The Legacy (25 page)

“But I thought you would visit a while longer,” she said, dismayed. “At least until your brothers return. Wolf would never forgive me if I let you go before he arrived.”

A wry expression flicked across his face. “You don’t know my brother very well yet, do you?”

She felt herself flush. “Is there some reason why he would not welcome you into his home?”

“None that he will admit to. Anyway, it does not matter. If it is your wish I stay, then I shall. At least for a day or two. It’s all I can spare, I’m afraid.”

He took her hand again, and threaded her arm in his.

“Let us go in to supper. I’ll allow you to charm me with your smile, and I will tell you grand stories of my battlefield exploits. Of course my exploits off the battlefield are much more interesting, but my brother would surely throw me out on my ear if I related those.”

She laughed, unable to resist his rough charm, of which he was well aware. She doubted anyone, male or female, would be able to ignore Günter Behaim if he decided they should not. He escorted her into the dining room and almost managed to keep her mind off the fact that her husband was out there, somewhere in the cold, pursuing dangerous men into the night.

Almost.

W
olf was bone tired. It had been over a week since he had held Sabina in his arms. The rustle of horses and the occasional murmur of deep voices penetrated his weary fog while fifty exhausted men from Wittenberg, most on foot and a few on horseback, finally made their way home. Breath fogged in the cool air, and an occasional cough or snatch of a beer-drinking song punctuated the conversations. The overhanging boughs swayed and rustled above them, providing glimpses of the clear, cold sky. The men trailed out in a long line, walking in groups of two or three or, for some, alone.

They had been traveling all day, and the sun hovered over the horizon. He knew most of the men—a few nobles, a few professional soldiers, some merchants, even the local butcher. Not an army; just men who felt obliged to defend what was theirs.

He’d had no idea when he and Peter left Sanctuary what would await them when they joined the Guard. The events in Mühlhausen had led to an all out revolution there, sparking outbreaks across the region, and Frederick the Wise had ordered the male citizens of his region to form an ad hoc guard until reinforcements could arrive. Some manned the city walls, others like Peter and Wolf traveled south to establish a secure perimeter between Mühlhausen, a free imperial city that in theory answered only to the Holy Roman Emperor, and its neighboring provinces.

The peasant leagues had fought in sporadic but disorganized incidents across the region for days. While most of Saxony’s peasants were peaceful, many outsiders had infiltrated the local leagues and continued to agitate for rebellion. They roamed about, armed with little more than pikes and clubs. Once the combined cavalry and artillery units from the various regions’ princes—Philip of Hesse, Duke George of Ducal Saxony, and John of Saxony—arrived, the peasants did not stand a chance.

Many believed Müntzer was behind the rebellion, organizing the uprisings from Mühlhausen, but Müntzer was under the protection of Mühlhausen’s new city council and could not be brought to justice. Yet.

Wolf suspected this battle would not be the last. Men like him, who had so much invested in the stability and security of the region, could not allow themselves to be intimidated and robbed of what they had worked so hard to achieve. While he couldn’t argue with the peasants’ desire for better living conditions, he wouldn’t stand by while they attacked innocent people.

The image of a young girl, bleeding and battered, her manservant beside her, gutted like a pig, still raised fresh horror in his mind, though he had seen worse before and since.

The girl had made it so much more personal. Though several years older than Gisel, she still had affected him deeply. Her parents had been away; the servants had done the best they could to protect her, since she was crippled and unable to flee, but they were not trained for such work. The ruffians set fire to the house, sending most of the servants running into the night. Only the old manservant had stayed.

Peter attended the two when they arrived with the Wittenberg contingent.

Wolf was proud of his youngest brother. He had performed his duty with a professionalism that belied his years. After aiding the girl, he’d done what he could for the man, though the old servant’s death was agonizing. When it was over, Peter had retched silently in the bushes, climbed on his mount, and pressed on with the rest of the men to find the perpetrators. Once found, the deputies gave them quick justice at the end of a rope. Neither Peter nor Wolf had objected.

That was days ago, and just the beginning of the carnage. Wolf glanced at Peter, who rode pensively alongside him. Though still young in many ways, he would not be so for much longer.

Now they headed home. Having established calm in the region once again, the arrival of the princes’ troops allowed these ordinary citizens to return to their lives, their shops, and their homes, where they would try to forget about the last few days.

Until the next time.

Wolf moved his horse nearer his brother’s. “Peter, come stay at the house. We’ll have Bea prepare us an enormous meal and gorge ourselves senseless.”

Peter shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t believe I shall ever eat again.”

Wolf leaned in the saddle and stopped his brother’s horse by the simple expediency of grabbing the reins. “Don’t talk that way. I know what you’ve seen these past few days was hard, but we did what was necessary. You must forget this, as soon as you can.”

Peter looked horrified. “Will you? Forget this, I mean? Because if you can, you are not the man I thought you were.”

Wolf frowned, taken aback by the bitterness in Peter’s voice.

“Forgive me,” Peter said, sighing heavily. “I have no heart for killing. I didn’t understand what it would be like. How can Günter do this, day in and day out, and not go completely insane?” He shook his head. “I know it was necessary, but I study medicine to heal, not to destroy. I can only pray this will be the end of it.”

Wolf released the reins and stared at him helplessly.

“Come home with me,” he said again. “If you can’t abide the thought of food, then I shall offer you my best ale and let you drink yourself into a stupor. At least when you are done, you’ll have a nice warm bed to fall into.”

“I would like it even better if I had a nice warm wench to fall into,” Peter said, his usual smile tinged with sadness. “Perhaps I shall stop at the tavern on the way in and enjoy both. A cool ale and a warm woman. That will set me back to rights.”

He urged his mount onward.

Wolf followed, thinking of the warm woman awaiting him at home.

Home meant Sabina now.

He allowed Suleiman his head while his mind drifted away for a moment—it had a tendency to do that whenever he thought of her, which was too damn frequently these days—and remembered her ardent responses to his touch. He leaned over and patted Suleiman’s neck absently while he shifted in the saddle.

“You’re thinking about her again.”

Wolf’s head snapped around, and he saw Peter watched him with indulgent amusement.

“Who?” Wolf said evasively, which earned him a,
you-know-who,
look.

“Oh, very well, yes, I was thinking about Sabina.” He frowned. “Am I that transparent?”

“Hmm. Well, it doesn’t take great powers of observation to note the obvious,” Peter said, glancing pointedly at Wolf’s lap.

Wolf’s bark of laughter startled the horses and surprised Peter into a wide grin. “For God’s sake, man, why suffer? Just take her and be done with it.”

Wolf frowned. “If you will remember, I was trying to do just that when I was interrupted.”

Peter looked as though he would protest his innocence, but Wolf stopped him. “I know, I know, it wasn’t your fault.”

Peter sucked his cheeks in, looked around, and finally offered, “Would you like a friendly ear?”

Wolf was surprised to realize he did want to confide in his brother. Of all his siblings, he was closest to Peter, despite the differences in their ages, and at this moment, he needed someone more—objective—to examine his response to this most unexpected woman.

He nodded slowly. “I don’t know why, but she stays with me constantly. I try to put her out of my mind, but it doesn’t work. When I do think about her, I get … confused. She moves me in a way I cannot understand.” He stopped, suddenly embarrassed.

“Allow me to explain,” Peter said. “First of all, are we speaking about movement above or below the waist?”

Peter deftly caught Wolf’s water flask when it sailed straight for his head.

“I’m serious,” Wolf said, exasperated.

“I know.” Peter wagged a finger at him. “It’s part of your problem. You’re serious about everything. Perhaps you should learn to let the bit out a little, let things … happen.”

“I am not the sort of person who just lets things happen.” Wolf frowned. That sounded haughty even to his ears.

“Try it. I have found I obtain great results when I don’t plan things out to the infinite degree, particularly when dealing with women, changelings that they are.” He eyed Wolf for a moment, as though he debated saying more. “Remember, not everything is about life or death. Some things are about the moment. If you are looking forward, or worse yet, backward all the time, it is likely you will miss what is right in front of your face.”

Wolf gave Peter a penetrating stare. He tilted his head and nodded thoughtfully. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “What in blazes are you talking about?”

Peter eyed Wolf, then gazed up into the sky as though looking for assistance from the Divine. He looked back at his brother again and smiled sagely. “My point exactly. Let us approach this more logically, then. We are looking for a root cause, a humor, if you will, from which the disease springs. Therefore, let us consider the symptoms. You cannot stop thinking about her. You become aroused at the very thought of her, and you can barely function when she is in the same room. Correct?”

“Nay.” Another raised eyebrow from Peter. “Very well, yes.”

“Mayhap, you
are
in love with her.”

Wolf glared at him.

“Or mayhap not,” Peter said hastily. “Mayhap it’s simply a very intense, but passing fancy that will last only thirty or forty years. Either way, she is your wife. And how convenient for you to find yourself married to the object of your desire.”

He tossed the flask back to Wolf and winked. “Just consider it, Wolf. It’s all I’m saying. Just do not … think it to death. Try feeling it for awhile.”

With that, he urged his mount forward, ending the conversation. Wolf eyed his brother’s back.

The boy has far too much knowledge about women for someone his age.

However, if he was going to be honest with himself, he had to admit his brother was right. He did have a tendency to over-analyze things. A habit of a man in his profession, he supposed. Wolf wished he knew how to imitate Peter’s carefree attitude toward life in general, and women in particular, but he had never managed it.

What was it about Sabina that captivated him? How could someone he’d known for such a short time suddenly become so essential?
Could it
be love?

He recoiled from the thought. Of course not. Lust, passion, desire, admiration—yes. But love? How could it be? It was nothing like what he had felt for Beth.

Beth had calmed him, soothed him. She had been the perfect mate, never openly challenging his authority, always looking up to him, even worshipping him. No matter how hard he’d worked, no matter how late he’d returned home, she’d always been there with a soft word and a kind smile.

Certainly, she had been stubborn in her own way, and somehow managed to talk him around to what she wanted to do, but was that not a part of a woman’s God-given arsenal of charms? Men accepted that about women, expected women to manipulate them to a certain degree. It allowed men to say yes when they really wanted to do so anyway.

Sabina … Now there was a woman who didn’t know the first thing about seduction, or manipulation, or subterfuge of any kind. There was no middle ground for her. She challenged him, to say the least. What was he to do?

In front of him, Peter broke into a ribald tune while his horse dropped a steaming turd onto the ground below. Wolf laughed and tried not to see the stinking pile in front of him as a metaphor for anything. Just this once, he would not over-think.

They would be home in a matter of hours. Despite everything, despite his doubts, Wolf knew home meant Sabina, and he could not wait to be with her again.

However … he scratched his stubbled cheek, then lifted his elbow and sniffed cautiously under his arm. He smelled a bit ripe. He smelled of war. Several days of beard growth covered his chin, and he was dirty and unkempt. If he went to her in this condition, she would likely run away in fright.

He should stop in town at one of the bathhouses and clean himself up first. However, he couldn’t stand to be away from Sanctuary, and all the possibilities awaiting him, one moment longer than he must.

He urged his mount forward, impatient to be home.