawled atop him, looking down on him with glee. They had managed to avoid most of the mud on their way down, but were both covered with twigs and bits of dried leaves.

“Woman,” he finally said, “you have the most damnable laugh.” He squinted up at her. “I thought ladies weren’t supposed to snort.”

“I do not snort!” she exclaimed with mock outrage, but the twinkle in her eyes remained. Flushed from exertion, her cheeks glowed. “Well, mayhap just a little,” she admitted. “It is my one imperfection.”

“Humph,” was all he said, and then chuckled again.

“Stop that!” She swatted him. “You will get me started all over again. We will be out here until dusk at this rate, and they will have to send search parties. What will your neighbors think? It lacks propriety,” she said with mock pomposity.

Suddenly, he realized the picture they made. In an echo of the night before, she lay full length across him with one of his hands around her waist, and one of his legs wedged between hers.

Her scarf was nowhere to be found and her hair had come loose during their tumble. It now lay about them in a shining mass. With one hand, he brushed it back from her temple, sliding the silken strands between his fingers.

“They will say Master Behaim and his new bride are getting acquainted,” he said, and as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he pressed his mouth to hers.

She stiffened. For a moment, she didn’t respond, but then she pushed at him. “Nay … nay,” she hissed, and he heard the fear in her voice.

“Hush.” He stroked her soft cheek. “I won’t hurt you. It’s only a kiss …” He murmured soothingly to her, loath to frighten her yet determined to taste her once more. “A little kiss. We’re out in the open. What could happen? One kiss,” he persuaded, and when she hesitated, kissed her again.

She didn’t retreat, but neither did she aid him. She remained stiff and unresponsive while he ran his tongue experimentally along the pink fullness of her lips. He could feel the tremble in her limbs, sense the way she held back. He increased the gentle pressure and tunneled his fingers into her hair, slanting his mouth fully over hers, moving slowly, tempting her as best he could.

Finally, she closed her eyes and with a little sigh, opened to him. That was all it took. A pleasured murmur escaped him, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.

Any attempt at conscious thought ended with her response. She tangled her tongue with his, and he felt scalded with an open flame. His body jerked to pulsating life.

He rolled with her, the need to cover her almost painful. She whimpered, and her hands strayed over his shoulders, his face. He turned his head and nibbled one of her fingers, his body on fire for her, then slid his mouth down to kiss her throat, to delve his tongue into the sweet valley between her breasts. He raised his head, and his mouth possessed hers again, tasted her while she trembled in response. His entire attention centered on her; he was oblivious to the damp, the cold, even the very public nature of their wanton embrace.

Sabina pressed awkward kisses onto Wolf’s face; their lips collided repeatedly. She felt a surge of feminine power at his response. She had no idea a simple kiss could possess a man in this way, perhaps because no man had ever kissed her thus, as though nothing else mattered, as though time had stopped, and she was the world.

She could hear the leaves rustling beneath her; could smell the damp soil all around them. He pressed hard against her, all muscle, sinew, power, and strength; yet when she touched him with her tongue, he groaned like a man undone.
She
had made him that way.

It was a heady thought. Until she felt the cold air upon her and she realized he had her bodice nearly undone. She knew what came next. She tried to sit up, but his crushing weight upon her proved too much for her to move. She felt a rising panic and shoved at him hard.

“Wolf. Wait,” she gasped.

He pressed her back onto the humid earth, kissing her hungrily, rocking against her, and she moaned into his mouth. His heart hammered against her chest while his body moved in the dark rhythm of desire.

He briefly broke the kiss, and in a fierce, low voice, whispered, “I have to have you. Dear God, I’ll burst if I don’t have you …”

He reached for the hem of her skirts, nearly tearing the fabric in his haste to pull it up. He skimmed his fingers over her stockings, tugged at the tie of one garter, slid his hands over her hot flesh …

The desperate pleasure of his fingers on her skin, the pull of desire, the need for him
now,
frightened her as mere force could never have done. She pounded her hands against him.

“Wolf, nay!”

He froze. “Mother of God.”

He pushed himself off her, rolling away. He stood and stumbled backward, and still she saw the need flaring in his hot gaze.

She scrambled away from him like a hen from a pot of boiling water, holding a hand in front of her to ward him off.

“Do not—” she stammered.

“Nay.” He stared at her with fevered longing.

The wind around them whistled through the trees. Dazed, she realized where they were. “Someone will see—”

“I won’t touch you again. Don’t be afraid.” He motioned to her gaping bodice with a trembling hand. “Cover yourself,” he said, the words both a warning and a plea.

She looked down and pulled her bodice together, her eyes darting about for voyeurs.

“Sweet Jesu,” he whispered, and passed shaking fingers over his face. “What is wrong with me?”

Wolf had no idea how to explain himself. He had lost control; he was no better than a rutting bull. In another moment he would have coupled with her right there, on the side of a hill, in full view of anyone who might happen by.

Sabina gazed back at him with great wariness, apparently prepared to flee should he succumb to madness again.

What could he say to her? “Sabina, I … Forgive me. This isn’t what I had intended when I brought you out here, I swear it.”

She stared at him with unblinking eyes.

“It won’t happen again,” he said firmly.

Still she stared.

“Don’t look at me that way. I won’t ravage you, for God’s sake!”

Her back went rigid, her features stiffening at his tone of voice. Shouting at her would likely not have the calming effect he desired. He turned, facing the water. If she saw the effect she was still having on
him
down below, she would likely break and run.

There was nothing else to do.

He walked the few paces to the water’s edge and didn’t stop. He heard her gasp when the freezing water lapped over his shoes, his ankles, his thighs—

“Nay!” she shouted, and the next thing he knew, she had splashed in after him and grabbed his cloak from behind. She pulled hard, thrust herself in front of him and pushed him back toward the river’s edge.

“What—?” he said, shocked, when she propelled him back to the riverbank.

“Nay! You must not. Not for my sake, I will not allow it!” She pushed hard at him once more and suddenly he was on his rear in the mud at the water’s edge.