did she have to hide? He had only asked whether she traveled beyond the city.
He grinned despite her unspoken warnings, endeavoring to lose his most vital student only moments after seeking her return. A deep, intimidated part of him wanted to even the score, so thoroughly did she trouble him.
“Of course you intrigue me,” he said. “My inquiries are for naught, though—not useful in the least. Please tell me you are not as good as your reputation. I cannot bear such piety.”
Her quick exhale created little puffs of frozen moisture. “And I cannot tell you otherwise.”
“Perhaps.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Arie leaned closer, feeling the heat of her breath against the exposed skin of his face. “Perhaps opinions of you would be more accurate if anyone knew of your talent.”
Her nostrils flared. “You speak inappropriately, sir. Others believe you do so because you are foreign. I think you know exactly what you say. I have seen you behave with decorum, but you ignore such niceties in my presence.”
Stubbornly ignoring the criticism, he took her hand—the hand she clenched around the silver amulet. “What is this you play with?”
“Release it, bitte. ”
“Tell me.”
Frau Heidel yanked free of his grasp, glancing at the pendant. “My Fraiskette. It is to protect against cramps and wasting diseases.”
He eyed the charm suspiciously. “Is it pagan?”
“I know not,” she said, frowning as if she had never considered the idea. “The sisters at Nonnberg wear theirs openly. The custom is centuries old. I have not been sick since donning it.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“You and your questions, sir.” Arie held his breath, awaiting a caustic remark, but her irritation receded. Softness infused her voice. “My husband gave it to me. It is my Morgengabe. ”
Arie winced. Since his crass drunkenness at the Venner ball, he had been reluctant to revisit the topic of her late spouse. “Will you make me ask the meaning of yet another word?”
“No.” A faint smile curved her lips. “You must ask someone else, because I won’t explain it.”
The woman. Her mysteries. Those infernal glimpses she provided into her genuine character. Arie hoarded them all.
“Then who shall I ask?”
A wave of raucous applause arose as Duke Ferdinand’s musical heralds lined the platform at the base of the Dom’s front steps. With coronets and trumpets, the uniformed men blasted a rousing welcome to Salzburg’s newest leader. Their shrill introduction seized the attention of the entire assembly.
Heads bobbed to catch a glimpse of the new monarch. A couple dressed in fur and brocade craned their necks for a better view alongside a humble family of laborers standing on tiptoe. A throb of human excitement filled Domplatz and echoed off the walls and arches, penetrating Arie’s brain like a spike of ice.
Frau Heidel leaned close enough to make her words heard. “You seem a resourceful enough man. You’ll think of something.”
He resisted the urge to seize the back of her neck and draw her closer still. He wanted only to succumb to a combination of desperation and intolerable lust, both of which frightened him for their startling hold over his imagination. She stood nearly at eye level, watching him. Reading him. Only a slight flare of her nostrils, as if catching the scent of his manic fantasies, indicated her response.
Then she straightened—unsmiling, retreating. “If I recall another family where your services will be appreciated, I’ll let you know. I wouldn’t want a lack of patronage to limit your stay in Salzburg. Good evening, sir.”
Despite mostly frustrating results, Arie’s careful inquiries had revealed one valuable, enchanting fact about the new widow: her given name.
“Mathilda?”
She would not hear his voice over the trumpets and cheers, surely. She would keep walking.
But she stopped. And turned.
Motion, sound and time stilled, breathing between them in a shared moment. A
He grinned despite her unspoken warnings, endeavoring to lose his most vital student only moments after seeking her return. A deep, intimidated part of him wanted to even the score, so thoroughly did she trouble him.
“Of course you intrigue me,” he said. “My inquiries are for naught, though—not useful in the least. Please tell me you are not as good as your reputation. I cannot bear such piety.”
Her quick exhale created little puffs of frozen moisture. “And I cannot tell you otherwise.”
“Perhaps.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Arie leaned closer, feeling the heat of her breath against the exposed skin of his face. “Perhaps opinions of you would be more accurate if anyone knew of your talent.”
Her nostrils flared. “You speak inappropriately, sir. Others believe you do so because you are foreign. I think you know exactly what you say. I have seen you behave with decorum, but you ignore such niceties in my presence.”
Stubbornly ignoring the criticism, he took her hand—the hand she clenched around the silver amulet. “What is this you play with?”
“Release it, bitte. ”
“Tell me.”
Frau Heidel yanked free of his grasp, glancing at the pendant. “My Fraiskette. It is to protect against cramps and wasting diseases.”
He eyed the charm suspiciously. “Is it pagan?”
“I know not,” she said, frowning as if she had never considered the idea. “The sisters at Nonnberg wear theirs openly. The custom is centuries old. I have not been sick since donning it.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“You and your questions, sir.” Arie held his breath, awaiting a caustic remark, but her irritation receded. Softness infused her voice. “My husband gave it to me. It is my Morgengabe. ”
Arie winced. Since his crass drunkenness at the Venner ball, he had been reluctant to revisit the topic of her late spouse. “Will you make me ask the meaning of yet another word?”
“No.” A faint smile curved her lips. “You must ask someone else, because I won’t explain it.”
The woman. Her mysteries. Those infernal glimpses she provided into her genuine character. Arie hoarded them all.
“Then who shall I ask?”
A wave of raucous applause arose as Duke Ferdinand’s musical heralds lined the platform at the base of the Dom’s front steps. With coronets and trumpets, the uniformed men blasted a rousing welcome to Salzburg’s newest leader. Their shrill introduction seized the attention of the entire assembly.
Heads bobbed to catch a glimpse of the new monarch. A couple dressed in fur and brocade craned their necks for a better view alongside a humble family of laborers standing on tiptoe. A throb of human excitement filled Domplatz and echoed off the walls and arches, penetrating Arie’s brain like a spike of ice.
Frau Heidel leaned close enough to make her words heard. “You seem a resourceful enough man. You’ll think of something.”
He resisted the urge to seize the back of her neck and draw her closer still. He wanted only to succumb to a combination of desperation and intolerable lust, both of which frightened him for their startling hold over his imagination. She stood nearly at eye level, watching him. Reading him. Only a slight flare of her nostrils, as if catching the scent of his manic fantasies, indicated her response.
Then she straightened—unsmiling, retreating. “If I recall another family where your services will be appreciated, I’ll let you know. I wouldn’t want a lack of patronage to limit your stay in Salzburg. Good evening, sir.”
Despite mostly frustrating results, Arie’s careful inquiries had revealed one valuable, enchanting fact about the new widow: her given name.
“Mathilda?”
She would not hear his voice over the trumpets and cheers, surely. She would keep walking.
But she stopped. And turned.
Motion, sound and time stilled, breathing between them in a shared moment. A
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