by Arial Burnz
Monika chuckled and fetched some ointment—which Edda’s husband Helmut used frequently for burns—and knelt before each of the boys to clean their scrapes and dab on the liniment. Since the boys couldn’t sit still for anything longer than a few minutes, Edda shooed the three of them out of the cottage to go back home. She picked up her basket from the floor and handed Monika two loaves of warm barley bread as payment. “Fresh from the oven and made with love,” the older woman said with a wink.
Monika hugged her neighbor. She peeked out the door at the boys skipping across the platz, smacking each other and running around in circles, and chuckled. “Would you like a slice with some honey and butter?” she asked as she held up a loaf. “Irma and I just churned some yesterday. I thought you might like to indulge.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Edda pulled up a chair. “I see a certain twinkle in your eyes, girl. What has you so cheerful?”
Monika brought a wooden slab to the table, on which she placed the loaf, then positioned two small, round trenchers before her and her friend. With a serious calm belying the overwhelming joy in her breast, she said, “After ten long years…I’ve finally found it.”
Her friend’s mouth popped open. “Your mother’s book?”
Monika smiled and bit her bottom lip.
“How wonderful! Pray, let me see?” Her eyes darted about the cottage.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have it as of yet.” Monika fetched a long knife from the chopping block and the crock of butter from the shelf before she returned to slice the bread. “But I hope to have it in my possession within just a few days.” She placed individual slices onto the trenchers.
“Are you sure it’s her book?”
Monika clenched her fists. “I had it in my hands.”
“It didn’t perish in the fire. You were right all along!” Edda sat back and grinned. “So where is it? Why can’t you get it now?”
Edda rose and brought the honey pot and wand to the table. Monika frowned and sat to butter the bread. “I was summoned to Vollstadt by a man who said he needed a healer.”
Edda’s brow increasingly furrowed as Monika retold Thomas’s story of being captured and escaping with the book. “He sounds like a crafty blackguard. You mind him, now.”
Monika rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, you can be certain of that. He’s attractive, no doubt, but I certainly won’t let that interfere with what I’m feeling here...” She tapped the center of her chest, indicating her heart.
“Are you going to resume your mother’s work, then?”
“You know I will.” Gods, please let me accomplish what my mother could not. There’s finally hope. “I can’t wait to tell Oma when she returns from helping Papa.”
“Helping him? What happened?” Edda picked up the wand and drizzled honey onto another slice she’d buttered.
“I’m not sure. Oma said she was going to Nordenham for some kind of farming accident, but she isn’t usually so upset over tending to others. She was wandering around the cottage in the middle of the night before she left.”
“Ah, yes, she does have the knowin’ about such things close to home, doesn’t she?”
Monika nodded and swallowed the lump forming in her throat, the worst coming to mind. She still didn’t know how badly he had been wounded, how all of this was because of the curse. “I told her I knew it was Papa. She was just trying to save me from being worried, I’m sure.” She sighed. “I hope the answers I need are in Mama’s book.” Her eyes welled with tears. “If I can develop a cure, Papa can finally be well again.”
“This curse has plagued your family for a long time.” Edda stood and hugged Monika. “I best tend to my boys.” She framed Monika’s face with her warm palms. “I’m glad you finally found it, love.”
“Thank you.” She hugged Edda, who then grabbed her basket and waved goodbye before strolling across the platz. Monika closed the door and smiled. She snatched her harvesting gloves and grabbed an empty basket to slip off into the woods and gather the wolfsbane. Luckily, the other three herbs were already growing in their back garden.
The stalks of the yellow bell-like flower wasn’t easy to find in the lower regions by the sea. It usually thrived in the more mountainous areas, but a diligent seeker could be rewarded with persistence, and Monika was nothing if not persistent.
At least two hours later, she dragged herself back into the cottage and settled in for a soothing cup of chamomile tea sweetened with honey. She couldn’t help but steal a few more spoonfuls of her favorite golden nectar before she put it away. After savoring her cup of tea, she undressed and washed the sweat from her body in a standing tub of warm water with a soft cloth and lavender. Naked, touching her body and calmed by the effects of the chamomile, Monika allowed her thoughts to drift toward her Scottish dream lover.
* * * * *
Broderick awoke with a rock-hard erection and his mind swimming with erotic images of Davina. God’s blood! Gripping his turgid shaft, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the sorely missed lovemaking with his wife, fisting himself and pumping his hips. He could almost taste her from the dream, licking the sweet nectar between her legs, the scent of lavender and her musky essence. Drag and thrust, he pumped his rigid cock, his ballocks hitching as his climax rumbled through his legs and torso. Shuddering and laying in bed, he panted and clenched his jaw. Eighty years without companionship was enough to test the resolve of any man, but the love and devotion he had for his wife did much to help him remain faithful to her memory. Self-gratification had been an adequate way to satisfy any sexual cravings he experienced over the decades. He honestly had not needed anyone else and had no desire to bed another woman. No one will ever touch my soul the way you do, Blossom. But now…
The need to bury himself in her soft, wet heat surged through his body in a way he’d not felt since she was alive and in his arms. What in blazes was happening?
Broderick swung his legs over the side of his bed and rested his head in his hands. An oil lamp burned very low by the door to his cabin, glowing with just enough light for his immortal eyes. He stood and stretched, working out the last of the lethargy from his daytime repose, and sauntered over to his chest of drawers. Though his success as a merchant could produce an impressive wardrobe of the latest fashions, he was uninterested in pursuing such garments. They would advertise his wealth and draw too much attention. As one stalking victims for sustenance, he needed to maintain a low profile. He wore simple, form-fitting knee breeches, covered by tall brown bucket boots, which reached just above his knees. After slipping a white linen shirt with full sleeves over his head, he shrugged on a sleeveless doublet and buttoned it down the front. He fasted a belt around his hips and positioned his sporran just over his groin. The baldric holding his sword, nestled at his hip, and his wide-brimmed hat completed the ensemble. Blowing out the lamp, he exited and secured his cabin.
“Evenin’ Cap’n,” his first mate greeted when Broderick came on deck.
“Evening, Andrew.” He shook the calloused hand of his old friend. Andrew and the three other men on the ship had been with MacDougal Shipping Company for over fifteen years. They knew he was a Vamsyrian and they were loyal to the marrow of their bones. They also each wore some piece of jewelry Broderick had blessed with the incantation to protect his crew from Angus. He wasn’t taking any chances with their lives.
“Are we preparin’ to set sail tomorrow?”
Broderick scanned the night sky, the bright moon above almost full. “Nay, old friend. Not this time. Be prepared to stay awhile in Vollstadt.”
“Found some prospects here, did ye?” Andrew’s sea-weathered face brightened at the opportunity.
“You could say that. Are you and the crew comfortable enough with German to mingle with locals?”
“Aye. We can manage.”
During the journey, Broderick had expedited their education in languages by transferring knowledge to them through brief feedings. The men were uneasy about the idea at first
, for many reasons. Initially, it was sharing such an intimate act—and not just with any man, but their captain—but also being bitten and having their blood drank. Andrew, brave soul that he was, volunteered first. When he moaned over the euphoric sensation experienced by victims, the men backed off and shook their heads. However, when Andrew recovered, his enthusiasm of having learned the rudiments of several languages in such a short exchange had the men reconsider.
“What was you moanin’ about?” Paddy had asked, waving his stubby fingers.
Andrew’s face flushed scarlet. “Well, I’ll just say it plain and simple. Being drunk from was better than drinkin’!”
“You mean it felt good?” Rob asked and scratched his bald head.
Andrew nodded.
“So them fangs don’t actually hurt?” Gilbert asked, examining the small wound at Andrew’s neck.
Andrew shrugged. “That part, just a little.”
“So say something in, French,” Broderick coaxed, while he smeared his immortal blood on Andrew’s neck to heal him. The men had seen him use his blood in such a manner for other situations, so it was no surprise.
“Hrmmm.” Andrew tilted his head and grinned. “Quelque chose en français.”
“Very good!” Broderick chortled, and the crew pestered him to translate. “He literally said, ‘Something in French.’”
They had all guffawed and fought over who would be next.
Broderick hopped over the port side of the ship and landed with a thump on the dock. “Well, if they feel comfortable enough, tell the men to relax and enjoy what the town has to offer. Keep your eyes open for resources and hands to hire.”
“Ja, Kapitän!”
His eyebrows rose. “Very good! Perfect diction.” He tipped his hat and strolled down the wharf to solid ground. Broderick kept his hat low over his face and navigated the streets until he could slip between a pair of buildings unnoticed. The night was early and several people meandered around the village on various mundane tasks, living their lives unaware of his presence in the shadows. He just needed one soul to pass by, alone on whatever errand brought them into his grasp. Broderick beckoned The Hunger, bringing it to the surface by envisioning the act of feeding. He closed his eyes to hide the silver glow, easily spotted in the darkness. His mouth watered. His fangs painfully extended.
“Yes, Uncle! I’ll be sure to handle that in the morning. Good night!”
A young man with golden-brown hair took two steps past Broderick’s hiding place. Broderick snatched him from the path and pinned him against the wall. Before the man had a chance to cry out, Broderick bit his soft flesh and drank. The inebriated effects of feeding rendered the man silent. His name was Jason Kiefer, an apprentice working with his uncle at a barrel shop.
And the chestnut-haired woman of Broderick’s dreams smiled at him from this man’s memories, a basket of vegetables in her lovely hands.
He pulled away from feeding and snarled at Jason, limp and moaning under Broderick’s fists. He let the man drop to the ground and licked the blood from his lips, pacing. Monika Konrads is her name, then. Jason had honest enough intentions, though he had lustful fantasies about her, too. What warm-blooded man wouldn’t? She was beautiful. He couldn’t blame the lad, but this didn’t mean he was pleased about it. Unfortunately, this man also had a history of obsession with women he fancied, and it garnered him his fair share of smacks across the face. His recent move to Vollstadt was due to a rather possessive pursuit of a girl in his home village.
“Papa trying to keep you out of trouble, eh?” he said and nudged Jason with his boot. What Broderick disliked the most was the manipulative way the young man met Monika. He wasn’t man enough to approach her and introduce himself. The lad stole a carrot from the wagon that brought Monika to the village and pretended she’d dropped it.
Broderick shook his head and picked up his hat, which fell during the feeding. Then he knelt beside Jason and pressed his palm to the lad’s head, wiping the feeding and his meeting with Monika from his mind. Doing so wouldn’t guarantee he would leave Monika alone if he saw her again, but it was worth a try. They’d only met once.
He left Jason propped against the wall, moaning and disoriented. The lad would come to in a few moments, wondering how he’d ended up where he was, and probably never share his forgetful incident with anyone.
Once out of the village and on the road that led to Kostbar, Broderick picked up speed and arrived in just a few short minutes.
“Acht!” a feminine voice cursed as he rounded the small stone wall bordering the village from the northeast road entrance. A hefty woman with a grimacing face tugged on the ear of a young lad. “Inside with you now! I’ve had enough of you boys wrestling!”
“He started it, Mama!” the boy protested, dodging his mother’s hand as she reached for him and scampering into the blacksmith’s shop.
“You have your hands full there, I see,” Broderick said, chuckling as he approached.
She turned toward him, her brows upturned inquisitively. Well, hallo handsome!
He pursed his lips in amusement at her unspoken compliment.
“Aye, those boys are a right handful indeed.” Crossing her arms, she assessed his tall frame. “You’re a stranger here. Something I can help you with?”
Close-knit community. He liked that. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for the healer or someone who is well-versed with herbs in the area.”
The woman stepped back, uncrossing her arms. “Not feeling well?”
“Nay, madam. I just need a certain herb I’m having trouble finding.” He kept his distance to respect her caution.
“Then you’ll want that house there.” She pointed to the corner cottage at the edge of the platz behind him. “Best healers around.”
It was the same home the old woman had shuffled about last night—the one who reminded him of Amice.
“Thank you kindly for your time and direction. Good evening.” He tipped his hat respectfully and strolled toward the humble dwelling. After rapping on the door, he removed his hat and waited patiently, steeling himself for the grief that might surface over being reminded of his long-dead Gypsy friend. The door swung open and his jaw unhinged.
Standing at the threshold was Monika, the chestnut-haired woman with Davina’s sapphire eyes…and she was more breathtaking in person than his dreams had ever revealed. Mounds of chestnut hair spilled from the blue-and-yellow striped kerchief framing her heart-shaped face and flowed around her shoulders. A widow’s peak at her hairline completed her angelic face—not Davina…yet her eyes. Sparkling jewels like his Blossom’s.
Her full lips parted with surprise. Dear Gods, let this be the one you’ve sent me! Desire swirled around this enchanting woman and enveloped Broderick in her spell.
“Good evening, sir,” she said in a husky whisper, then cleared her throat. “Is there some way I may have you?” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Help you! Is there some way I may help you?” Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands. Dolt! “Please forgive me. What a forward thing to say. I just—”
Broderick held up his hand. “No apologies necessary. The color in your cheeks is most becoming.”
She gasped again. His accent! Oh, Lord and Lady, could it possibly be?
He cocked an eyebrow.
She recovered from her embarrassment and shock, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. However, the corner of her mouth turned up in amusement. “Oh, you’re a saucy one.”
Broderick chuckled, the deep timber of his voice filling the small space between them, and leaned against the door frame, closing the distance. A familiar pull on his vigor made his eyelids droop and his knees buckle.
“Oh, my!” She was beside him, her arm about his waist, inserting her tiny frame under his teetering form.
He caught himself, but tripped over his own feet, backing away from the cottage. If not for her assistance, he would have fallen on his rump.
She grunted as she bared his weight.
“Come, let me get you inside,” she groaned, and guided him toward the door.
Broderick stopped short, the oppressive boundary surrounding the dwelling all-too familiar. “Nay, I…” He retreated a few more steps into the platz and found his footing. Standing upright, he regained his composure and regarded her and her home. They have the incantation on their house! Are she and her household members of the Army of Light? He narrowed his eyes. What are you up to, Malloren Rune?
“You are not well, sir. I am the village healer.” She righted the kerchief on her head and grasped his forearm, tugging and urging him inside. “Allow me to help you—”
“I am well, I assure you.” He stood his ground and crossed his arms.
“Very well. Your male pride will be your undoing.” She picked up his hat from the ground and tossed it to him. He easily caught it, and she placed her hands upon her curvy hips. Her mouth twisted into a disbelieving smirk. “Since you are such an example of shining health, I suppose you knocked upon my door for another purpose. What is it you seek, sir?”
He couldn’t stop the flutter of unexpected laughter that rumbled from his chest. Broderick placed his hat upon his head, but tilted it back onto his crown. “Now who’s the saucy one?”
Her full lips parted only for a moment in surprise before she jutted her chin forward and crossed her arms…so like Davina. Broderick clenched his jaw to gain control over his riotous emotions—confused one moment, laughing the next and now thrown into grief and longing.
“I’m not the one stumbling from who-knows-what ailments. You can state your purpose or admit you need my assistance and step inside.” She jerked her head toward the cottage.
Unless he revealed why he couldn’t cross her threshold, going inside was not an option. However, if he didn’t give her a reasonable excuse for near collapsing or why he refused her assistance, he would alienate this woman before he could discover if Malloren was right. “I have been traveling for many weeks now, and at a rather unforgiving pace. I’m sure my condition has more to do with exhaustion than illness.”