Luther and Katharina (13 page)

Behind Katharina the woodcutter pushed closer. “I suggest you say ‘good day' to Cal before he gets angry.”

Katharina twisted and caught a glimpse of the woodcutter's puckered scar and gaping earlobe. She yanked hard, trying to free herself. “Let go this instant.”

He made a clicking noise with his tongue and the roof of his mouth. “I won't be letting go until I get the payment I've been promised.”

He didn't have to say anything for her to know who would be paying him. All she knew was that she had to escape. Now. Before it was too late. Her gaze darted around and landed on her discarded battledore. She turned on the woodcutter and began kicking and scratching.

He swore and backed away. His grip loosened for an instant.

It was the second she needed. She ripped free and lunged for the washing bat. Her fingers closed around it, and she swung it wildly, forcing the woodcutter to retreat.

“Cal's got a knife, don't you, Cal?” The woodcutter lifted his arms to protect his head. “And Cal won't mind cutting up your friend's pretty face with it, will you, Cal?”

Margaret cried out in pain.

At the sight of Cal pressing the tip of his knife against Margaret's chin, Katharina froze.

A
dot of blood dripped onto Cal's hand, but his face was emotionless, as if Margaret were nothing more to him than an animal hide in need of tanning.

“Stop. Let her be.” Katharina threw down her battledore.

The woodcutter pounced on her and yanked her arms behind her back with such force that hot pain blinded her, and a cry slipped from her lips.

“What do you say, Cal? Every time my gal don't cooperate, you put a slice in your gal's face?”

Cal grunted.

The blood on Margaret's chin glistened. Her friend stood absolutely still, her eyes scrunched closed, her face pinched.

“Put the knife away.” Katharina could hardly speak for the burning in her arms. “I'll do whatever you say as long as you don't hurt Margaret.”

The woodcutter chortled. “Now that's a good girl. No need for anyone to get hurt if you cooperate.”

Cal lowered the knife.

Katharina exhaled. The drive to fight deflated. She couldn't chance Margaret getting hurt.

She didn't resist when the woodcutter tied her hands behind her back or when he shoved her past the townswomen, who watched silently without making a move to help. Did they dislike her and Margaret so much that they could stand by and let these men lead them away like sheep to the slaughter? Did they truly believe the runaway nuns should go back where they belonged?

The woodcutter pushed her along, up the grassy bank and over the bridge that led away from Wittenberg, and Cal followed behind with Margaret. The men directed them to a covered wagon concealed in a grove of willows. They made quick work of gagging them and binding their feet too. When they lifted the covering and shoved them into the wagon bed, Katharina's heart sank at the sight of Margaret's sister, Eva, already bound and gagged, curled into a ball with tears streaking her cheeks.

Margaret scooted over to her sister and tried to comfort her as best she could.

Katharina listened to the woodcutter argue with the driver, and their words confirmed her fear—the men were working for Abbot Baltazar. They were looking for one more, Greta, and the driver didn't want to go until they found her. But the woodcutter insisted that she was gone, that the townswomen said she'd left Wittenberg weeks ago.

Eventually the wagon began to roll and jostle them mercilessly. Under the tarp the musty, damp odor of the wagon bed filled Katharina's senses. The sun beat down on the tarp and baked them beneath. Over and over she chastised herself for failing to protect Margaret, for not running when they'd had the chance. Her mind jumped between Ave Marias, Our Father prayers, and efforts to plan their escape. And she tried not to think about what was in store for them at the end of their journey.

The endless bumping was torture, but it was nothing compared to the dryness that had overtaken her mouth and throat, made worse by the dirty cloth filling it. The increasing desperation in Margaret's and Eva's eyes told her they were suffering in the same way.

Her efforts to loosen the rope binding her wrists resulted in nothing but skin chafed raw. Finally she could only lie in utter exhaustion like her friends. Her mind screamed not to give up, but she grew too hot and weary to move.

Eventually the wagon lurched to a stop. She could hear the loosening of the tarp, and then sunshine fell across her and blinded her. She tried pushing herself up, but rough hands wrenched her forward, dragged her like a bag of barley, and tossed her to the side of the road.

The impact with the ground jolted her breath from her chest. But blessedly the men untied their gags and passed them a jug. Apparently, Abbot Baltazar wanted them alive. The only question was why. So that he could torture them to death himself?

The men returned them to the wagon and didn't stop again until darkness settled. By then Katharina was so sore and tired and weak she could only lie listlessly next to Margaret and Eva on dried pine needles and moss and watch their captors as they ate and bedded down.

Their kidnappers had located a secluded grove, thickly wooded with spruce and cedar. They hadn't bothered with a fire, and now the chill of the deepening night crept through the thick undergrowth and surrounded them.

She waited for even breathing that signaled the men were slumbering before she wriggled the binding on her hands. The skin on her wrists was already rubbed raw from her efforts in the wagon to loosen the rope, and the attempt was as useless now as it had been before.

With her gaze fixed on the motionless forms of the men half a dozen steps away, she pushed her hands into Margaret, hoping her friend would understand what she needed to do and would now have the strength they'd lacked in the wagon bed.

The tug of Margaret's teeth on her rope told her that Margaret was more alert than she'd realized. Margaret struggled until Katharina's wrists were hot and slick from her friend's futile efforts. Finally Katharina sidled behind Margaret and tried her turn at using her teeth to untie the rope. She had no other plan. If they failed, she wasn't sure she wanted to see another day.

At the snap of a twig behind them, Katharina tensed and pulled away from Margaret. But a large hand cupped her mouth and muffled her gasp.

The heat of the hand suffocated her. With a surge of fear, she jerked to break free.

A mouth pressed against her ear. “Hello, hissing Katzen.”

“Doctor Luther?” Her whisper was caught in the hollow of his hand.

“Yes, it is I, the barking hound.” His lips grazed her earlobe.

Her body melted with overwhelming relief. The tension of the day pooled in her chest and rose on the edge of a sob. For a long second the heat of his breath filled the hollow of her ear. His hand remained over her mouth. And she didn't want to move; she wanted to stay safe in his hold.

Slowly he released her and reached for her hands. His knife sawed into the rope, pressing the binding into her skin. He worked quickly, and in only a moment her hands were free, and the cool night air bathed her raw skin.

He moved to her feet and tugged at the rope with his blade. His black cloak hid him, turning him into an apparition. Several other dark figures crouched nearby, and she could hear the slicing of their blades against Eva's and Margaret's bindings.

The tightness around her feet fell away. Before she could push herself up, Doctor Luther clutched her and then crushed her against his body, wrapping his arms around her.

She buried her face in his cloak and took a deep, shuddering breath. The solidness of his chest and the strength of his grip surrounded her like the walls of a fortress. The fear of Abbot Baltazar and the horror of her capture faded into the distance.

“Are you hurt?” His whisper was low, and his lips grazed against her ear again, sending a shiver through her.

She shook her head, aware of the heat of his mouth, the hoarseness of his breathing, the softness of his lips against her skin. For a long exquisite moment, time stopped, and she had the deepest feeling of being treasured.

Shouts erupted near them, followed by scuffling.

Doctor Luther stiffened. “Stay here and don't move.”

“I'll do no such thing.”

“So the hissing Katzen has to give all the orders?” She could feel his lips curve into a smile against her ear. “Then what does her majesty command?”

“I'll lead Margaret and Eva away.” She was thankful when he didn't protest but instead helped her to her feet.

Once they were standing, he hunched to keep the hood of his cloak from tangling in overhead branches. “Follow the moon toward the west.” His face was shadowed, and she wished she could see his features. “When you reach the edge of the field there, wait for us.”

She grabbed Margaret's arm and reached for Eva's hand. The darkness of the forest was thick and ominous, reminding her of the night she'd led the women out of Marienthron.

He held out a dagger. “Take this.”

“Won't you need it?”

“Take it now and run.”

She hesitated.

“This isn't the best time to pick a fight, Kate.”

The shouts around them escalated. Scant moonlight slanted through the branches revealing men circling around one another and the glint of outstretched knives.

Doctor Luther grabbed a thick branch off the ground and wielded it like a weapon. Then he thrust the dagger into her hand. “Go.”

She nodded and took the weapon. She couldn't jeopardize them again by her indecisiveness. She'd gotten Margaret into this predicament, and now she needed to get them to safety.

“Margaret, Eva, follow me.”

They stumbled after her, slow and unsteady. After hours of the ropes cutting off their circulation, their numb legs could hardly carry them over the uneven wagon path. When they could no longer hear the din of the fight, Eva crumpled to the ground.

“Don't stop.” Katharina clutched the girl.

Eva's chest heaved with the effort of breathing. “I can't—”

“Get up. We need to move farther away. If the fight doesn't go well…” Katharina didn't want to think of Doctor Luther and his friends sustaining injury, possibly dying on account of them.

Margaret took hold of the other side of Eva, and they worked together to drag her along. Their labored breathing and the crunching of twigs under their feet filled the night air. When they reached the clearing, Katharina guided Eva and Margaret into an overgrowth of brush, and then she hid behind a tree. A pasture spread out before them. A grazing doe and her fawn lifted their heads, their glowing eyes finding them all too easily.

They didn't have to wait long before they heard approaching voices.

Katharina shrank against the bark.
Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Let it be Doctor Luther and his comrades.

The words were the closest she'd ever come to making up her own prayer. Did she dare? She'd heard Doctor Luther and his followers wording their own prayers, but were they right to speak to God with such familiarity? The holy apostles and saints had already written the prayers they needed. Surely she'd do better to pray as she'd been taught.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.

The voices drew nearer, and dark-cloaked figures emerged into the clearing.

“Katharina?” came Doctor Luther's voice.

She exhaled and stood, relief weakening her knees. “Over here.”

With long strides he crossed the distance, leaving his friends behind.

“I'm glad I won't need to use this.” She held out his knife.

He took it and sheathed it. “Those scoundrels won't be going anywhere soon.”

“You killed them?”

He threw back his hood. Moonlight illuminated the haggard lines of his face. His dark eyes searched hers. “My friends and I aren't men of violence. We couldn't murder—even though I've never wanted to more.” Before she could respond, he reached for her hands and enclosed them within his.

“We tied them to trees and set the draft horses loose. If the men manage to loosen their bonds, they'll have a long walk ahead of them.”

Under his searching gaze, the warmth of his hands spread through her arms and to her middle. “You saved our lives.”

His fingers touched the scraped skin on her wrist, and he tugged her closer. His voice dipped low. “When I got the news that you'd been taken, I couldn't function. I thought I would go crazy. I very nearly did.” His soft confession lingered over her like a caress.

She had the sudden longing for him to circle her in his solid embrace so she would feel treasured once more. But the movement of the others around her and their voices reminded her they weren't alone.

“How did you find us?”

He nodded to his friends, who were comforting Margaret and Eva. “We picked up your trail early. I wanted to jump the wagon right away, but the others forced me to wait until everyone was asleep.”

“Your friends were wise. Abbot Baltazar's men were brutes.” She thought of the slice on Margaret's chin that needed stitching and a poultice.