by Sarah Monzon
A throat cleared, and Christyne whipped her head around toward the sound along the far wall. A landsknecht stood in the shadows. Even in the dim light his brightly colored hosen and lederwam illuminated the dark space. Blue and white vertical stripes across his left leg, red and blue horizontal lines across his right. One sleeve yellow. One green. And a codpiece that caused her to flush from embarrassment. If not for the slash of a sneer across his grizzled face, he would remind her of a strutting peacock. But nay. If he were a bird, it would be a vicious raptor to which he should be compared. One willing to rip out its prey’s heart with its hooked beak and razor-sharp talons.
The man from the hearth had also turned, but his scrutiny landed on her and not the soldier in the shadow. “Ah. The famed Princess of Heidelbraum at last.” He bowed slightly at the waist, but the movement was steeped in sarcasm and insincerity.
Christyne let her gaze fall on the man. She had never met him and had refused his offer of marriage based on reputation alone. She cared not that an alliance between their houses would strengthen their hold on the land betwixt them. She did care, however, that the whispered stories she had heard at court told of his acute cruelty toward his people. To such a man she would not bind herself.
Now that she gazed upon him, however, she saw not the hardness of a man who could squeeze his serfs with unmeetable taxes and then watch them starve a slow death or sell their children as slaves to quench the debts owed him. Nor did he seem capable of supporting the holy war on either side—fighting for freedom of conscience on the one hand or enforcing death by burning on the other.
Nay. Though his lip curled in a sneer, she perceived it stemmed more from a wound to his pride, inflicted by her rejection, than the temperature of his heart.
She returned his gesture of courtesy and offered her own dip of the head. “Your presence honors the house of Heidelbraum, Herzog Kampff.” She rose and met his steady gaze. “My Father is away collecting his new bride at the present. Perchance you would do well to rest yourself and your men for the night and make plans to return when the prince is again in attendance.”
His eyes sparkled, and she had the impression he was amused by her attempt to be rid of him. He pointed to the soldier in the corner, and the man stepped forward as if beckoned. “Your hospitality is most gracious, but I fear our mission is of utmost import and cannot be delayed even one night.”
Her shoulders wanted to sag in relief, but she pinned them back in place. “Oh? And what mission is that, pray tell?”
Both men stepped forward, and she unconsciously took a step back in retreat. The smell of strong perfume lingering about their persons did not mask the stench of sweating horseflesh and trail dust.
“I have received a letter from a dear friend in Zurich. He is an official there and greatly distressed. You see, they have recently had a concerning outbreak of radical thought in that city that, left rooted, will spread like a noxious weed, choking the inhabitants.”
The duke’s brow creased as if this news were especially upsetting.
Christyne could make no sense of it. When real evil roamed the earth—pillaging highwaymen, raping marauders, thieves clothed in both priestly and royal robes, their own people naked and starving for want of food—how could so many set fire to their tempers and allow their innards to boil until they scourged those who did no real harm? Those who merely followed their consciences to a place where their thoughts and beliefs aligned not with the masses?
The ruling masses.
And there was the burn. Though cloaked with a righteous indignation, many in power sought to eradicate these so-called weeds because they dared raise their voices to be heard over the deafening roar of a howling beast that had been wounded by Martin Luther’s famed ninety-five theses.
She had read the list of proclamations that had been nailed to the church’s doors in Wittenberg on All Saints’ Day, but she did not understand all the scholar had written. Before then, she had accepted Bishop Wilmer’s teaching, though his descriptions of purgatory and Hades frightened her. Now her ideas on Christ were muddled at best. A pool of water in the dirt, created by a heavy rain, brown and impossible to see through.
But one thing was clear. One thing had rung true from the pamphlets she had read of Luther’s writing: “To go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand, I can do no other, so help me God.” Whoever demanded spiritual adherence on pain of torture and death—be they a reformer or the pope himself—in their religion she could take no part. A person’s spiritual beliefs should be between them and God alone.
She pressed her lips together, afraid her radical thoughts would find a voice that would cause herself to be named a heretic.
“You do not seem horrified by the knowledge of such rebellion, princess.” Kampff studied her.
She returned his regard with an air of indifference, although the scales were now falling from her eyes. Though the Duke of Schlestein had presented himself a lamb, cultured and poised, he was but a wolf cloaked in the sheep’s fleece. Even now his nose twitched, seeking the scent of desertion.
“I am but a lowly female, Herzog Kampff. It is beyond my mental faculties to understand the matters of men.” Bile rose in her throat.
A low growl seemed to emanate from the region of the landsknecht’s throat. Christyne’s eyes widened at the sound.
“Excuse the captain, if you please.” Kampff apologized with the sincerity of a frog. “He does not take lightly the breaking of the law.”
She clutched at the amethyst stone resting in the hollow of her throat, forcing mock outrage to show on her face. “Of course not. I applaud your…enthusiasm for your task, Captain.”
The duke ran his fingers over the colored feathers sprouting from his hat. “You see, in this specific band of renegades, even the women have allowed their minds to be tainted by the twisted falsehoods of the Anabaptists.”
Christyne’s brows reached for her hairline. “Anabaptists? They are against baptism then?”
Kampff’s lips curled. “The devils wish to condemn an infant’s sinful soul to Hades by not allowing them to receive the sacrament of baptism in their cradles.” He scoffed. “They go so far as to rebaptize each other in adulthood, claiming their baptism as infants was not scriptural and they must declare and confess their faith by true baptism as a grown man.”
“And for this they must burn?” She prayed he heard not the alarm in her voice.
“For this they must drown. Is it not fitting, since these devils wish to sin in such a deplorable manner? King Ferdinand of Aragon calls the drownings the best antidote to Anabaptism—their third and final baptism.”
She pressed her palm against her roiling stomach, her thoughts sinking into the undercroft. Lorenz’s leg was healing well, but it still caused him pain when he walked. If these men were to discover his hiding place, he would not survive a second time. The brilliance of his eyes would be forever snuffed out, all because he refused to ignore his conscience.
She blinked and refocused on Kampff. “Your friend in Zurich, then, has dispatched you in the name of the emperor?”
“In the matter of the Anabaptists, both the Holy Father and the heretics are in unity. Verily, it is the reformer Urlich Zwingli who is most adamant in the search for and execution of the Anabaptists.”
Christyne swallowed though her throat was parched. A servant traversed the outskirts of the hall with her head down. “Refreshments for our guests,” Christyne called out, smiling when the girl dipped a curtsy and scampered off. She returned her regard to the duke. “My apologies for not quenching your thirst sooner. I can lay my lack of hospitality at the feet of your most…diverting news.”
The captain leaned his elbow against the mantel and pierced her with an unblinking gaze.
Her knees quivered even as she smiled at the wretched soldier. “And what makes you think this particular rebel is on my father’s lands?”
“A heretic hunter claims to have put an arrow through his leg in
the thickest parts of the forest.”
The servant returned with a tray of tankards holding amber liquid. Christyne removed a cup and sipped at the contents, the beer burning a path to her stomach. “Is he certain it was not a deer or another wild animal. We have many creatures in the woods, and the shadows can play tricks on the eyes.”
“He is certain.”
She licked at her lips. “And if I or one of our people stumbles upon this man, then what?”
Both men’s lips curled. “Thence, you may call upon us to give him his eternal reward.”
Chapter Eight
Germany, Present Day
Amber’s fingertips tingled as she made her way back through the rec room, down the corridor of cubicles, and into the reception area. She wanted to blame her jitters on jet lag. Why not, right? She’d blamed everything else that’d happened since she’d woken up on the lack of sleep and the time zone shift that had jarred her body. But this…a sort of involuntary quiver that ran like shock waves across her skin, couldn’t be laid at jet lag’s door.
She had to look elsewhere, and a sinking pit in her stomach pointed a neon arrow. Seth Marshall. The soccer star held all the responsibility. His mere presence, like the invisible hand of a puppet master, manipulated her synapses and conjured up thoughts and feelings she’d never experienced before. Especially for a guy she’d just met.
His footsteps sounded behind her, the light tread of his sneakers causing the pace of her heart to quicken.
This was not part of the plan. He was not part of the plan. She’d come to Germany to serve and find direction, not to get distracted by an all-star athlete and his pretty face.
Besides, like she’d told him, she didn’t date. She needed to focus on graduating. Finding a job in a competitive market. Working toward making herself more relatable. And even if she did date, she wouldn’t date him.
Number one, she didn’t even know if he was a Christian. That may sound shallow of her, but she’d learned in her counseling classes the statistics for relationship difficulties when a couple didn’t share common core beliefs. Not to mention the verse in the Bible about being unequally yoked.
And even if he was a Christian, he lived a life that was constantly in the spotlight. She’d already experienced what it was like to have her career choice thrust into that bright beam, and she didn’t think she could withstand that kind of scrutiny in every facet of her daily life. She wanted a quiet existence. One where she could make a difference in individual lives. A world platform did not appeal to her.
But none of that mattered. They were only going to lunch as new friends. Colleagues who needed to get to know each other so they could work together. Not a date.
Yasmin looked up from behind the reception desk, a small smile tipping her lips. “Did Mila leave you with a million questions for me?”
No, but Seth did. Amber grabbed ahold of Yasmin’s hand. Another new friend. It only stood to reason that Amber should invite her along to lunch. The offer had nothing to do with needing a buffer so she could get her head screwed back on straight. Don’t start lying to yourself now.
“My new friend Seth and I were just about to get some lunch. How about you join us, since you’re also a new friend?” Amber held in a groan. If her parents could hear how inane she sounded, they’d wonder where all that money they spent on private school tuition went. If her brothers could hear her, she’d never live it down.
Yasmin’s brows folded over her eyes. Then she looked beyond Amber’s shoulder, seemed to have some sort of unspoken conversation with the person at Amber’s back, and the creases smoothed. She patted Amber’s hand. “I’m sorry, but I usually eat lunch right here in case someone comes in or calls and needs help.” Her grin widened. “Why don’t we have dinner though? I’ll ask Mila to join us. Then you can tell us both how your first day went, getting to know your new coworkers. I’m sure she will be just as interested to hear all about it as I will be.”
Amber could translate passages of scripture written in both original languages—Hebrew and Greek. She didn’t need an interpreter for that little speech. Yasmin and Mila wanted her to spill how her date with Seth went. Except…“It’s not a date.”
Was she fooling herself? She’d never gone out with a guy before, but even she felt this set up was very date-like. She’d seen the interest in Seth’s eyes when he looked at her, and she’d certainly felt that bewildering zinging feeling electrifying her nerve endings when they’d lain side by side on the grass.
Exhaustion pulled on her bones. She was too tired to process and makes sense of anything at this point. She turned to Seth. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I might go back to my room and—”
“Nope.” He gently cupped her elbow and steered her toward the door. “You need food and distraction to stay awake. As your new friend, I’m taking it upon myself to supply both those things.”
“But…”
“No buts.” He pushed open the door and waved goodbye to Yasmin, who grinned at them.
Amber let him maneuver her closer to the lot of parked cars. Any other time she would have thought of how big a mistake this was. Her, a single girl in a foreign country, going off alone with a near stranger. They made movies like this that did not end well for the girl.
Her gaze slid to Seth. Though there were lines that creased his forehead and the corners of his eyes—deeper than someone in their mid-twenties should have—he bore a lightness about him. Almost as if he’d once carried a heavy load that had weighed him down and someone had come along and unstrapped the boulder from his back. He’d seen darkness but chose to turn his face to the light. A man like that couldn’t have nefarious intentions. Could he?
Seth caught her staring. “What?”
“I don’t need to have Liam Neeson on speed dial, do I?”
A laugh rumbled from his chest. “Don’t worry, the only place I’m taking you is for food.” He stopped beside a gray van. “Besides, you said one of your brothers used to be in the navy, right? I’d be more afraid of the US military than Jean Valjean.”
Amber halted. “I say Liam Neeson and your first reference is Les Misérables? Not Star Wars or Schindler’s List or even Aslan from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?”
He opened the passenger door for her. “What? So having a shot average of seventeen point four per game means I can’t appreciate classic French literature turned into musicals?”
As a kid, Amber had wanted to see how fast an ice cube could melt on a hot Florida sidewalk. It hadn’t taken long. The intense rays of tropical sun had worked away at the hard, cold cube until all that was left was a small puddle.
If she weren’t careful, she’d end up like that ice cube.
She stepped up into the van and slipped the seat belt over her shoulder. She looked around, somehow only just now noticing what they were going to drive around in. Seth rounded the hood and entered on the driver’s side.
“Is this the center’s vehicle?” Shouldn’t they have asked before using it? No way Mr. Hotshot Athlete would own a fifteen-passenger boat-on-wheels. He belonged behind the wheel of something sleeker with a lot more horsepower.
The engine turned over, and Seth put the van into gear. “Yes, but Ben and Mila won’t mind if we take it out.”
Seth carried more than his share of the conversation as he drove around the city. He pointed out places of interest like the Mercedes-Benz and Porsche headquarters, museums, some of the popular parks, and the zoo. The landscape changed as they drew closer to the low mountains she’d seen as a distant backdrop at the center. Her gaze traveled the rising lines and then widened as they snagged on a familiar shape. It was the castle. The same one little Jay-Jay had pointed out on the plane.
Her fingernail tapped on the glass of her window. “Do you know anything about that castle?”
Seth hunched down so he could look out the square of glass beside her. “Can’t say that I do, although it looks old. Germany has a few famous castles, like Neuschwanst
ein in Bavaria.”
“That one was the inspiration for Cinderella’s castle at Disney World.”
“Really?”
Amber shrugged. “I’m from Florida.”
He grinned. “Good to know.” He glanced back out the window. “Neuschwanstein was built in the nineteenth century, whereas the architecture on the one up there seems more medieval to me.”
She leaned against the arm rest on the door, turning toward him. “So, you’re a professional athlete, a musical aficionado, and now a historian? Is there anything you aren’t?”
“Your date.”
Her jaw slacked and he laughed. “I’m kidding, although you’ve said it often enough that I may need to go back and lick my wounds tonight.” He shifted the gear into Park. “We’re here.” He came around and opened the door for her, then ushered her into a cute little bistro on the outskirts of town. The spicy smells of Bratwurst and other German sausages clung to the air and caused her mouth to water. In what sounded like perfect German to her untrained ears, he ordered them both the Käsespätzle.
Once the server had retreated to put in their order, he studied her from across the table. “So, I told you the real reason I’m here. It’s your turn. Unless you’re sticking with all those ors.”
She fiddled with the cloth napkin in her lap.
“Friends tell friends stuff, right?”
Her gaze lifted from behind her lashes, the right side of her mouth twitching. “You sure are using that friend card an awful lot.”
He settled back in his chair, a mixture of unrepentance and satisfaction curving his mouth into an easy smile. “It’s the only one you’ve given me so far.”
Her twitching lips teased into a full smile. “Fine. You win.” She cocked her head. “You know, you actually remind me a bit of my brother, Trent. He can charm his way with the ladies as well.”
She thought he’d laugh at the comparison, but instead, his face flushed and he looked away. When he met her gaze again, the sparkling tease in his eyes had faded. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, an intensity radiating from his core.
