Page 43 of Heart of Snow
“I’m uncertain whether you’re angry or disinterested.”
I tried several more alterations until Friedrich finally stopped me. “Have you really no experience to draw from, Margaretha? No time when you felt yourself falling in love?”
That warning bell sounded again, louder now, but I could only see the challenge in Friedrich’s eyes.
“I suppose not,” he said. When he turned toward his seat, I instinctively reached out and grasped his hand, pulling him to a stop.
“Let me try once more.” I hadn’t meant for the words to sound breathy.
His eyes were on mine as he curled his hand over my fingers, making that fluttering spring to life in my gut. Making me realize my boldness. I slipped my fingers from his grasp, slowly, for he seemed reluctant to let me go.
“Very well.” He sank into his seat, watching me.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to focus my thoughts. For this to work, I had to make myself believe I was in love. Having spent no significant time around any man but Friedrich, I’d have to draw on my experiences with him.
This time the bell clanged in an almighty clamor, warning me it would be dangerous to proceed. Telling me that if I did this, I risked something momentous. But what?
Pushing the question aside, I set to my task, sifting through my history with Friedrich. I let myself relive those moments when I’d felt admiration. Attraction. I remembered the warmth of his arms around me, his breath tickling my ear as we rode to the mines. My surprise when he’d gifted me the shooting gloves, betraying his quiet concern for me. The smell of straw and cloves surrounding me as his trembling fingers grazed my skin to cut me loose from the thickets. His gentle manner in caring for Ernst, and his sense of duty, defying Father’s laws to provide for his friends. He’d been a brave child, leaving behind the security of the mines to find his own way. And then again as a youth, living alone in the forest. It had shaped him into the man he was—disciplined, independent, unafraid of society or its judgments, and I admired him for it.
Then I remembered the day I’d confessed to using him. There’d been a fire in his gaze before he’d closed his eyes and leaned toward me, his breath coming faster when he’d moved to kiss me. I let my imagination toy with the memory, Friedrich no longer stepping back to tease me, but actually coming closer, pressing his lips to mine. What if he’d wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him? What would it feel like to let myself kiss him, to let myself love him?
Something in my chest warmed, spreading heat through my veins, driving back the cold as a glimmer of hope flashed through me. Fear made me tamp it down before I could grasp hold of it, analyze it, face it. Instead, I focused on the numbness, letting it expand, cool and familiar, over my heart until the bells of warning had all but disappeared. In their place was an emptiness that left me rubbing a hand over my nose,fighting back the tears pricking my eyes as I whirled away from Friedrich. Why on earth was I crying? Of all the ridiculous—
“Margaretha?”
I sniffed discretely but couldn’t face him. Not yet. “I’m afraid I’m not up to the challenge.” I barked an awkward, forced laugh.
Friedrich’s hand slid over my shoulder, his body so close the heat of it warmed my back. Wiping my eyes, I twisted out of his grasp.
“My tutor will be waking soon. I must go.” I knelt to collect my things from under the chair.
I felt Friedrich watching me, his posture tense, but then he let out a sigh. “Mistress Hatzfeld will scold me for keeping you from your reading, no doubt.” He lifted my book from the chair, sifting through the pages. “Is this story of yours full of the usual intrigues? Unsanctioned loves? Abandoned children? Magics? Future telling?”
“Just so.”
When I reached for the book, he pulled it back, catching my hand in his empty one and lifting me to my feet. I kept my gaze on the rug.
“You know, I’ve a little experience with that.” His thumb slid over the back of my hand, stealing my breath.
“With what?” I squeezed out the words.
“Future telling, like in your romance. Shall I tell you your future, Margaretha?” In one swift movement, he discarded my book and flipped my hand over, staring into my wide, surprised eyes. “It is not fated. What I see is only a prediction of what will come if you keep on your current life path.”
I nodded without hearing. My thoughts were on the warmth of his calloused hand gently chafing beneath my smooth knuckles. He raised his other hand to my palm, tracing the crease just below my fingers and sending a subtle shiver rolling from my neck all the way down my spine.
“I see a past weighed down by years of sadness. And here, a flash of great pain.” His finger settled on a slight circle within the crease. “A crisis born from a moment of decision.”
I stiffened. Did he somehow know about the healer? Was this his way of drawing me out?
He continued, not seeming to notice my worry. “Your lifeline makes a sharp curve, showing a sudden shift in behavior as your once open nature became reserved and hesitant to trust others.”
“Perhaps because the world is full of charlatans like yourself.” My attempt at levity was sabotaged by my raspy voice. “You promised to tell me my future, not make up stories about my past.”
“Patience, Margaretha. I’m coming to that.” Dropping his eyes back to my hand, his lips turned down. “I see a future of many lovers. And a chance for wealth and glory, though it will mean loneliness.”
“Loneliness? Where have all my lovers gone?”
He muttered something that sounded very much like an oath with regards to where exactly my lovers could go, then he added, “A married woman can still be lonely if she makes the wrong choice. And this”—his finger hovered near the scar of my palm—“this is a point of crucial decision. Your fate line is soft and unsettled, but in it I see another path. A future of quiet happiness. It all comes down to this moment.” His thumb rested on the burn, covering it from view. “Will you make the right choice?”
