Christyne stared at the few inches of shaft protruding from the scholar’s leg. Did she possess the strength needed for such a task?
Lorenz Meier’s gaze captured hers. “You can do this.”
Imbued with his faith in her, she prepared the probes as instructed, ignoring the slight trembling of her hands. Their steadiness increased over the next several minutes as she focused on her task, blocking the hissed breaths and muted moans of her patient as his teeth ground against the wood they clamped. Finally, she fixed her palm against the shaft of wood and began to push.
The effort, combined with the scholar’s suppressed cries, made Christyne’s muscles quake, but she pressed on. A few moments later, resistance gave way and the bodkin arrowhead exited thoroughly from the other side of the his leg. She gripped the bloody offender at the base of the shaft as instructed and pulled the rest of the weapon clean from the scholar’s body.
He panted, his chest rising and falling in a quick, erratic rhythm. Christyne seized the cask of wine and poured the pungent liquid over the arrow’s abuse of sinew and flesh. Gelehrte Meier’s body arced as he hissed out another breath. She wiped away the excess, then slathered the honey mixture over the wound, noting that it didn’t seem to be bleeding excessively before wrapping a long strip of cloth around the injury in a tight bind.
The young scholar lay still for several moments, the stick now resting on the ground beside him, and Christyne began to wonder whether he had finally been overcome after all. But then he spoke. “I am sure you suffer great curiosity about me.” His words were breathy, his eyes still closed as she worked.
Perspiration once again dotted his hairline, and she wondered if the fever still clung to him or if his ashy complexion were due to pain.
“‘Suffer’ seems a strong word when you are the one in such discomfort.”
“Even so. Though it may be to my detriment, I find myself compelled to tell you why you have found me in such a state.”
She swiped an errant hair from her forehead. “You have already revealed that you are being hunted as a heretic. Do you follow Luther then? Are you a dissenter?”
“A dissenter, yes. But Luther did not go far enough.” He paused, allowing a few breaths to pass before continuing. “No government should be allowed to dictate a person’s worship of the Lord.”
Hette’sAve Mariasgrew in volume, and Christyne feared the religious rebel would cease to speak amid such open devotion to an establishment he no longer supported. “If not Luther, then who?” She poured water into a basin and began to scrub the blood from her fingers.
He shifted his weight until his back rested against the hewn-stone wall. “We seek to return to the apostolic church as led by Peter and Paul. We are called”—he massaged the muscles in his thigh—“the Brethren.”
Christyne’s eyes widened. Both Catholics and reformers alike would wish for her to take the knife beside her and plunge the blade into his heart. He was nothing more than a cursedAnabaptist.
Chapter Five
Germany, Present Day
“Guten Morgen.”
The smile Mila greeted Amber with should be outlawed at that exact moment. She stifled a yawn behind her hand and blinked to help clear the bleariness from her eyes. Germany was six hours ahead of the Eastern Standard Time her internal clock was used to. That meant for her it was—she glanced down at her wristwatch, mentally calculating—two o’clock in the morning. Her eyes slid shut. Would anyone object if she curled up in a ball right there in front of the entrance and went back to sleep for a few more hours?
Mila grabbed her arm and pulled her more fully into the reception area of the Excellency Center, pushing a cup of hot, black coffee into her hands. “There is only one cure for jet lag, yes?”
Amber brought the mug to her lips and sipped. She tried not to show her disgust, but the muscles in her face wouldn’t be reined in, and they twitched against the bitterness. She’d need a copious amount of cream and sugar before she could consume the needed caffeine.
“And that cure is?” If there were a remedy for the way she felt, she’d empty her measly savings account right there. Anything to get her head cleared of the thick fog slowing her brain and the invisible weights dragging about her muscles.
Mila dipped her head to look Amber in the eye. “Adjust. You cannot coddle jet lag. Throw yourself into the new time zone and your body will catch up.”
Amber looked longingly at the striped wingback chair in the corner by a potted plant. “Maybe I can sit and rest while my body gets the memo from the new time zone.” She yawned.
“I am sorry, no.” Mila removed the cup of coffee from Amber’s hands and set it on the counter. “You need to hit the ground running, as you Americans say.”
She tugged Amber even further into the room—good thing, because Amber wasn’t sure she could walk under her own power at the moment. If Mila wanted a marionette for the day, someone she could move around and place at will, well, that was about as good as she was going to get. Amber stifled another yawn and shook her head to clear the cobwebs clinging there. She should have jumped into a cold shower to zap her senses, but she hadn’t wanted to be late on her first day.
Late would have been preferable to this half-dead state.
Her stomach bumped into the receptionist’s counter, and she slid her arms across the smooth, cool surface. Her head started to lower, the crook of her elbow looking like an inviting pillow.
“This is Yasmin.”
Mila’s voice broke through the brain haze, and Amber jerked her head back up. She hadn’t even noticed another person in the room. Blinking hard, she forced her eyes to widen. As far as first impressions went, bug-eyed narcoleptic wasn’t what she was going for. Her eyes constricted, drying out, and she blinked several times in quick succession.
She had to get ahold of herself. It wasn’t like she was an all-nighter virgin. Studying for midterms and finals, getting essays and research papers finished—those things often made her lose sleep.
