Chapter 14 Heinrich
Heinrich
Katharina was biting her lip again, trying to concentrate on the passage before her, but she kept looking at my hands.
She liked my hands, always had, but now she couldn’t keep her eyes off them.
She was easy to rile now, and I loved the way her breath quickened when I leaned closer, ostensibly to point out a verse in the Gospel of John.
“It’s about sacrifice,” Katharina murmured, but her voice had gone breathy. She saw through all my games now.
“I’ve always thought it was about devotion. About what we’re willing to risk for what we love.” I let my hand drift from the page to her shoulder, felt her shiver beneath my touch. “Certain things refuse to be contained, no matter how we might try.”
She grinned at that. I traced the line of her throat with my thumb, felt her lean into it despite herself.
Three weeks had passed since I’d first had her.
Three weeks of learning all the hidden parts of her—the soft skin behind her ear, the small sounds she made when my hands found the laces of her bodice, the way she gasped when I kissed the hollow between her breasts.
We hadn’t crossed the final threshold yet. I was holding back, savoring the anticipation. Savoring her, the way she was blooming under my attention like a red rose in summer.
No, she wasn’t a rose. She was blooming into the flame she had tried to suppress for so long.
I’d noticed it in small ways at first: the set of her shoulders when she walked through the convent now, less hunched, less apologetic.
How she moved through her garden without fear, not constantly checking over her shoulder.
She was healing more people outside the eye of the Church, the door to the well house constantly swinging.
She was magnificent.
“You’re not paying attention,” she said, and there was teasing in it now. She’d grown bolder with me as well.
“On the contrary. I’m paying very close attention.” I slid my hand to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the wisps of golden hair that had escaped her bonnet. “I’m simply not interested in the Gospel of John at the moment.”
She turned to look at me, color high in her cheeks. “What are you interested in, then?”
“You know perfectly well.”
The way she looked at me—consumed by desire—made something hot and possessive coil in my chest. Mine, something whispered. She’s mine.
And I was hers. That’s what I needed her to realize.
I leaned down, meaning to kiss her, but footsteps in the corridor made us spring apart. Katharina’s eyes went wide.
So the fear still lingered in her, even now. My lips twisted as I saw her shrink back, making herself into the small creature they craved.
I would burn that fear out of her, eventually. I would teach her she had nothing to be ashamed of.
The door opened without ceremony. Vicar Forner stood in the doorway, his narrow face set in its habitual expression of suspicion.
“Father Heinrich,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. His gaze slid to Katharina, lingering. “And the girl. How…diligent you both remain in your studies.”
I straightened, shifting slightly between Forner and Katharina. “We’re in the middle of a lesson. Is there something you need?”
“I need to discuss certain concerns that have come to my attention.” Forner stepped into the room uninvited, hands clasped behind his back. “Regarding the convent’s sick ward.” He nodded toward Katharina as if she were a piece of furniture.
I felt her tremble behind me, felt her fear like a physical thing. My jaw tightened, teeth clenching.
“The sisters work under my supervision,” I replied, my voice flat. “Their service to the sick is exemplary. Surely you’re not suggesting the Church’s own charitable work is suspect?”
Forner’s eyes narrowed. “I’m suggesting that there have been rumors of women with…particular needs. It raises questions about what exactly is happening under your roof.”
“Healing and prayer, Vicar. As is our duty.” I let a hint of steel bleed through my voice. “Unless you have evidence of wrongdoing, I fail to see what concerns you could possibly have.”
“Evidence is what the Drudenhaus is for.”
The threat hung in the air between us. Something dark unfurled in my chest, a shadow that wanted to reach across the space and close around Forner’s throat. A shadow that whispered it would be easy—so easy—to make him stop talking, forever.
I smiled instead. “The Bishop has been quite clear that we are not to pursue accusations without cause. Panic and paranoia serve no one—they only create more work for the courts and waste the Church’s resources on innocents.
” I paused, letting the words sink in. “I would hate to have to mention to His Grace that you’ve been questioning the virtue of our charitable efforts—especially with the unrest in Bamberg over your investigations.
Didn’t you arrest a lord’s wife last week?
I’ve heard he was quite upset, had several meetings with the Bishop.
I would hate to see you stripped of your position because of public pressure. ”
Forner’s face went red, and a sadistic pleasure twisted my gut.
“I am simply doing my duty—”
“As are we all.” My tone remained pleasant, but nothing else about me did. “Was there anything else, Vicar Forner? As you can see, I’m quite busy.”
For a long moment he stood there, bristling, clearly wanting to push further but knowing he’d been outmaneuvered.
Finally, he turned on his heel. How had I once feared this man?
But that had been before, when his authority within the Church had meant something to me.
Now I saw everything so much more clearly.
“Watch yourself, Heinrich,” he sneered from the doorway. “And watch who you choose to protect. Rot corrupts quickly and must be cut out.”
The door closed behind him with more force than necessary.
I waited until his footsteps faded before turning back to Katharina. She’d gone pale, her hands trembling where they clutched the edge of the table.
“He suspects,” she whispered. “He knows—”
“He knows nothing.” I took her face in my hands, guiding her gaze to mine. “He’s a small man grasping at straws, trying to make himself important. You are safe. Do you understand me? I will not let them touch you.”
“You can’t promise that. No one can promise that in this place—”
“I can and I do.” I kissed her forehead. I would do anything—anything—to keep that promise. “You have nothing to fear. Not while I’m here.” I should have told her that long ago, but I had been a coward, hiding behind duty and propriety. The shadows had cleared all that away.
She searched my face, looking for something. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, because some of the tension bled from her shoulders.
“I trust you,” she said finally.
“Good.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. The urge to protect her was all-consuming, the only purpose I needed. “Now. Where were we?”
“The Gospel of John,” she answered, but she was smiling now. Small and shaky, but a smile nonetheless.
“Ah, yes. Greater love.” I pulled her close, tucking her head beneath my chin. “Though I think we can agree John knew nothing of such things.”
She nuzzled closer, her heart’s rapid beat thrumming against my chest. So much trust in that gesture. So much faith that I would keep her safe.
I would.
Forner could suspect all he wanted. Let him. Let them all suspect. I had already decided—had decided long before Walpurgisnacht—that I would do whatever it took to protect her.
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 facade 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.
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