She glanced down at our still-entwined fingers. “I’m no angel, Heinrich.”
I didn’t answer, only risked a kiss on her cheek before smoothly rising to my feet.
“Finish up here. Sister Margareta says she has need of you in the sick house today.”
1 King James Bible, John 15:13
Chapter 15
Katharina
“Well, someone has found a dance partner.”
I looked up from the man whose linens I was changing to see Sister Margareta watching me with an all-too-wide grin.
“I do not know what you mean, Sister.” But I did know. I’d seen it in the reflections of the convent’s windows. I looked different than I had just a few weeks ago. My skin was no longer sallow, and my hair and curls were full and shiny—so beautiful and golden I’d almost considered not pinning them up at all. I was uncommonly grateful for my partlet, which hid the litany of dark marks that spanned from my neck to between my breasts.
“You look well, child,” she said, the grin not softening.
I pursed my lips. “Perhaps it is just this fine weather we’ve been having. It has put me in a good mood.”
That, and the fact that more days than not I found Heinrich’s mouth between my legs. How our lessons no longer even pretended to be about worship, other than of each other.
Heat crept up my neck at the memory—his hands on my waist, drawing me close. The way he’d traced the sensitive skin of my inner thigh with his thumb before tilting his face up to me. “Let us pray,” he’d murmured, and then his mouth had been on me and thinking had become impossible.
But every time I reached for him, tried to give him the same pleasure he gave me, he always pulled away. He’d kiss me softly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Not yet. Not like this, rushed and desperate. When I have you properly, I want time.”
When. Not if.
The promise of it had been singing through my veins for days.
“You’re grinning like a cat with cream.” Margareta could hardly contain the chortle in her voice.
“I am not,” I said, too quickly.
“Mmm.” She crossed to where old Widow Brenner lay sleeping and checked the poultice on the woman’s leg. “You keep touching your lips when you think no one’s watching.”
My hand flew guiltily away from my mouth. I hadn’t realized I’d been doing that. I was the very image of a fool in love.
Margareta didn’t press, but her knowing look said enough. I’d been careless, that much was obvious. After years of watching every corner and shadow, I’d let myself imagine a future not hidden away, but allowed to blossom in the sun.
Heinrich wanted me. That changed things, didn’t it? And he was protecting me. He’d stood between me and Förner, promising no harm would come to me.
I was safe. We were safe. For the first time in my life, I had something good, something mine, and it wasn’t being ripped away.
“I’m just pleased the fevers are breaking,” I managed. “We haven’t lost anyone this week.”
“No,” Margareta agreed softly. “We haven’t.”
I busied myself changing soiled bedding, grateful for the excuse to hide my burning face. The work settled me somewhat. This, at least, I knew how to do. This was good. That much I was sure of.
“Katharina?”
I turned to find Greta Welser hovering in the doorway, abasket over her arm. She looked better than the last time I’d seen her. The bruise on her cheek had faded to yellow, and she held herself straighter. But she had said my name, something she should not have known.
“Frau Greta.” I pitched my voice higher, a last attempt at subterfuge. “What brings you here?”
“I was in the market and thought—” She held out the basket. Inside were fresh eggs, still warm, and a small loaf of dark bread. “To thank you. For everything.”
