On the street, Herta stumbled as someone cannoned into her. Warm hands encircled her waist, pulling her into a solid chest and preventing her from tumbling onto the street.
"My apologies, Fräulein," a deep voice rumbled in her ear and at her back.
Herta's heart stopped and she forgot how to breathe. That voice! It slid like warm chocolate along her nerves and his breath on her neck threatened to dissolve every bone in her body. She drew a shaky breath. Melting into a puddle at the sound of a voice or touch of a hand wasn't something she did in public. She needed control. She felt like she was blushing right down to her toenails. 'Good thing he can't see all of me,' she thought. 'Then again...' She drew another breath.
"It is of no moment," she said, her voice sounding cold and arrogant, even to herself. "You may release me now."
The man chuckled and stepped back. Herta's knees trembled at the sound.
All coherent thought fled when Herta turned to face her rescuer. Dark brown eyes laughed down into hers. A lock of dark brown hair fell onto a tanned forehead. Herta suppressed the urge to push it back. This man was chocolate on two legs, she marveled and blushed again, hoping he couldn't read her thoughts.
"I am truly sorry, Fräulein," the young man was saying. "My thoughts were elsewhere." He smiled. "But now that I've seen you, they will, I think, remain here. One so lovely should not be left alone."
For the life of her, Herta could think of nothing to say. She just stared.
"Fräulein?" His eyes grew concerned. "Fräulein, I didn't hurt you, did I? I didn't mean to grasp you so roughly, but I was afraid..." He drew his thumb along her jaw. "Are you all right, Hertze-hexe?" he asked softly.
Herta blinked. What manner of spell had this man cast over her? Her mind felt like marshmallow and she was behaving like an idiot! "I'm okay," she finally managed, stepping back even further.
Gebhardt's cold hand on her elbow helped to break the spell.
"Fräulein, we must go," he reminded her.
The disappointment on the young man's face was almost comical. "I am sorry, meine Frau. I did not see your husband with you. Forgive my intrusion."
Gebhardt choked at the word 'husband'. "I am not her husband," he blurted out, horrified. "I am Gebhardt Brunwold, Fräulein Tanner's legal advisor," he pronounced.
Herta's mouth twitched and was answered by a gleam of amusement in the stranger's eyes.
"And I," he said, "am Turan Freiermann." He took her proffered hand and bowed over it. "And I am enchanted," he whispered before laying a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
It felt like an electric shock had gone up her arm. Herta smiled, amused and bemused. Now here was a man who definitely knew how to play 'The Game'. But why with her? "You, Herr Freiermann, are a rogue," she accused.
"Please, call me Turan. And you are?" His eyes locked onto hers and held them.
Herta felt another blush starting to creep up her cheeks. She shook her head, admitting defeat. For now. This game was getting dangerous. "You're incorrigible. I'm Herta."
Gebhardt had been looking around nervously. "Fräulein, please. There is much to be arranged." He didn't relish another scene like the one in the bank. Not on the streets, anyway. That just wasn't done.
The two younger people were staring at each other. Freiermann still held Fräulein Tanner's hand. They obviously hadn't heard him. Most unseemly. He tried again, daring to tap her arm. "Fräulein Tanner, our errands? We must hurry if you wish the tradesmen to arrive this afternoon."
Turan tipped his head. "You are moving, Herta?"
"Moving in, actually," she admitted. She withdrew her hand from his, feeling suddenly cold and lost without his touch. "Gebhardt is right, I'm afraid. I... We still have much to arrange."
Turan looked thoughtful. "Moving can be stressful, I think, and making arrangements, boring." He turned his attention to Gebhardt for the first time. "If you are her lawyer, Herr... Brunwold, wasn't it? If you are her lawyer, can you not make all the arrangements for her?" His expression was challenging.
A passerby caught Herta's eye. His eyes widened when he saw her. He looked away, making a gesture Herta didn't immediately recognize, and hurried on past them. Herta's mouth tightened when she figured out the gesture. It was a warding against the 'Evil Eye'.
She glanced at Gebhardt. He, too, had seen the gesture. She sighed. "Let's get this over and done with, Gebhardt."
Turan had seen the gesture. His expression hardened. "And you are going to allow peasant superstitions to frighten you into hiding?" he asked.
Herta stared at him, bemused. This man, this stranger was defending her? How odd. Nice, but odd.
Turan continued. "Herr Brunwold, if you do not need the fräulein for the rest of the errands, perhaps you would allow me to take her for a tour of the village? I promise, I will take very good care of her."
Gebhardt looked from one to the other. It would be simpler without the fräulein, he thought, not knowing his expression gave his thoughts away. But to leave her with a stranger in this town? He hesitated.
"Do I not have a say in this?" Herta asked dryly.
"Of course, Fräulein."
"Certainly."
"Thank you, gentlemen," she nodded. "Gebhardt, if you were to contact the tradesmen on the list, I could pick up the groceries and other things. That would save us some time." She caught Gebhardt's worried glance at Turan. "I'll be okay, Gebhardt," she tried to reassure him.
Gebhardt gave in. "As you wish, Fräulein. Where shall we meet and when?"
"In the Kircheplatz?" Turan offered. "At noon?"
Gebhardt gave him a stiff bow. "The Kircheplatz at noon, then." He stood, watching, as Turan tucked Herta's arm through his own and the two strolled away as if no one else existed. He sighed, fear of her warring with fear for her. She was, after all, Die Reizenbegleiterin. Heaving one last sigh, he turned and bustled off to attend to the first item on the Fräulein's list.
"What are you thinking, Herta?" Turan asked after they'd been walking in a companionable silence for several minutes.
Herta glanced up at him. Much to her surprise, her rampaging hormones had settled down to an ever-present electrical frizzle of awareness. It made things easier to think through. Things like... "Thinking, Turan?" She smiled. "Nothing of value, I suppose. Just enjoying the day finally."
Turan smiled, and Herta's 'frizzle' crackled and popped. They walked on.
Herta mentally compared the bank to her circumstances now. It somehow didn't seem quite as devastating in retrospect. Or the waitress at the cafe. Herta tipped her head remembering something else from the cafe. "I will admit, though," she said, "I am curious."
"Curious? About what?" His voice was light and teasing.
She shrugged. "I'm just curious about whether you followed us from the cafe, or whether we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did see you there, didn't I?" Her voice was a study in innocence. His arm muscles tightened under her hand and, ever so slightly, his step faltered. If she hadn't been anticipating a reaction, she might never had noticed.
"Perhaps a bit of both? Perhaps I wanted to meet you?" His voice held a sudden wariness and something else.
Herta gasped and pulled away from him. The chocolate and marshmallow feeling was back with a vengeance. "Knock it off, boyo," she said in a hard voice. "I don't know what it is you're doing, but knock it off. I'm not in the mood to play games. I don't buy that you're interested in me, but everyone seems to know about Die Reizenbegleiterin. If you've got something to say to me, say it. But don't play stupid games."
"Fräulein," he soothed, "I assure you, I have no idea-"
"Bullshit," she snarled. "Either you talk, or I walk."
He stepped closer, trying once again to convince her. "Fräulein, please. Yes, we do need to talk, but not here." He searched her face. "Also," he said quietly, "There is someone who would like to meet you."
She looked skeptical. "Who, where and why?"
Turan shook his head in disbelief. This had never happened before. Not to him. "The where is easy. Right there." He nodded toward a building almost hidden behind trees.
Herta's skepticism grew. "A church? What makes you think I can even set foot on the grounds?" she challenged.
Turan gave up then. Die Reizenbegleiterin was obviously immune. He had not thought so at first, but now... He gave her a level look. "Because you are not Nosferatu," he said quietly.
She studied both him and her feelings for a long moment. The tingle of awareness was still there, she noticed, but considerably dampened. Did she trust this man? The answer came quickly. Yes. 'Are you sure?' a small voice asked. Herta nodded at the voice. Yes, I'm sure. Aloud, she said, "Let's go."
There was no haste to their steps as they crossed under the trees in the park, but she had lost the feeling that they might become friends. The church was on the other side of it. Small inconsistencies began to register with Herta. It had started the moment they left the curb. Turan had held her back momentarily, as if checking that it was safe for her to cross the street. He had moved to position himself between her and the oncoming traffic. It was an Olde World courtesy that she'd only read about before. It gave her a funny feeling inside. There was something else she'd noticed, but hadn't thought anything of until now. Up until she'd met with the lawyer in München, everyone in Germany had addressed her as 'Frau', the German equivalent of 'Ms.' Everyone that had had anything to do with 'Die Reizenbegleiterin' had called her 'Fräulein', the old word for 'Miss'. Now, was that because she was single or was it something that went with whatever it was that her great-grandfather had been? Like the daughter of a nobleman's household being called 'Miss Liza' or whatever. It was curious.
She was surprised when Turan stopped suddenly. They were at a gate in the low, wrought iron fence surrounding the church. The cobblestone path led to a door in the side of the building.
"Father Edmund is inside, Fräulein Tanner," Turan informed her with unsmiling formality. "He awaits your arrival."
"Aren't you coming in with me?"
"No, Fräulein, I am not." He had taken several steps before she called to him.
"Turan! Herr Freiermann! Please wait."
Her footsteps sounded hesitant as if she was afraid of him. He clenched his fists and did not turn around. All he wanted to do was pick her up, carry her off and let the truth be damned. Trying to charm her had been a mistake, he thought miserably. It had rebounded and he was the one ensnared, not her. He stared straight ahead, stiffly erect. She came around and faced him.
"Turan--;" she began, stopped, and then continued. "Herr Freiermann, I am sorry. I should not have lost my temper." Her words were formal and the tone contrite. "I..." His face was so closed, so cold, so... She stared down at her feet. After a long moment's silence, she took a shaky breath and looked up at him. "I'm sorry and I just wanted you to know that."
He watched her walk back through the gate and into the dimness of the church. 'She knows,' he thought bleakly. 'She knows what I am and is afraid of me.' The pain he felt was even greater than that of the church. The worst part was that he knew he would be here to greet her when she left Father Edmund's care. And he would continue to see her for as long as she was here, helping her adjust, guiding her through the protocol of being Der Reizen, among other things. He stalked off down the walkway, his heels striking angry sparks off the cobblestones.
- 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 -