Nightingale (10 page)

"The ones with extra toes are supposed to be very wise," said Akos, "but I have never made such a fellow's acquaintance." He bent forward, for, as Klara talked, Satz could be seen inching his way out from under the stove. He was regarding Akos with wary green eyes. "His paws are like snow shoes."

"Yes, that's what the Norwegian count said they were."

"It's too bad your Satz didn’t sire any kittens," said Akos. "He's a handsome fellow."

They fell silent. Klara raised the tea cup and took another draught of the spicy medicinal he'd prepared.

The conversation seemed trivial, but Klara found it revealing.
How many times in my life
, she wondered,
have I just sat with a man, not caring much how I look, not feeling that pins and needles anxiety that always came when she was with Max?
They were quietly sharing an interest, an interest in those aloof and interesting felines for whom the Count had so much scorn.

***

"Liese will know I'm up to no good now," Akos said. He was on his knees upon the hearth rug and leaning over her. Klara lay on the floor on her back, a pillow beneath her head, and looked up at him trustingly. Satz peered at these odd doings from beneath the sofa, his eyes a distant glitter.

Klara looked up. Akos was behind her, his hands cradling her ruddy dark head.

"Is this sore?" His fingers probed her neck.

"Yes." She winced. "It's odd, the way it hurts all the way down into my chest, too, down below the breastbone on the left side.

"Just as I thought," he said gravely. "I can help, but at first I will hurt, so you must be brave and patient."

In the next instant, he dug his fingers into her shoulder. Klara gasped, flexed her legs, made a face, groaned. At first it was almost intolerable, but the hurt became less, the cramping loosened and a weird feeling of peace began to pour through her.

After a time, he released his hold and allowed his fingers to slip down to her neck. Gently he rolled her head back and forth within his hands. Then, suddenly, he tugged.There was a sound like a string of small firecrackers going off, and Klara saw stars. A burning sensation raced along her spine, as if what he'd just done had somehow gone all the way to the tail bone.

"Now the other side." Akos, imperturbable, distracted her again by rolling her head back and forth between his hands.

"What are you doing?" Although it hadn't exactly hurt, tears rolled down her checks.

"Hush!"

Then, before she could tense, he'd done it again. Once more burning flooded her neck, once more his fingers found the exact center of the pain and dug in. The sensation was strange, but along with the hurt there was also a surge of emotion. Klara couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

"What did you do? I feel so very odd."

One masterful hand continued to warmly cradle the back of her neck. The other came into her field of vision, and, ever so tenderly, brushed her tears away.

"It has to do with the humors and readjusting their flow. My grandfather believes that in many cases, it works far better than a trip to the spa. Now just allow me to hold your head for a few more minutes. I will take the ache away."

Klara lay silent and let him rock her head back and forth. One hand slipped down the back of her morning gown and massaged the place where head and neck joined. As if his fingers could draw it out, the burning sensation in the nape subsided. Klara began to feel so relaxed that she wasn't sure whether she would ever be able to sit up again. It was beyond wonderful simply to lie there with her head cradled between his capable hands.

"I've never heard of a treatment like this. Where did you learn it?"

"Grandfather Almassy said he learned it when he was a young man. His teacher was a Macedonian who had been taken prisoner and brought back to Komaron during the old Turkish wars. Grandfather was so impressed with the results that he persuaded the man, Herr Dushan, to teach him how to do it. Dushan was an old man, quite frail, yet he said that his Pasha set so much store by him that he must always accompany him, even onto the battlefield, which was how he was captured. Grandpa also said that Herr Dushan was secret about the source of his knowledge, but he agreed to pass on the technique."

"Your Grandpapa sounds like a wise man. I don't believe I've ever met a physician I would call open-minded. And they are always talking in Greek, which makes me think of street mountebanks who talk gibberish." Klara began to sit up. Almassy, an arm around her back, assisted. "There is not a
physician in Vienna I trust."

"Perhaps my Grandpa Almassy has so much good sense because he was not trained formally. He always said that a college of medicine produces dogmatism, but not too many real healers. Still, Grandpapa can certainly be stubborn himself. I confess he and I have had our quarrels."

As he talked about his grandfather, Klara noticed how Akos' face brightened.

"Now, Fraulein Silber, let’s get you back on the sofa, for if Liese discovers us like this, I shall never be allowed to return."

"My neck and shoulder still ache," said Klara as he helped her up, "but they feel looser and my head feels so much clearer."

She rubbed her neck, while Akos escorted her to the sofa. "Now," he said, after she was seated, "you must be attentive to your posture. When you feel yourself stiffening, you should slowly turn your neck and look over your shoulder as far as you can, first one side and then the other. As a singer you know you must keep your shoulders back and your head high so that your chest remains open, as I'm certain Signor Manzoli has told you. However, if I may say so, at that last rehearsal I noticed that you were stooped, as if you had spent your life at a desk. The treatment I have just given will help you to regain your proper carriage, which will in turn help you breathe properly."

Klara nodded, embarrassed. She knew that if something upset her, her posture suffered. Every now and then Manzoli would scold her about it, too, or make her do vocal exercises while balancing a book on her head. To change the subject, she asked Almassy another question.

"Did the Macedonian give your Grandfather any other cures?"

"They shared other secrets, but the older man soon died. Herr Dushan missed his home, Grandfather said, and mourned for his family, all of whom had been killed in the wars. In the little time he knew him, though, Grandfather grew to respect him and he still acknowledges the man as the source of these treatments. This one he shared with me, because I am skilled with my hands. You have to be careful doing it or you can hurt a patient badly. It is, in fact, quite easy to kill someone using pressure on the neck, just as your cook kills a rabbit."

"Goodness! It seems your wife had better watch her step."

Akos, catching the shift in her mood, raised an eyebrow. "I have no wife, Fraulein Silber. But even if my wife were less than – ah, circumspect, I wouldn’t break her neck. As a matter of fact," and she could see by the gleam in his eyes that he had decided to tease her back, "I do not believe any wife of mine would ever be inclined to stray."

"Oh? And why is that, sir?" For the first time in days, Klara felt like flirting. "Because of your good looks?"

"Only partly." Almassy responded with a cheerful wink. "I have many fascinating qualities which must, alas, remain a mystery from all except my wife to be."

"Why, you saucy fellow!" Klara laughed. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean to pique your curiosity. As a Daughter of Eve, I can rely upon your having a good share."

Oh, how dangerous his eyes were, now a leonine gold!

Klara demurely lowered her lashes. "Am I to understand that all your science and all your music is just a fleece under which the same old wolf is hiding, Herr Almassy?"

"Ah, this is quite wonderful, Fraulein Silber." Almassy took her hand. "A lovely invalid who trifles with her healer is certainly on the mend."

***

Another week passed. Klara could hardly believe how quickly she was recovering, although she played sicker than she truly was around Liese and Messer. How else should she justify Herr Almassy’s daily visits? How else could she continue to enjoy his oh-so-charming company, the intimate touch of his hands?

***

He kissed her palm, so sensuously that had this been any other man on earth Klara would have felt constrained to box his ears. She tried not to meet his eyes, but it was impossible, for they drew her in.

For an instant she floated, trembling in the strange intimacy that lay in the palpable touch of his gaze. At this moment, his eyes were as confident, and exactly as proprietary, as those of her absent Count. His arm slipped around her waist and he drew Klara close. Lifting one of her hands, he tenderly, worshipfully, kissed her palm.

"Herr Almassy…
." The protest was only a whisper. The warm feeling of his lips upon awakened flesh had been the closing of a connection between them. In the next moment, a kiss fell upon her neck. Klara sighed, yielded. Slowly, with careful deliberation, Akos turned her, kissed her mouth.

What adoration was in that kiss! Klara had never felt anything like it. His long lashes lowered, but never quite closed. She knew he wanted to drink in every instant of the bliss, of the favor she granted. She knew he wanted to see the flush that flooded her fair cheeks and throat. Somehow, some way, this was like a first kiss. Her arms slipped around his slim waist and they gathered each other close.

Swept away with the rightness they felt, they fed the fire. He took her head between his beautiful hands and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, the pounding pulse in her throat, and then, lowering his shining raven head, he kissed her young breasts, a hidden swell beneath the gown.

"Oh! We mustn't!" Still she held him, joyously offering her lips.

"You must know that I adore you. Your voice has haunted my dreams ever since I first heard you last winter. And now I've had the joy again, but this time I heard your suffering, my Klara, and it broke my heart." His mysterious eyes locked with hers. Here she saw no judgment, no repulsion, just an immense sympathy.

“My beautiful Maria Klara.” His hands ran over her, as if through his own strength he could take her pain away. "I don't judge you, my angel. I know the ways of this world. The only thing that matters is that you will believe me when I say that I adore you."

Strong arms held her. Klara let her head fall against his chest, heard his swiftly beating heart. Every sense engaged as he caressed her, this dark angel who kissed her cheeks, her forehead, murmuring love in both German and mysterious Hungarian.

Klara recognized and responded to his passion, but somehow it was entirely different from what she had felt with any other man. Flamboyant Giovanni had drawn an amusing cock of the walk assurance from the warmth of her response. Max, on the other hand, was a strategist, a man who made love much as he campaigned. With calculating skill, he reduced Klara, like some Silesian town, to quivering surrender.

Although she had experienced male taking, Klara had never before felt so much giving. His love-making was like a healing balm. The fire kindled deep inside by the abandoned, impossible to stop delight of the kiss was familiar, but this time response came not only from her awakened body, but from heart and mind as well.

As they paused to fetch a panting breath, Klara whispered, "Sir, this puts you in terrible danger."

"As long as you will kiss me like that, I'm not afraid of man nor beast. Not even of High Councilor of War Oettingen."

"You should be. He'd do worse than killing if he found out." Klara rested fingers upon his mouth, held him away. She'd come to a decision. If this was what it seemed to be
Love, terrible, dangerous Love, again come to rake her with its claws, he must learn something of the danger he was falling into, about the fallen state of the woman for whom he was risking his life.

"Klara, nothing that has gone before matters to me. I shall never abandon you."

She allowed him to embrace her, to kiss her, let the passion flow from his mouth into hers. Inwardly, she felt ashamed, of what she was feeling, of her past … so many secrets.

Oh, that summer at the Count's Italian palace, the shame and the lust, the lessons Max had taught about the body's desire for
‘unbridled concupiscence’. All those unholy scenes! She could never, never, tell anyone.

"Klara! What is it?"

She pushed him away, shaking her head.

"Go now, Akos. You must. I can't bear it."

When he stared, confusion in his eyes, she stammered desperately, "I – I – I – " Explanation was impossible. "Just go! Leave me. For me, this is always wrong! And it so very, very dangerous for you."

Akos gazed at her for a long moment, and then nodded, as if he guessed something of her memories.

"As you wish, Fraulein." Taking her hand in his he kissed it softly and then arose.

Klara wanted him to stay. She wanted his kisses so much, but, oh, Blessed Mother, how she feared the unfolding of another affair! There was no safety, no trusting, for betrayal was everywhere.