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the castle was given to my great grandfather as part of his Schenk possessions, it was written it must descend in accordance with primogeniture—only to the eldest living male heir. If he had lived, it would have belonged to Carl, the baron’s natural son.”
    She blinked away the threat of tears that always came at the thought of Carl. “Therefore, if the baron has another son with his current Baronin, the Schenk title and landholdings will go to him. It produces the bulk of the family’s wealth. Without an heir, it will go to my last male cousin in Leipzig.”
    “And you get …?”
    “A tenth of a portion of any remaining assets.”
    “Ah.” He nodded. “A practical man. Why spend coin on fortifications if it will only end up in the hands of a distant relation?”
    “I see you understand him well,” she said wryly.
    “I am beginning to.” He subsided again into silence.
    She looked back at him. “You mentioned a name. Sanctuary. Is that your home?”
    He nodded. “It was converted from a farmhouse into a small manse years ago. The Elector deeded it to my grandfather for services rendered. It has on many occasions been a sanctuary to me.” He looked down at her, and his emerald eyes glittered. “I will protect it at any cost.”
    The message was clear.
    She sighed, weary beyond measure. Just once, she wanted not to be at odds with the male world. She wanted the power over her own life that men like Wolfgang Behaim and the baron took for granted. When she received her inheritance in a few weeks, she would finally have the means to be financially independent, something she wished with all her heart.
    With her legacy, she would establish a haven for her forgotten sisters, for former nuns like her who had nowhere to turn after they left the Church. In her haven, there would be freedom to come and go, and an opportunity to earn one’s keep by contributing to the daily labor. She smiled, envisioning the farmland in Mühlhausen she had already surveyed prior to approaching the baron. The farmer who owned the land was willing to help her—all she needed was the coin to buy it.
    She cursed the devil that the baron stood between her and her dream. While he could not spend her legacy, he still controlled the means of its disbursement. She counted herself twelve kinds of fool for not anticipating his violent reaction to her unexpected arrival.
    Struck by a wave of dizziness, she leaned against Master Behaim’s solid chest for support, only for a moment.
    “We’re here,” he said coolly.
    She straightened when they rode into a winding lane and craned her neck to view the manse. It emerged from the mist like a vision from a dream. The ivy-covered manse, larger than she had expected, had five gables ambling about in four different directions. The whole of the structure appeared to be no more than three stories high. Dormant rose bushes dominated the landscape, their blunted stems a silent promise of renewal. Faint wisps of smoke drifted from the chimney tops, the spicy scent warm and inviting. The entire vision made Sabina yearn for what she had never known—true sanctuary.
    Sabina glanced at Master Behaim, and noted his eyes searched the landscape as though he checked it against a mental picture to assure himself all was as he had left it.
    He rode the horses up to the main door. At their arrival, the huge door opened and two men came out. The first resembled Master Behaim, but with a slightly smaller build. He looked closer to her age than her husband’s. Like her new husband, he was striking, but his features lacked Master Behaim’s blunt intensity. The second, she recognized as the elderly servant from the wedding ceremony.
    Master Behaim dismounted and turned to face the younger man when he approached.
    “Well,” the man said to him, “I thought perhaps Franz had gone dotty in his old age when he informed me you were bringing home a wife this morning, but I can see I was mistaken. You might have told the