The Legacy (36 page)

“I—wasn’t—talking—about Gisel,” Peter gasped, and then waited for Wolf to understand. Hopefully, before Peter lost consciousness.

It took a moment, but Wolf finally did. His head snapped back as though his brother had struck him, and he dropped Peter and staggered backward. “You mean she’s …?”

Peter rubbed his throat and coughed discreetly. When he could speak again, he said, “Expecting? I cannot be certain, but I believe so, yes. Therefore, if you have no objections, I would like to watch my little niece or nephew grow up. Of course, my room at the University is rather small—I suppose we will have to find some place bigger to live. But these are things we can manage and—”

Wolf, dazed, held up a hand to stop him.

“Enough, Peter. You may stop now.” Wolf sighed heavily, and rubbed his fingers over his face in disbelief. “I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot in love with the woman who’s carrying my child.” His glance flicked over to Peter. “I may be an idiot, but I’m not about to let her go. Does that about sum it up?”

Peter grinned, his faith in his older brother restored. “Yes, I do believe it does.”

Wolf stared at him with a look of horror. “You imbecile. I might have killed you.”

“You might have tried. I may be an inch or two shorter, but I’m quite handy with a blade.” He casually laid the dagger he had slipped off the table back into its place. “Not that I would have used it, you understand.”

Wolf arched a brow, pursed his lips, and changed the subject. “About the child …”

Peter hastened to caution him. “She hasn’t spoken of it yet. I’m not entirely certain she knows herself, to be honest.”

“Then how…?”

“The food. She cannot stand certain foods suddenly, and for a woman who used to eat her weight every day, her appetite is nil. She’s also been irritable and engaging in mood swings lately. Does any of that sound familiar?”

Realization dawned on Wolf’s face. “Beth. She was the same way in the first few months.”

“And Greta, too, with each of her children,” Peter agreed. “I noticed it because I’ve spent so much time with her lately.”

Wolf rubbed a finger along his jaw. “That would also explain—” He stopped, flicked a glance at his brother, and coughed, reddening slightly.

Peter frowned. “Explain what?”

“Ah … she, er,
tastes
differently. If you understand my meaning.”

Peter grinned. “I believe I do. Tell me, has she had her courses since the two of you have lain together?”

Wolf reddened even further. “Nay. I hadn’t thought…”

“My guess is,” Peter went on, “if she hasn’t drawn the conclusion for herself, she is probably only a few weeks along, six or seven at the most.”

“But wouldn’t she realize once her courses were delayed?”

“Mayhap, but some women are not regular that way. In addition, her body may still have been adjusting from her ordeal. On the other hand, she may have been so distracted by other things that she wasn’t keeping track. Besides, it’s logical it would happen about now, considering the rather monumental effort you two have been making in that direction,” Peter added with a lascivious grin.

Wolf arched a dark eyebrow at him. “Shut up, Peter.”

Peter laughed good-naturedly. “So what do you intend to do about it?”

Wolf sighed. “Well, if I haven’t botched things up completely, I’m going to go to her and apologize. A great deal. Then I’m going to get down on one knee, perhaps both, and apologize again.” He cocked a pitiful look at Peter. “Do you think it will work?”

“Hmmm. Pity you don’t have something shiny to give her, too. In my experience, something shiny always makes an apology go much easier with a woman. Mayhap,” he offered, “if while you’re down on your knees, you did something other than apologize …?”

Wolf flushed. “God’s bones, Peter,” he muttered, “that
is
my wife you’re talking about.”

“Sorry,” Peter said, not the least bit sorry at all.

At that moment, Franz entered the room, and behind him came the stable lad, Young John.

“Excuse me, Master Behaim, I did not wish to disturb you at your meal, but this young ruffian says he has something very important to tell you that could not wait until morning.” Franz glanced affectionately at the boy of twelve, who just happened to be his grandnephew.

The boy hesitated, staring in awe around the inner sanctum. Peter could imagine his trepidation; outside workers like him always came through the kitchen entrance, because it was where it was warm and there was always a good meal to be had. No one would have been offended if he did enter through the front, but years of tradition were hard to overcome. The boy stared about him nervously, his expression saying he wasn’t certain he had done the right thing.

“Go ahead, Young John,” Franz encouraged with a slight pat on his back.

Taking a bracing breath, Young John spoke.

“Well, begging your pardon, Master Behaim, but I saw a strange sight, and I thought you’d want to know about it. None of my business, but
Frau
Behaim, she’s a nice lady and I’d hate to see her get into any trouble,” he jabbered, seeming more nervous by the minute.

At the mention of his wife, Wolf became instantly alert. “What is it, John? Tell me straight out.”

“Well, I sees her leave by the back door a bit ago. Which I know is none of my business, and I wasn’t following her, but I was just out to the privy taking a piss—oh, begging your pardon, Master Behaim.” He stopped abruptly, apparently mortified.

Wolf impatiently motioned him on. “Continue,” he said encouragingly between clenched teeth.

“Well,” Young John slowly began again, “I sees her sneak out, like she wants no one to know she’s going. She looks around, and then she pulls a scarf over her head and makes for the gate. Well, I thinks to myself, ‘Young John,’—because that’s what everyone calls me, you know, on account of me grandpa being Old John—I thinks, ‘Young John, why would a lady like herself be sneaking out in the middle of the night?’“

Peter, alarmed now, prompted him on. “A very good question, Young John. And did you discover the answer?”

They all silently tried to urge the boy’s responses along, familiar enough with him to know if they interrupted his flow, the lad was likely to start all over again from the beginning.

Young John looked at Peter earnestly, nervousness suddenly forgotten.

“Well … it was like this. I follows her, for a while, after—you know—taking care of my business.” All three men nodded impatiently. The boy turned to Wolf again. “Just to make sure she was in no danger—a lady like her, alone … well anything could happen, I says to myself. I follows her as far as the city gate, and wonder what she’s going to do about the sentry there. She talks to him, very quiet-like, and then he waves her through.

“I knows he won’t let me through, but I figure I can wander on over, ask what she was about. So I talk to the sentry, and say to him I think I saw my sister go through the gate, and was that her? Well, he tells me, no, that was the baronesse von Ziegler. ‘Are you certain?’ I ask him, ‘Because it looked just like her.’ ‘No,’ he says real angry, ‘it wasn’t your lousy sister, it was the baronesse gone to visit her father,’ and he cuffs me on the ear and tells me to be off.”

The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood on end, and he exchanged alarmed glances with his brother. Young John, oblivious, plodded on with his tale.

“I thinks, ‘Young John, this is something your master would want to know,’ and I ran right back here to tell you. I hope I did the right thing. I think she shouldn’t be wandering outside the city with those hooligans still running around making trouble for the likes of innocent peasant folks like us. Like me,” he hastily corrected, obviously hoping he hadn’t inadvertently insulted his employer.

“You did the right thing, Young John. Thank you for your vigilance.” Wolf removed several coins from his pocket and folded them into the boy’s hand.

Peter doubted Young John knew what “vigilance” was, but it was obviously good enough to warrant a full week’s wages.

“It was nothing,” the lad said, awe-struck. “Just did what I thought should be done.”

Wolf took a moment to bestow an admiring glance on him.

“That, son, is more then most men twice your age would do.” He motioned to Franz, who escorted the boy out, whispering encouragingly in his ear. The boy lifted one of the coins and bit it carefully to test for purity. He could be heard exclaiming about his good fortune as they walked out into the hall.

Peter turned to Wolf.

“What do you think it means?” he asked Wolf uneasily.

“I think,” Wolf said grimly, “my dear wife has gone to settle matters with the baron by herself. By the saints and the stars!” he swore. “She’ll be killed!”

Chapter
26

S
abina wiped her sniffling nose on her sleeve. It was a disgusting habit, one she had insisted Gisel stop indulging in, but it could not be helped. In her haste to leave Sanctuary, she had neglected to bring a handkerchief, which—considering she had been blubbering continuously since walking away—simply added insult to injury.

Well, to such have the prideful fallen.

She stopped, ripped a piece of fabric from her hem, and wiped her running nose again. It reminded her of the time she had spent at the castle, and the aching despair she had felt then returned to her twice-fold. She stifled another sob.

She held the lantern she carried aloft and halted to check the path before her. She had encased the lantern in oiled blackcloth in the event she should have to dim it quickly to avoid discovery. After examining the narrow dirt path leading up to the Castle von Ziegler, she glanced up. The overhanging tree boughs stood darkly silhouetted against the star-filled night sky with nothing but the occasional chirp of a lonely cricket seeking a mate to disturb the quiet. This route was not the most populated, but it was the most direct. It was also the one on which she would least likely be found, should anyone care to look.

Not that anyone would.

Ensuring she still had a clear path ahead of her, she started off again, muttering to herself while she walked.

Who was she to believe even for a moment a man like Wolf could love someone like her? Who had she been deceiving to think she had found a home, a place to belong? She should have known better. She chastised herself for the hundredth time. She had lost her direction, distracted from her goal again by a man. Now she had nothing, not her haven, nor him. Even the clothes on her back were not really hers. She was right back where she started, weeks ago.

Still, she could hardly blame Wolf for not loving her when history had proven to her, time and again, for some reason she was simply unlovable.

Sabina stopped once again, and adjusted the loose collar of the gray servant’s gown she had worn during her first week at Sanctuary. She had taken Wolf at his word when he’d said he would give her nothing if she left. She only wore the gray gown now because, strictly speaking, Wolf had not given it to her, and she was determined not to take anything more from him. Part of it was due to wounded pride, she acknowledged, but part of it was because whatever she took from him would only be a painful reminder of her foolishness, and of her hopeless unrequited love for him. She had even left her ring—his ring—back in his bedchamber. She had taken enough from him. She would be beholding to him no more.

What was that noise?

Sabina stopped and angled her head to listen. She thought she’d heard a sound, somewhere beyond the footpath. She held the lantern up high, and swung it wide in an arcing circle. She saw nothing and so lowered the lantern. Probably some animal moving through the bushes, she reasoned. It would not come close to the lantern. As long as she kept her wits about her, she would be fine. Still, the unknown sound made her finger the hilt of the dagger she’d brought for protection, also hidden in her cloak. The only other thing she’d taken from Sanctuary, she doubted it would be missed.

She started walking quickly again, uneasy despite her outward calm.

She shook her head at herself. She was a bit nervous, that was all. The shortcut to the family’s castle had always been perfectly safe. She’d traversed it many times in her youth upon leaving the market with her mother or a maidservant. Of course, it was usually in the bright light of day, and she always had someone to accompany her then. Still, it was only a twenty-minute walk from the city walls, and she would arrive at the castle in no time. If someone came, she would doff the lamp and hide. Without the lamp, she would be difficult to find in this black night.

Then what?

She tugged on the ribbon she wore around her neck, the three keys hanging from them wrapped in cotton and hidden in her bodice. She would do what she had to do. She had not endured the hell of all those years locked away in a convent, days traveling in a barrel to freedom, weeks of imprisonment, and the scorn of the only man she would ever love to end up with nothing now.

Since Wolf had plainly stated his position, it made sense he would not help her achieve the dream for which she had escaped the convent—her haven. She had nothing else remaining but that dream, and the key to the inheritance that should rightfully have been hers—might still be hers, if she had the courage to do what needed to be done—lay hidden in the castle. She would do what she had to do because she had nothing left to lose. She would go to her family’s castle, retrieve the documents, and prove the baron had stolen her legacy. She would make him return every
pfennig
out of his own wealth and ensure justice was done.

She would have her future. She would see to it herself.

As she neared the dry moat clearing separating the path from the castle, she lowered the lantern and threw the blackcloth over it. Her action plunged her in darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjust, and in that time, she listened to the eerie silence of the forest.

Something was wrong. She could not put her finger on it, but something—she did not know what—felt off about the night. Could it be the baron expected her, and his posted sentries awaited her return? Could they even now be staring down at her, waiting for her to move into the clearing so they could take her unaware?