The Legacy (20 page)

“Nothing?” She reached for his hand. “Do not be ridiculous. It must be tended to—”

He jerked his hand out of her grasp.

Ah, yes. She had forgotten about his loathing of her touch. Hurt lanced through her at this further rejection of her gift, her body. But such men preferred their gifts unopened, she reminded herself, and certainly not pawed over by some other man. Wolf might desire her, but he could never respect her, never love her because of the mistakes she had made long ago. She turned away from him, not realizing until that very moment it was the hope she had harbored and had not confessed, even to herself. Despite everything, she hoped in time, there might have been affection between them, mayhap even love. But it was not to be.

It mattered not. She would be gone soon and this awful time would be just a memory … a memory of a pair of laughing emerald eyes, of a golden-haired child, and of a home that would never be hers.

She walked over to the bench seat and stared sightlessly out of the window to the garden outside. She did not know why she had wasted her time on the roses this morning. She would never see them bloom, and the sadness engulfing her nearly made her miss his terse statement when it came.

“You asked me once why I had married you.”

It took her a moment to answer. “Yes. As I recall, you said it was for ‘the usual reasons,’“ she quoted. “Whatever that meant.”

“I’ll tell you now, if you’ll listen.”

She turned to him. “I am listening.”

“I owed the baron money. A great deal of it. Or rather, my father did, before his death. The debt fell to me to repay. Your father made an offer. I accepted it.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

She tried to follow. “You mean he forgave you the debt for marrying me?”

A glimmer showed in his eyes. He would not meet her gaze directly. “Not exactly.”

“He dowered me? But there is no mention of a dowry in the contract—” she stopped, unsure of whether she should bring it up at this time.

His eyes narrowed abruptly. “You read the contract?”

“Yes,” she answered, deciding now was as good a time as any to discuss it. “In fact, I have a copy with me.”

He held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

She hesitated only a moment before turning away from him to unlace the kirtle around her waist and her bodice just enough to reach in for the rolled up piece of vellum she nearly always kept with her. She drew it out fully, reluctant to allow him to see it for some reason. Still, she handed it to him.

His fingers stroked it lightly while he gazed at her, and it was as if he stroked her skin instead. Though warmth flooded her, she withstood his gaze impassively. He finally pulled the little red ribbon from around the document and unrolled it. His eyes left hers, reluctantly it seemed, and he scanned the words on the page. After a brief time, he released the bottom of the page and rolled it shut.

“This is dated the day before the marriage. And it does not bear my signature,” he stated. He handed it back.

“Well, nay, it is a duplicate—he had it copied out so he might show it to me prior to getting your signature. My agreement to marry you was based on the terms of this contract,” she said, carefully skirting the issue of the maternal inheritance, “but there was no mention of a dowry.”

“Not in that contract. There is in mine.”

“What?” The sense of foreboding returned full-force. He went to a small desk in the room, opened it, and withdrew a sheet of vellum. He brought it to her.

“This is dated the day of our nuptials. Read it.”

This copy carried the signature of both men. She quickly scanned the contents and gasped when she saw the amount of the dowry. How was it possible? “It says—it says—”

He took the document from her trembling hands. “The inheritance from your mother was your dowry. She changed her will, mayhap around the time you entered the convent. According to its terms, the inheritance, upon the day you wed, became a dowry for your husband. For me.”

Sabina pressed a hand to her temple. Her thoughts whirled around in her head, chasing each other in a haphazard dance. Her mother had changed the bequest?

“Why would she do such a thing?” she asked Wolf, bewildered. “That gold was meant for
me.
She promised …”

“Don’t blame your mother in this,” he said gently. “I believe she felt she was protecting you. She didn’t know—couldn’t know—how determined the baron would be to get his hands on your inheritance.”

Sabina believed her mother would have died before she allowed that to happen. Still, there was a chance, a hope…

“Since you possess the legacy now, then all is not lost,” she reasoned. “We can go to the Elector’s court, protest the terms of the—” she stopped abruptly when she saw the flush of what could only be described as guilt taint his countenance.

“You do still have it?” she asked, a growing sense of horror making her voice shrill.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Nay. This very morn, I took a bill of receipt to the baron for it. It’s now in his possession.”

She felt a wave of anguish swamp her, and she stumbled to the bench, sat down. “Nay. It cannot be. After everything I have done to win it, everything I have suffered …” She glared up at him. “Get it back.”

“I can’t,” he said simply.

Her mouth worked, but she had no words for the devastation, the fury within her to express itself. She had sacrificed everything, endured untold hardships, and for what? It was all lost, all of it. Her legacy, her home for forgotten women … gone. So he could pay off a debt not of his own making with money that did not belong to him, money that should rightfully go to women who had nothing. He had
everything,
compared to them. How dare he? A dull film of red, like madness, covered her vision.

He merely stood there, hands clasped behind his back, his emerald gaze focused intently upon her face.

She stood up slowly from the bench and stalked toward him. Though he outweighed her considerably, was stronger in every respect, at that moment he actually looked afraid of her. She did not doubt the truth of it, for what she felt inside right now could make her capable of great violence.

“If I were a man, I would beat you. To a bloody pulp,” she rasped, her voice rising with each measured step while she stripped off her gloves. Her fingers clenched and unclenched.
“With my bare hands!”

“But you aren’t a man,” he answered carefully, his hands coming from around his back in apparent readiness for an attack. Then, as if appreciating the ridiculousness of such a threat, he again clasped his hands behind his back. “It would be ill-advised.”

Woman be damned! She would
not
be discounted. Her eyes darted about the chamber, seeking an appropriate weapon. She found it by the unused fireplace. She lunged for the poker, snatching it up with a war cry, but she had barely grabbed it before his arms encircled her, squeezing the breath out of her from behind, forcing her to let it go.

“Release it!” he commanded, tightening his fingers around her wrist with just enough pressure to make her drop the poker.

“Nay!” she screamed, struggling with him, but she could not hold on. The poker fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Cease this nonsense!” his voice was harsh, but even so, it contained a note of sympathy. “I know this is difficult tidings, but we must discuss this civilly. We must figure out what to do.”

“I know what
I
shall do, if ever the occasion presents itself,” she panted, trying to free herself from his iron grip. “Best you watch your back, Master Behaim, or you will find my little dagger in it!”

“Ah. From nun to wife to murderess in such a short time.” He grunted when her elbow struck his ribs.

“If I am thus,” she cried, “it is because you have made me this way. All of you … you
men
! Why God made you lying, fortune-stealing, self-aggrandizing beasts, only He knows!”

“You are acting like a child,” he admonished through clenched teeth. She lifted her feet and tried to drop out of his grasp and he nearly fell with her, but retained his grip. “Cease this foolish behavior. You’ll only hurt yourself!”

“Foolish—! Oh, let me go, and you will see who I intend to hurt!” she cried, shoving back against him to try to free herself.

Wolf tightened his grip. Mayhap the close quarters were to blame. Mayhap he had desired her for far too long. Whatever it was, to his dismay, the feel of her slender back and firm bottom wriggling against his groin aroused him. The absurdity of the timing almost made him weep.

Her shouting wasn’t helping his throbbing headache, either.

She shoved back against him again.

“Sabina, cease!” he gasped. “This isn’t seemly.”

“Seemly! After what you have done, you dare to say such a thing to me?” She yanked her hand free and connected with an elbow to his chin. “Hah!” she cried triumphantly.

“Ouch!” He was more surprised than hurt, but the jerking movement of his head only set it to pounding even more. He abruptly released her.

She whirled around to face him, breathing hard. “Never,
ever
touch me again!”

He had expected her to react strongly, but this shrieking termagant was beyond his ability to manage in his condition. He felt miserably aroused and not a little bit on the defensive. He forgot himself.

He jabbed a finger at her. “I
will
touch you, when I want, how I want, wherever I want, do you understand? Like it or not, you are my wife, and you relinquished the right to decide such things the moment you said ‘I will.”

Her eyes bulged. “You dare say that to me? After what you have done?”

“I’ve done nothing the law and the Church haven’t given me a right to do!” he roared, then winced when his head pounded in response.

“A husband is entitled to all that is his wife’s,” he said more quietly. “In fact, I have done far less than I wanted. I could have taken your favors as well, but I didn’t.”

Her scathing look spoke volumes. “Oh, and I suppose for that, you are to be commended? You have only stolen my gold, my hopes, and my dreams, but you have left my virtue, paltry thing it is, intact. God bless you,” she said sarcastically, “for sparing me at least
one
humiliation.”

“I didn’t say it to be commended,” he ground out. “I only wished you to understand it was never my intention to hurt you. I didn’t grasp all of the implications when I agreed to the baron’s scheme. I didn’t even know you then, for God’s sake.”

“Do not try to suggest you would have done anything differently if you had known,” she mocked.

That stopped him. “Mayhap. Mayhap not. I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Except…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Except what?”

He stared at her. She was madder than a wet cat, and she quivered throughout with rage. Her dark blue eyes flashed nearly black, and her full mouth turned down in a beguiling pout. Her black hair once again escaped her head cloth, and her breasts lifted with exertion and fury. He felt a tightening of his loins even while he beheld her.

“I might have claimed the rights of a husband the very first night,” he murmured, the heat in his groin spreading outwards.

That not-so-clever admission merely added straw to the fire.

“Ooh!” she sputtered, and tried to strike him again.

Christ’s wounds!
Why
had he said that?

He blocked her hand when she swung; she dodged, but he captured her wrist. She tried to stamp on his foot; he narrowly avoided having his arch crushed beneath her heel.

“Enough!” he roared. He pulled her between his thighs and held her fast against him, imprisoning her there. It was the most intimate of positions; she gasped and went still, as if she finally comprehended the danger she was in. She stared up at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

The press of her soft body against his hardness, the feel of her warm breath fanning across his face, made him impulsively lower his mouth to hers. The moment their lips made contact, she bit him. He jerked his head back at the intense sensation that traveled instantly to his groin.

“You play a dangerous game, little fox,” he growled. “Don’t you know some men enjoy this sort of thing? It makes the blood run hotter for them to have the wench fight back,” he taunted.

Her eyes went round. “Are you one of those men?” she whispered.

“Bite me again and you shall find out,” he said harshly.

Her eyes widened even more, and suddenly he understood she was afraid. She trembled alarmingly, all the fight gone out of her. He stared back at her, hot blood flowing through his veins, and somewhere in the distant corner of his mind, he realized he’d gone too far. He wasn’t used to this strange combination of anger and passion; if he didn’t regain control, God knows what might happen next. He didn’t want to hurt her; he’d never wanted to.

He wasn’t behaving honorably. But, nothing he had done since meeting her could be considered honorable. He had sworn to himself after today he would change all of that, and yet here he was, threatening her with something of which she was clearly afraid. It was wrong, and he felt ashamed.

He took a deep breath and slowly loosened his hold on her, but he didn’t let her go. He didn’t want her fleeing from him just yet. He needed to reason with her, not fight with her. He needed to try to find a way to make her understand.

“Let us not delude ourselves,” he finally said. “This is not only about the gold. This is about you and me. You’re still angry at me because you believe I rejected you the other night.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shushed her. “It wasn’t my intention to reject you. I was … confused. There were many feelings I needed to sort through. Some of them having to do with this legacy business, and yes, some of them having to do with Beth. I didn’t think, at the time, it would have been right to accept what you were clearly offering.”

The anger flashed again in her eyes. Still, her trembling had ceased, and she seemed to realize he had no intention of harming her.

“This has nothing to do with that night,” she snapped, eyes narrowed. “I want what is mine. I had plans for it, special plans—”