Luther and Katharina (31 page)

“Maybe he has finally realized I'm not going to kill you.”

“Or maybe he's going senile.”

Katharina's smile widened, softening the worried lines in her face. “I guess he knew I could beat the devil from you.”

“If anyone could beat that old Enemy, you could.”

Wisps of her hair floated about her like a golden crown. The tilt of her head, the bearing of her shoulders—she could have been a princess except for the smudge of dirt on her high cheekbone.

“Did they find you in the garden?” He touched his thumb to her cheek and rubbed it against the dirt.

At his stroke she stiffened and glanced over her shoulder at the others in the room.

His gaze followed hers. Cranach, Melanchthon, Jonas, and other friends and servants watched them from the dark fringes of the room.

“What is this?” he croaked to them, dropping his hand. “I'm not dying, not yet.”

Jonas stepped to the edge of the bed. “You're sure? Because we've got the parish box waiting outside the door.”

Luther rolled his eyes at his friend's poor attempt at humor. “Will you send everyone away? We'll postpone the laying out for another day.”

As the others exited the room, Katharina rose to leave too.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Don't leave yet. I still need my Doctor Kate.”

She looked at her hand held captive by his, a flush spreading up her neck.

He was embarrassed to admit that she was the reason he wanted everyone else to leave. He couldn't explain why, but he needed her there without everyone else looking on.

“Please stay.” His whisper was hoarse.

She trembled slightly but didn't meet his gaze. “Then you must promise to be a good patient and do everything I say.”

“Don't I always do what you say?” he asked, trying to infuse his voice with a lightness that would disguise the longing coursing through him.

She extracted her hand and shoved the jug toward him. “Sit up and take a drink.”

“Yes, lord Katharina.” He tried to push himself up, but the jolt of pain in his head made him bite back a groan.

“Let me help you.” She slipped an arm behind his neck, and the warmth from her body drew nearer. The scent of herbs he couldn't name filled the air between them. God help him, but he didn't believe he could resist her another moment. A glance to the doorway told him that they were finally alone, save Jonas. She tried easing him up. He cooperated for only a moment before collapsing backward, leaving her little choice but to fall against him.

Her startled gasp melted against his cheek.

“I beg your pardon, Herr Doctor.” She started to lift herself up, sounding mortified.

“Wait, Katharina,” he whispered, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and make her stay. “Don't go yet.”

She pushed up so that her face hovered above his. Her eyes were wide and dark as the evening sky. She glanced over her shoulder, and he followed her gaze to Jonas, who quickly pivoted and feigned an interest in the tapestry on the wall. Luther would have to thank his friend later for his help in orchestrating a moment alone with Katharina.

“Talk to me for a minute,” Luther whispered, drawing her attention back to him. He couldn't keep his gaze from sliding over her high cheekbones and down her long neck.

Her quick intake of breath told him she sensed his perusal. “What do you want to talk about?” she whispered.

“You.” He couldn't think straight. “You smell of flowers and sunshine.”

“I've been busy with the new garden plot Master Cranach purchased.”

He slipped his arm around her waist so that his palm rested on the small of her back. It fit there perfectly. And when she again didn't resist him, his confidence soared. “Tell me, are you as bossy with your plants as you are with your people?”

“More so.” Her lips quirked.

“Then they obey your every demand?”

“I give them no choice.”

“I have no doubt you'll have the best garden in all of Saxony.”

She rewarded his compliment with a smile that took his breath away. He would marry Katharina von Bora. He couldn't resist his desire for her any longer. He'd tried. The Lord knew he'd tried.

His body craved her the way his mind craved the gospel. And the plain fact was that he was too old to fight against himself and everyone else any longer. If he married Katharina, he'd finally stop his father's nagging, he'd set a good example for the priests and bishops who were still resisting marriage, and he'd prove to the world that he was human, a man of the flesh just like every other man.

So what if his enemies captured him and burned him at the stake in a week, a month, or a year? At least he would have experienced the gratification of knowing a woman, of being with Katharina for whatever time he had left on earth. The war against the peasants had all but obliterated the efforts of the reforms anyway. The pope wouldn't have any reason to hunt him down now.

As if sensing his train of thought, her breathing turned ragged. Her lips were only a hand span away. Her soft, beckoning lips…

“Doctor Luther, you promised to be a good patient—”

He touched her lips with the tips of his fingers, cutting off her breathy whisper. Then he slid his hand upward to the back of her neck and gently lowered her face toward his.

She trembled but didn't resist.

In all his forty-one years, he'd never kissed a woman. But his body seemed to know exactly what to do. His lips grazed hers, lightly. Her softness brushed against him like the petals of a spring flower. He tested, teased her lips with his own, his breath mingling with hers in a growing intensity.

“Kate.” Then his fingers on the back of her neck guided her so that their lips had no choice but to meld. She hesitated for only an instant, and then he felt her lips responding to his, matching his fervor.

A loud clearing of someone's throat caused her to jump. She broke away and struggled to push back from him.

Luther wasn't ready to end the kiss. He yearned for more, but somehow he found the will to release her.

Clearly flustered, she quickly made a move to stand, but he reached for her arm and stopped her. He didn't want this moment with her to end quite yet. And although he knew he should be grateful for Jonas's presence, he frowned at his friend who peered at them over his shoulder from where he still stood in front of the tapestry.

“Save it for the marriage bed.” Jonas grinned.

“Get out.”

“Not unless you want me to get Pastor Bugenhagen so we can make this official right here and now.”

Luther groused under his breath at his friend but was half tempted to have Jonas do just that.

“You're quite well, Doctor Luther.” Katharina's cheeks were pink, and she looked everywhere but at him. “You don't need me any longer.”

“But I do need you.” He watched the way her lips curved and wanted nothing more than to taste them again. Suddenly he knew with startling clarity the truth of all he'd preached about marriage during the past several years. In fact, he'd recently written to two leaders of monastery orders, supporting their consideration of marriage. He'd expounded on Genesis 2:18 and the interrelationship between woman and man in marriage. “It must, shall, and will not be any other way,” he'd written. “Forget about your concerns, enter into marriage joyfully; your body demands and requires it; God wants it and wills it.”

He reached for Katharina's hand and brought it to his lips. The delicate fingers were streaked with dirt. He found the soft skin of her palm and pressed his lips there, savoring the warmth and moisture his breath made against her.

Her eyes were bright, and she didn't resist the intimacy. Was she feeling the same pull to him?

He trailed his lips to her wrist and felt the thumping of her pulse.

When her eyes met his, he knew he had her. The deep pools of her eyes shone with a desire that equaled his. Pleasure rushed through him.

Surely if he asked her to marry him now, in this instant, she wouldn't want to say no.

“I meant it, Katharina. I need you.”

Jonas coughed.

“I'm pretending you're not here, Justus.” Luther shot his friend a glare and then pushed himself up on the bed until he was sitting. His head pounded, but the pain was faint in the surge of his other emotions. He brought a hand to her cheek and stroked her warm skin. “You'll make a good wife to an old man.”

She stiffened. “I thought you understood that I wouldn't marry Dr. Glatz.”

“Dr. Glatz?”

“Didn't Justus tell you? He agreed he would—”

“He did sway me.” Luther smiled. “Of course you won't marry that old miser.”

She studied his face a moment before a small smile curved her lips. Heaven have mercy on him. She was irresistibly beautiful when she smiled.

“When I said you will make a good wife to an old man, I was referring to myself. I am the old man.”

Her smile froze.

His heartbeat stuttered. She'd promised Jonas she would marry him if he asked. All he needed to do was ask. “I've decided that instead of old Glatz, you shall have old Luther instead. What do you say to that match?”

She didn't say anything. Instead she pulled her hand away from his, hesitated, then looked at her lap.

His pulse resumed its beating, growing louder. So he still wasn't good enough for her?

“Well, I don't want to marry you either.” He rushed to get the words out.

Her gaze snapped back to his. “What?”

“If I have to marry, then I'd prefer someone like Eva von Schonfeld or Ave Alemann. Both are young, beautiful, and docile, unlike you—always the hissing Katzen.”

Her wide eyes filled with hurt.

He was suddenly too angry to care. “But they're both married. Everyone is married. Except for you.”

“I didn't plan this.”

“Neither did I. But you're a forsaken woman. Now I'm stuck with you, and you have become a burden to me.”

The delicate features of her face hardened, and for a long moment the pain in her eyes almost made him stop.

But the hammering ache in his chest propelled him forward. “Since it appears my father and the entire Holy Roman Empire will not rest until I have married, I have decided that I'll take a wife.”

He could see Jonas shaking his head and waving his arms, but he refused to heed his friend's attempt to keep him from sliding further into the gutter.

“It looks as if neither of us has much choice these days. You have Glatz or me. And I have—” He paused and took a breath. “Well, I have only you, a poor refugee and a domestic aid.”

Anger sparked to life in her eyes. “I'm much more than that—”

“Oh yes, I forgot. If I marry you, then I am practically marrying royalty. What a bargain for me.”

She jumped up from the side of the bed and stood facing him, her petite body tight. “You're impossible.” Her eyes flashed, and her fingers twitched as if she would like to slap him.

“You'll marry me. You must agree to it since you promised Justus you would.”

Her blazing gaze met his.

Every nerve in his body strained for her answer.

When she didn't say anything, a rage of blood pounded through his head. “You can't stay single any longer. You'll either marry me, or I'll send you to Dr. Glatz.”

“I won't marry that man. You can't make me.”

“Then I guess you'll marry me.”

“Then I guess I will.”

She handed him his lute. Then she spun away from him and crossed the room. She nodded at Jonas and left.

When the door had closed behind her, Luther blew out a frustrated breath and fell back against the bed.

“That went well,” Jonas said, stepping over to the edge of the bed.

“I don't want to hear it.”

“You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“She doesn't want me, so why should I care?”

“It looked to me like you
both
wanted each other.”

Luther closed his eyes. His entire body sagged with exhaustion, and the fire of his anger smoldered into embers.

“Justus, what have I done?” He groaned and turned his face to his pillow.

Had he really just bound himself to Katharina? To a woman who didn't return his love? To a woman who'd agreed to marry him out of obligation to a promise and not because her heart desired it?

That wasn't what he'd wanted. He'd wanted her to return his desire and affection in the same measure. And he was crushed and angry that she hadn't.

More than that, he was scared. He'd finally done the one thing he'd said he never would. He'd pledged himself to a woman.

And in doing so, he'd just put a target on her back.

“What have I done?” he moaned again.

No matter how angry Katharina made him at times, he would die before he saw her come to harm.

“Y
ou will look beautiful in this.” Barbara pulled the laces on the bodice and tightened them. “Once we shorten the skirt, it will fit you perfectly.”

Early summer sunlight streaked into the bedchamber, filling it with brightness, but it couldn't lift Katharina's melancholy. She studied the folds of silk brushing against her legs. The trimmed skirt opened in the front from the waist down to reveal an underskirt.

She'd never worn anything so exquisite. The bodice sleeves were tight but fashionably puffed and slashed at the shoulder and elbow. A stand-up collar draped her shoulders. Its silk and trimmed fur hugged her in a perfect fit.

“Doctor Luther won't like it,” Katharina said, touching the braided rings that adorned the neckline, marveling at their delicacy.

“He'll love it,” Barbara said. “He won't be able to keep his eyes off you.”

She'd be surprised if he looked at her ever again. In fact, she was surprised he was actually going through with the betrothal.

“Maybe I should just wear my Sunday skirt.” Would she displease him even more if she arrived at the betrothal ceremony dressed like a princess? “You're more than kind in offering to let me wear your dress, but I don't think I should—”

“Nonsense. I have more dresses than I can use. Consider it my wedding gift to you.”

Katharina bit back the rest of her protest. She couldn't refuse her friend's gift. Her fingers slid over the smooth, creamy material. If her father had been able to provide a dowry for her, if he'd been arranging her marriage to a nobleman, she would have worn a dress like Barbara's—or one even more elaborate.

A man like Jerome would expect such attire and not just for a betrothal ceremony. But Doctor Luther?

“Perhaps Doctor Luther would prefer a plainer style,” Katharina said.

“The man is a boar when it comes to knowing anything about personal grooming.” Barbara held the hem while one of the servants measured and pinned. “Now no more about it, Liebchen. I want you to wear this dress.”

Maybe he would cancel the plans. There was still time. The betrothal ceremony was more than a week away, set for June 13, the feast day of Saint Anthony of Padua. She'd heard tales that Melanchthon and some of his other friends were angry at him for making marriage plans while the entire countryside was still in turmoil from the rebelling peasants. Perhaps they would convince him to stop.

And yet she'd heard the other rumors circulating about her and Doctor Luther, rumors that would surely force Doctor Luther to marry her. The stories differed, but most said she had seduced him with his lute and had lain with him in Master Cranach's bed.

Embarrassment rushed through her at the thought of people repeating the tale. Of course this time she
had
overstepped the bounds of propriety, and the rumors bordered on half truth.

Her stomach dipped at the remembrance of the moments with him and the kiss they'd shared. It had been unlike anything else, not even remotely like the one kiss Jerome had given her. In fact, just thinking about the touch of Doctor Luther's lips twisted a ribbon of heat through her middle and up around her heart.

“Do you know what to expect after the betrothal ceremony?” Barbara bent her head and focused on the hem.

Katharina fidgeted with the delicate linen ruffle at the edge of the sleeve. Had Barbara read her thoughts? Was she remembering the rumors too?

“After the betrothal you will consummate your union,” Barbara said softly.

Katharina felt the heat make a path to her face, burning her cheeks with the naiveté of a twenty-six-year-old virgin. Like all young noblewomen, she was familiar with the ancient German customs. The betrothal ceremony was considered the official contract of marriage, and afterward the union was consummated in the required presence of a witness. Such customs, especially among the patrician class, ensured that no one could interfere with a union once the betrothal had taken place.

But the marriage bed itself? She ducked her head in another flush of embarrassment. No one ever spoke of the intimacies between a man and a woman, especially behind the cloistered walls of the convent.

“You don't have a mother to instruct you about the marriage bed.” Sunlight highlighted the gray strands in Barbara's hair, which was twisted back into a fashionable knot. “So I thought if you have any questions about—well, about anything…”

Katharina could only think back to the way Doctor Luther had held her on the bed, the way he'd pulled her against him. She'd lost all sense of reason when he'd kissed her just briefly. What would happen if she spent an entire night with him?

Her body felt suddenly too hot, as if someone had closed all the windows and set the hearth fire burning.

Barbara cleared her throat. “You can always talk to me if you think of something later.”

Katharina nodded, unable to speak.

“Of course you must stay the night in our guest chamber. It's only natural since you'll have the betrothal ceremony here.” Barbara stood up and faced her directly. “Besides, you don't want to spend your first night at the Black Cloister. It's in such a state of disrepair; I fear you'll have much work to make it livable.”

“I'd be grateful for all the guidance you can give me.”

“After the betrothal I'll help you bring order back to the monastery. But we can't do anything until your union is official.” She reached for Katharina's head cap and unpinned it. Then she began to unravel Katharina's hair out of the tight braids she wore coiled beneath the head covering.

She hadn't cut her hair in the two years she'd been gone from Marienthron, and finally she could revel in the glory of having it long.

“You and Doctor Luther must host a lunch for the witnesses the day after your betrothal. You'll need to have it here too.”

“We cannot impose—”

“You won't be imposing. I'm happy Doctor Luther has come to his senses and is finally marrying. And I could pick no one better for him than you.”

“But you're doing so much already.”

“Katharina.” Barbara's fingers stilled against her hair. “Master Cranach has never paid Doctor Luther for any of the works he's printed and sold.”

Katharina nodded in acknowledgment. Not only was she marrying out of her class, but she was marrying a poor man, quite possibly one of the poorest men in all of Saxony.

She couldn't deny that she cared for Doctor Luther. Nor could she deny the strong passion his presence seemed to draw from deep inside her, a passion she'd never known existed. Nevertheless, doubts waged war inside her. There was a part of her that didn't care about their differences or his poverty, the part that swelled in anticipation of finally being with Doctor Luther, of getting to spend her days and nights with him. She wasn't afraid to admit that she enjoyed his company, that she admired his intellect and appreciated his strong beliefs.

But another part of her couldn't stop questioning whether she was doing the right thing in relinquishing her title and status. Surely Doctor Luther could understand that this was a momentous, life-changing decision for her?

As she tried to make excuses, she knew her hesitancy at his proposal of marriage had hurt him. And she wished she could redo those moments in the bedroom, wished he had at least allowed her to explain herself.

“You must let us help with the betrothal and wedding plans,” Barbara said. “It is the least we can do to repay Doctor Luther for all he's given us. He does so much for others without asking for anything in return.”

Katharina looked down at the shimmering dress, which grew blurry behind a sudden veil of tears. He'd done so much for her even though he hadn't needed to. He'd sheltered her, provided for her, and given to her when he'd had nothing to give. He'd even saved her life more than once.

Barbara shook Katharina's hair, letting it cascade down her back. “He gives until he has nothing left to give, and then he'll give his life if need be.”

What if his offer of marriage was only an attempt to rescue her again—this time from her life of singleness and the rumors that were ruining her good name? Maybe he was marrying her out of obligation and charity.

Barbara combed her fingers through Katharina's hair. “He may not be everything you thought you'd find in a husband. But he's a good man, Katharina. He's been good to you.”

“You're right,” she whispered, unable to keep the wobble from her voice. “He's a good man.”

“Every maiden has doubts before the wedding. But you shouldn't worry about anything.” She stepped back and examined Katharina. “When he sees you like this, he won't be able to resist you.”

Katharina looked down at herself. Waves of hair tumbled around her face and over her shoulders. He'd told her she looked like an angel when she had a smudged face and clothes soiled from the garden. What would he think of her like this?

Would she be beautiful enough to make him forget that she'd hurt him? She could only pray that eventually they'd be able to put aside their reservations and find happiness together.

The day of Saint Anthony of Padua arrived too quickly. Katharina waited for someone or something to intervene. Even when she stood next to Doctor Luther in the Cranachs' parlor and Pastor Bugenhagen took his place in front of them, she expected one of his advisors to barge in and tell them this was all a mistake and they shouldn't do it.

The small group of witnesses, however, stood behind them, and Pastor Bugenhagen began to read the special ceremony he'd prepared for the occasion.

She glanced at the dark paneled walls and the closed door and then back to Pastor Bugenhagen. A part of her wanted to run from the room, away from Doctor Luther's displeasure. He hadn't paid her any attention since she'd arrived except to cast an irritated glance at her shimmering dress and long hair, making her wish she'd followed her intuition and worn her everyday clothes.