The Legacy Read Online Free PDF Page B

had known in its earlier days, before Papa had taken to pawning off entire rooms of furniture at a time. He spread Lady Sabina’s hair out around her; the fire roared in the grate. He hoped it might help to dry the thick tresses. He barely heard Peter giving orders to the housekeeper regarding their unexpected dousing.
    The baronesse was slim, though she still had the soft padding of a woman where it counted. The fact she wore no underclothes became more obvious as a result of her damp bodice. He couldn’t help but notice the twin peaks cresting beneath it. He hastily pulled a threadbare fur rug around her shoulders, less in deference to her modesty than to a sudden and intense curiosity about the shape of what lay beneath. Mildly ashamed to realize he could have such a reaction to a woman unable to defend herself, he tucked the rug under her chin.
    Peter, who studied medicine and philosophy at the University of Wittenberg under the Elector’s own physician, strode into the room. He carried a polished pewter plate; when he knelt and held it in front of her face, the pewter fogged, indicating she still breathed. He felt beneath her armpits and along the sides of her neck, then briefly pulled up her eyelids. He released them and pressed a palm to her forehead.
    “Is there fever?” Wolf asked.
    “Nay. I saw no excessive sweating, either, as nearly as I can recall before the damned rain hit. No spots, either. No sign of plague at all, thank the Lord.”
    Wolf released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Plague wasn’t so distant a memory here. He wasn’t certain what he would have done if Baron von Ziegler had given him a wife who could infect his household with a killing sickness.
    “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.
    Peter shook his head, obviously perplexed. “Perhaps it’s the cold.”
    Her hands did feel like ice. Wolf tried to bring the warmth back by rubbing them. The warmth gradually returned and color glossed her cheeks.
    He saw his housekeeper Bea hovered nearby with a pile of linens in her hands.
    “Your brother says you’re soaked through, Master Wolf,” she said. “Here, I’ve enough for all.” Bea handed the linens over to them, gazing at the stricken woman. “Poor dear.”
    Wolf pulled off his doublet and shirt and quickly rubbed himself down. Peter did the same. While Wolf finger-combed his thick hair, probably leaving it worse off than when he started, he kept his eye on the unconscious Lady Sabina.
    He should get her warm—the mass of wet hair wasn’t helping. Using a fresh cloth, he tried to remove the dampness from Lady Sabina’s hair, dabbing and squeezing as best he could. He rubbed her scalp with the cloth, and she moaned, eyes still closed. He stopped abruptly, overwhelmed by a sudden sensation of intimacy.
    “Here, Bea, perhaps you had better—” He waved the cloth helplessly at her.
    “Why, yes, Master Wolf, of course.” Bea took the cloth and toweled the girl’s hair vigorously. Everything Bea did, she did vigorously. A heavy-set woman of obvious Viking descent, with rosy cheeks and a booming voice, she constantly reminded Wolf of the legendary warrior women of the Valkaries.
    When she finished with Lady Sabina, he said, “Mull some of the wine and bring it at once. I’m afraid she’s chilled to the bone.”
    Bea obeyed, bringing him a steaming cup of glühwein, the cinnamon-spiced scent drifting in the air.
    He motioned to his brother to assist him, and Peter finished drying off and knelt again at Lady Sabina’s side. He slipped his arm beneath her to hold her up while Wolf brought the wine to her lips. Her head lolled at first, but then she struggled to sit up.
    Wolf spoke softly into the pink shell of her ear. “My lady, I have some wine for you. Can you drink it?”
    Her lids fluttered open and he was struck anew by the deep, rich blue of her eyes. He heard what he took to be a murmur of assent and gently pressed the cup to the generous curve of her lips.