I tightened my arms around her and breathed in the scent of her hair—herbs and roses and, beneath it all, wood smoke.
Mine, something whispered again.And I defend what is mine.
The day was warmer than any I could remember in Bamberg. The ever-present smoke had cleared with the summer breeze, and the sun beat down until I was almost uncomfortably warm in my dark cassock.
The gate to the garden creaked as I entered, and Katharina—who’d been toiling in the soil—beamed when she saw me.
She wiped her hands on her apron and made to stand, but I motioned for her to stay still. I knelt beside her, my hand gripping her knee through her rough woolen skirt.
“Heinrich, someone will see,” she said, half a giggle.
“Can a priest not assist one of his flock in their daily chores?” I murmured against her ear, enjoying the way she shivered as my lips barely grazed her. “Besides, I am not the only one who has grown bold.”
Sprawled out on the ground beside her was her notebook, the one I knew was filled with herb lore from her mother. She followed my gaze and quickly snatched the book up, hiding it in the pocket of her apron.
“This warm weather has caused the bees and herbs to behave strangely. I was just taking some notes.”
“Quite scholarly. You must have an excellent teacher.”
She placed a finger against her lips as if thinking deeply. “Yes, although he is easily distracted. I suspect he comes to our lessons for reasons other than my scholarly improvement.”
“Slander. I am a man of God. My interests are purely academic.”
She plucked a sprig of rosemary from the earth and tucked it behind my ear with exaggerated solemnity. “For memory, Father. So you might remember how to lie more convincingly.”
Then her stoic façade cracked as she laughed—bright and unguarded. It might have been the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. The sound settled deep in my chest, and I would have fought Goliath himself to hold onto it.
You could, something whispered from the dark corners of my mind.You could hold onto her forever. I could give you that.
I stiffened, and the warmth of the afternoon seemed to dim. The voice had been coming more frequently now, and it was becoming more difficult to distinguish it from my own.
She would never have to fear the pyre. You could protect her from all of it.
I closed my eyes and recited the Lord’s Prayer silently, the familiar words a bulwark against the tide. But the voice only seemed amused by my resistance, curling around my devotions like smoke around a candle flame.
You think he will listen to you now, after everything you have done?
“Heinrich?” Katharina’s hand touched my cheek, and I snapped back to the present. I found her watching me, her lips pulled tight. “You went pale. Are you unwell?”
“The heat,” I managed. “Nothing more.”
She did not look convinced.
“Do you know what I miss most from before?” I asked, trying to shift her attention. “Apple picking. My family had an orchard. Not a large one, but it was enough. Every autumn we’d spend days amongst the trees, filling baskets, my mother making cider in the evening.”
It was a relief to see the tension leave her face. “What happened to it?”
I let out a sigh, looking at the clouds above. “Burned. Swedish soldiers, three winters past.” Even I heard the weariness in my voice now. “Nothing left but charred stumps.”
“And your parents?” she asked.
“Burned just the same.”
I looked down from the sky to find her eyes brimming with tears. She reached out and intertwined our fingers. It was the first time she’d initiated touch where someone could see. “I’m so sorry, Heinrich.”
She felt so deeply, my dove. Golden light caught in the tear that escaped down her cheek. I wiped it away gently. “I came to Bamberg hoping to escape the fires of war, only to find the flames here far worse. But luckily, I also found an angel to help guide me through.”
At that, she blushed almost as deep a red as her dress, the curve of her breasts flushing the same way they did when she came on my fingers or tongue.
