Chapter Twenty-two:
I know not how long we sat together on that couch in Augustin’s cottage, his arms holding me to his breast, both of us silently savoring our newfound oneness, the bond of the Teutons. A sensation of completeness and belonging came over me, as though what I found with this priest satisfied the yearnings I had attempted to suppress or deny all these years. This was what I had always needed, a fiery Teuton priest who viewed me with respect, as an equal. How could I have imagined finding this with Hans, a secretive sort so much older than me?
“How do you feel, my darling swan?” he asked me at length while I rested against him with my eyes closed, scenes of blissful harmony splashing my imagination with color.
“Happy,” I responded, opening my eyes a crack to marvel at the light blue glow of the candlelight. Augustin’s fire was my favorite color. I began to envision a new future for myself, one where Augustin and I met the Saxon invaders together, defending Muniche to the last. “It’s like . . . what I’ve always dreamed of . . . since I first fell for Hans as a teenager. If this is what it’s like being with a priest, then how could any Teuton be satisfied with less?”
“How indeed?” Augustin sounded pleased with himself, his right hand tracing the ribbons of my bodice before finding its rightful place upon my heart. His spiritual hands swathed my heart in warmth, and I closed my eyes again. “This is new for me as well. The love I sense in your heart, the trust, the acceptance. I have not experienced such things for many years, and I had forgotten how sweet they are.” His lips touched my jawline just below my left ear.
I burrowed myself closer to him, silently wishing that he would wrap us both in the folds of his robes, cloaking us in darkness. The caress of his lips prompted my entire body to shiver, and I remembered that I had to keep my head on straight. As gentle as this man may seem, he was also a seducer, a murderer. I had to make sure that he still intended to honor my wishes in regards to my virginity.
Before I could open the subject, Augustin pulled back from me slightly, his right hand still trapping my heart beneath his influence. “I sense other things, too,” he confessed in an uncertain tone. “Temptations that I must endeavor to defeat, if this peace between us is to last.” I twisted my neck to the left to look at his face. His blue eyes had darkened, the planes of his face sharpening. “Most of the priests in this city—and everywhere else, for that matter—use the bond to control their wives, you see.” He met my gaze, his own not particularly inviting.
My eyebrows came together, and I shifted myself further away from him, far enough that his right hand slid down to my skirt. “Oh?” I said flatly, thoughts of Ina and Walfrid returning to my mind. Augustin had just implied that such things were the norm, at least in this era.
A cold smile flashed across his face. “I have seen it myself, Swanhilde; in fact, I was taught how best to accomplish it. All who study for the priesthood must demonstrate their proficiency with every sort of mysticism, even the types that ought not to exist. It would be easy to discipline you now, for afterward I could use the bond to imbue your heart with devotion, to convince you that you deserve it.”
I stared at him, horror creeping through my veins along with tiny flecks of ice. “Well, if you’re intending to lie to me and burn my heart until I believe you, I still have the option of getting myself killed,” I informed him, crossing my arms. “And it’s not like I’d have to commit suicide. There are other ways.” I pictured myself proclaiming my witchy knowledge in public, in the main square—something that would get me sentenced to death. I could even spout off Prince Otto’s secrets, his dealings with Wuotan that uncovered the portal through time.
Augustin smirked at me, unimpressed. “You forget that the man before you has claimed both your life and your death for as long as you remain here. And I do not hold to the ways of the cruel master, my dear. I shall alter your desires slowly, sinuously, and you will come to long for it, just like the Teuton females of higher blood status than you.”
I bristled at that jibe and scooted further away, my back finding the wall. “You promised you would be good to me,” I reminded him.
“And I shall be.” Augustin’s eyes glittered with his fire as he took hold of both of my hands, his warmth soothing their icy rigidity. “On my own terms.”
I curled my lip and looked toward the locked door, trying to figure out what still remained of my own agency. I felt the hands of his soul enclosing my heart even then, shielding it, protecting it, altering it? “I’ll probably have to die to return to my own time, since your brother won’t give me the song,” I said. “And I know that the heart-bond is broken by death. I’ve read about that.”
“That sort of death should free you, yes, and by then you shall likely be glad of it.” Augustin bared his teeth at me, his blue eyes burning as he lifted one of his hands to my face, tracing it down the artery in my neck. “You know not what you have gotten yourself into, my swan princess. You intend to teach me love . . . to melt my stone heart that does not feel. I do not believe you will succeed.”
I closed my eyes, my body trembling afresh at his touch. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try,” I murmured. “I’ve always been a sucker for lost causes.”
A sarcastic snort of laughter escaped Augustin’s lips. “Like the cause of our people, the Teutons, who shall fall in twenty-two years . . . forgetting everything that makes them unique . . . ruining their purity of blood . . . never to rise again.”
I sighed, and the words, “enjoy pleasure while it lasts” fell from my lips.
Augustin pulled me into his embrace again. “You are mine,” he affirmed, grotesque satisfaction saturating his words.
My lips twitched at my lapse, and I wondered where this would lead me, what path my life would take now. I had willingly joined myself in a bond stronger than matrimony with the oldest Bayern brother, the one who did not exist on paper in my time. What would this man do to my heart? Would his influence stay with me even after I returned to the future? I shook my head and tried to focus on how peaceful it felt to rest in his arms. My thoughts turned instead to Augustin’s comment about my blood.
“I wish I could raise the status of my Teuton blood,” I said, thinking of the two ways such a thing could be done. If I married Joel like my responsibility demanded, my blood would remain where it was. But could I marry an outsider now that Augustin had bound my heart?
Augustin murmured thoughtfully. “You could, of course, if you chose to offer your Teuton blood as a gift to one of your friends, the Lady Freia perhaps. Rumor suggests that she wishes to marry the ironmaster. Master Denlinger’s family would never approve that match unless she becomes a Teuton first.”
I shuddered at Augustin’s words, remembering that the dreaded Teutonic blood-transfer was indeed one method of raising one’s blood percentage—assuming the Teuton involved survived. “I doubt Freia wants to mess with that sort of ritual,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s thinking about returning to the Rhineland one day, anyway. If Master Denlinger really wants her for his wife, he’ll have to accept her as an outsider, I’m afraid.”
“I know that. I was joking with you, Swanhilde.” Augustin looked down at me, his expression severe. “I do not want to have to worry about you trying the blood-transfer on anyone’s behalf, especially not for that foolish Joel. You would probably die, for Wuotan does not like you.”
I jerked at this revelation, terror grasping my soul. “He . . . doesn’t like me?” I shivered at the memory of my last encounter with Wuotan, with his black laughter . . . just before leaping through those labradorite gates into the Bavarian forest.
Augustin held me close in response to my fear, stroking my hair tenderly. “No, he does not particularly appreciate you, for he knows that you have tampered with his powers without pledging him service in return. Wuotan does not like my brother for the same reason. And he wonders why his kingdom will end in ruin.” Augustin’s body grew rigid for a moment, but when I trembled, he relaxed and bent low to kiss my hair.
“Do not fear him, Swanhilde, but I would also suggest that you do not meddle with death or deadly rituals. Wuotan has intentions of taking your soul if you ask him for favors, and the fact that you are already bound for heaven does not please him. You likely should not go to the realm of the spirit alone, for he may watch for you there and try to turn you into one of his sirens, though he could not. I would sleep better at night if you tread carefully, my darling. I can protect you from him as far as I am able, but Wuotan’s power is far greater than mine, for he is a demon and I am a mere man.”
I quaked again at the mere thought of that devil, the one who used to call our people his own, seeking my life, my soul. I prayed a silent prayer of thanks to God for protecting me from Wuotan’s sway over my eternal destiny. Augustin’s words from before resurfaced in my mind, swirling around with his proud claim that he could defend me from a demon’s wiles: Tell me I should not hate, I should not glory in anger, I should cast aside all of the power Wuotan has granted me, that I would never have known otherwise! I frowned, wondering how I could ever convince this twisted man that the path of love was far greater, far more rewarding. He had marveled at the love in my heart already, but I suspected that if he had to choose one or the other, he would gravitate toward hatred first, and power.
My priest pulled away from me finally, letting his strong arms slide from my shoulders, placing them upon the cushion beneath us. The candles in the room still burned, though I knew not how long we had sat entwined. I had a feeling that the winter night had descended and that soon the city gates would close if they had not already. I had heard one set of bells pealing forth some time ago. I could not remain in the city all night, despite the bond we had just formed. What would become of my reputation if the nobility discovered that I had spent the night at the cottage of Augustin von Bayern? I raised my eyes to his once more, intending to suggest that we return to the Meldorf estate, but the words died on my tongue the moment I saw his light blue eyes glowing with hunger and expectancy.
“There is another way . . . to raise the status . . . of your Teuton blood,” Augustin said in a sultry voice, his fingers flexing on the couch. “You are ninety-five percent Teutonic, yes . . . and I . . . I am ninety-nine percent . . . my dear.” He smiled at me while the fingers of his soul stroked my heart, enticing me.
I stared back at him in dismay as the foolishness of what I had done grasped me all at once. He could force me now . . . I wouldn’t be able to refuse him . . . and he would justify it . . . saying that it would eventually raise my blood . . . and I would believe him. “You . . . you . . . want . . . to have . . . sex with me . . . master?” My lips had grown dry, and my voice shook terribly.
“If you would agree to grant me your precious virginity.” The words dripped from his lips, his eyes fixated on my body, still clad in my dark dress. “For I would assume . . . that our union . . . may have altered . . . some of your valued standards . . . my lovely, assertive swan princess.” He reached his hands out to place them upon the bodice of my dress.
I struggled to concentrate, to ignore the wild hormones his touch ignited, to push aside the alluring hands upon my heart. “And if . . . if . . . .” I could hardly form a coherent thought, let alone speak. I swallowed as he leaned toward me, his body language leaving no room for misinterpretation. “If . . . it . . . has not?” I trembled all over as he grasped my shoulders.
For a moment, everything froze. His large hands enclosed my shoulders entirely, his strength bruising my bones, his eyes burning my soul, his mouth working in passion, in frustration. Suddenly, he pushed me backward onto the couch, his flaming body shoving me into the cushion, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “You . . . will . . . change . . . your standards . . . for me,” he snarled.
He began kissing me an instant later, his lips harsh and urgent, his tongue probing the roof of my mouth, one of his hands encircling the back of my neck, the other grasping my right breast through my bodice. I could hardly breathe as his roughness awakened my own lust, my sanity struggling to reassert itself, to order me to resist, to fight him. I could not. I kissed him back, my eyes shut tight against reality, my hormones singing, my heart racing in anticipation.
He released my mouth at last and bit down onto my neck before I had the chance to react. His hand had unwound some of the ribbons on my dress to tug at my neckline, touching the skin of my chest. I could not fight him. He had me pinned expertly, one who had assaulted many a woman before. I should not have felt surprised. This was far different from my experience at college, though, for my element seemed to be celebrating, twining in the other realm with a smoldering master. Maybe I needed to rethink my standards. Maybe having the heart-bond was good enough.
Augustin drank deeply from my neck, the hands of his soul pumping my heart against the impending weakness. What memories was he reading this time? I gasped for breath as he abruptly pulled back from my neck, closing the wound with disturbing swiftness, before my own blood could taint my clothing. He raised himself off of me just a bit, his hands holding me still, under his power. He glared down at me with a nasty grin, my blood decorating his teeth. After his tongue had carefully licked the final traces of my blood from his lips, he spoke the wretched truth, demanding no disagreement.
“You want me, Swanhilde. You want to have sex with me. I saw it here and now, in the depths of your heart. Tell me I can have your virginity. Tell me it is mine!” He growled at me, and I jumped.
I opened my feeble lips to try to speak. I had to tell him no, that I could not, despite my deepest desires, that it was wrong, that it was sinful. I found that I could not speak, not at all. I stared up at Augustin the rapist, fearing what was to come, my lips trembling, tears welling in my eyes. His patience wore thin, and his hands curled into flaming claws, his teeth bared as he prepared to rip my dress by the seams. I closed my eyes once more, tensing for the pain, the guilt . . . and the instant before his hands could lay my chest bare, a knock sounded on the door, a sharp, urgent knock that could not be ignored.
Augustin paused, swinging his head to the left to glare at the door. Then he cursed and climbed off of me, snapping his fingers for me to get up. He threw my coat upon me before I could obey, then pulled his own black coat from the door, retrieving the key. Belated shock flooded my veins, wreaking havoc with my coordination as I shakily searched for the sleeves of my coat.
Shortly afterward, when I finally managed to stick my left arm through the correct hole, Augustin opened the door a crack and snapped something awful in Magyar, obviously addressing his servant Viktor. I heard the elderly man respond, sounding frightened and apologetic. I thrust my right arm through my sleeve, wrapping my coat around me as I heard Augustin reply, his own voice sounding cooler now. I slowly slid off of the couch, placing my unstable feet upon the floor, and Augustin spun to face me, his expression annoyed.
“This will have to wait until later,” he said, beckoning for me to follow him while he put on his own coat. “Apparently some fool requires my assistance this night, and you need to leave Muniche before the gates close. Come.”
I exited the candlelit room one step behind him, and he extinguished all of the flames in the instant he stepped into the hallway. The roaring fire in the fireplace also evaporated, as though every blue flame in the cottage obeyed Augustin’s commands. I glanced back toward the couch, now invisible in the darkness, and then quickened my pace to catch up with Augustin at the front door of his cottage.
A withered woman in rags stood outside, her pleading eyes trained on his ruthless face. “Please come to aid my daughter, my Lord von Bayern, I beg you. The midwives have been able to do nothing. She is at the door of death.” The elderly woman’s Teutonica sounded quite common. She clasped her hands together and sank to her knees as she voiced her plea.
I sidled to Augustin’s side while he glared disparagingly at the poor woman, his eyes glittering with greed. “What do you intend to give me for my help?” The old woman reached into her tattered dress to pull forth a tiny bundle wrapped in grimy oilskin. Augustin snatched it from her grasp and dumped its contents into the palm of his hand—five Thaler. He closed his fingers around the coins and leered at the withered woman. “That is not much,” he stated reproachfully.
“It is all we have.” The old woman raised her laced fingers toward Augustin’s face, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Please, my lord . . . please.”
Augustin huffed in irritation, spinning to the right to face Viktor. He barked a few words which prompted him to scurry away. Then he cast his gaze upon the old woman once more with the pledge, “I shall come as soon as possible. Go.” He made a shooing motion with his hand before vanishing abruptly into his cottage.
I stared after him for a moment, feeling incredibly helpless, then looked out the open door to watch the old woman hobble away down the street. Seconds later, Augustin reappeared, carrying a black leather bag in one hand, ushering me out the door with the other. Viktor had readied his horse for us, and he led me there without a word.
My heathen priest swung me upon the stallion’s back, leaping to the saddle in front of me and snapping the reins cruelly in the same instant, prompting the horse to jump forward with a whinny. I cried out and gripped his waist, nearly falling backward. I could barely think, let alone ask Augustin what was happening, though my mind had formed a probable conclusion. The old woman’s daughter was dying in childbirth and asked for Augustin’s help . . . she couldn’t pay him much . . . what will he demand of her in return, if he saves her life?
The winter sky was already pitch black, dotted with stars, when we reached the eastern gate, shut tight for the night. Augustin swore, pulling his stallion up short and turning the animal sharply left, toward the northwestern side of Muniche. We rode like the wind until we reached the gates of the Bayern castle. Augustin jumped off of the horse and tossed the reins to me with the words, “Wait here.” He unlocked the gate with a key and disappeared within. I waited as he had ordered, staring blankly from the bronze lion crest to the starlit gardens beyond the gate, shuddering a bit from the fierce urgency of his movements, his reactions.
Augustin returned to me after I had counted to four hundred in my head, slamming the gates of his family castle behind him and mounting the stallion once more. As he whipped the horse into a gallop toward the eastern gate, a thousand questions whirled through my mind, none of which I could ask, for we rode so fast that I had to use all of my strength to cling to the horse’s back.
We halted before the gate moments later, its iron bars secured for the night. Augustin leapt from the saddle to sharply address the three wary knights who guarded the eastern door to my city. “Lower the drawbridge.” It was not a request. With amazement, I watched Augustin lift the gate’s iron bars himself, dropping them to the side before sticking a single key into the lock and turning it.
He returned to my side and helped me move forward to situate myself upon his saddle while two of the knights pulled the gate open. I heard the drawbridge creaking as it descended slowly to span the Isar while I arranged my coat and skirt around my legs.
“Ride swiftly home, my darling,” Augustin urged me, and I met his gaze. His eyes looked restless in the dark. “I shall retrieve my horse on Thursday.” Before I could answer him, he sprinted off down the street. So I turned his stallion toward the lowered bridge and crossed it slowly, the eyes of the knights burning into my back.