Faithful Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  He admired her though he despised what she stood for.

  If he still believed in God, he might think he was being tested.

  “Job von Wolfenberg,” he whispered to the wind, then shook his head at the selfishness of the notion. His trials were paltry compared to the captive child and his compatriots. He simply had to learn to have the patience of Job and not betray his emotions.

  BODYGUARD

  The Nunziata was a well-built vessel, yet a surprising amount of seawater managed to seep through the tarred moss used for caulking under the wooden laths.

  Kon and two others were assigned the job of bailing out the water by means of a bucket passed from one man to the next and dumped overboard. It seemed an easy task until he’d spent over an hour doing it under a blazing hot sun. His hands were blistered and he had a raging thirst.

  “This ship isn’t as sturdy as I thought,” he panted to the other three.

  One beamed a toothless grin. “Isn’t too bad. Most ships are worse. Only two more hours and we get victuals.”

  Two hours!

  Scooping up more seawater, he gritted his teeth. His lot was easy compared to the horrors the slaves must have suffered since being taken from their homeland. At least he was free to come and go as he pleased. He suspected from their language the captives might be from Croatia. It was of some consolation there were no women among them, but the boy couldn’t be more than seven or eight. The likelihood he would be sold into the Mamluk slave armies of Egypt churned his gut.

  He avoided looking over in their direction, afraid he might be tempted to once again cause a ruckus, one he wouldn’t survive. His dagger was no match for the curved scimitars the Fatimids carried on their hips.

  Zara stayed on the forecastle, but had several animated conversations with Lupomari. It was impossible not to hear his name mentioned and it was clear they were arguing over the slaves. Perhaps their plight was of concern to her.

  He worried about the route they were taking. Zara had confirmed they were headed for Bari, which meant they were hugging the Italian coast, far from the islands of Dalmatia. “Where will we drop anchor tonight?” he enquired of his comrade.

  The man licked his lips and swiped the back of a filthy hand across his brow as he scanned the horizon. “Polani ships often stop in the bay at Scardovari.”

  He was none the wiser and simply had to hope Drosik did know the trade routes well enough to intercept them. His people had been pirates in the Adriatic for hundreds of years.

  They were eventually given food. The salted pork filled his belly but aggravated his thirst, hence he guzzled the ale, knowing he’d regret it later. He discovered something in the millet biscuits he hadn’t noticed in the pre-dawn darkness. They teemed with weevils.

  His belly rebelled. He offered his to another deckhand who grabbed it eagerly. “Weevils is the only fresh meat you’ll get,” his comrade jested.

  For the afternoon watch he was assigned to various tasks from learning how to repair ropes, to keeping an eye out for tears in the sail, to scrubbing the planking with holystones. As they worked their way from stem to stern, he fervently hoped he wouldn’t be required to scour the area occupied by the slaves. The Fatimids brandished swords when they got too close, urging them away.

  Daylight was waning when Lupomari guided the flat-bottomed Nunziata into the shelter of what Kon assumed was Scardovari Bay. To his surprise the captain pulled him away from the scrubbing gang. “You’ve worked hard this day,” he said gruffly. “I’m assigning you to Signorina Polani’s bodyguard. You’re not to let her out of your sight while she is ashore.”

  While it was preferable to smoothing splinters out of wood with stones, he wondered how Signorina Polani felt about Lupomari choosing him. He looked up at the forecastle. The slight inclination of Zara’s head and the trace of a smile indicated that the captain perhaps hadn’t been the one to choose him.

  ~~~

  It was folly to appoint a stranger she was attracted to as one of her guards, but Zara reasoned it was the best way to keep an eye on him.

  She’d watched him as the afternoon progressed. No matter what he was doing his attention was never off the slaves for long.

  He’d smiled broadly when the child fell asleep in the arms of a man she assumed was his father. The depth of his caring for these unfortunates touched her heart, but it was troubling. He seemed to be obsessed with their plight and she hoped he didn’t intend to do anything rash.

  Fate had dealt the captives a cruel blow, but if it was God’s will…

  She shook her head, unwilling to accept such inhumanity as part of God’s design. The sleeping child should be playing in a field full of flowers somewhere. His mother must be frantic at his loss. She’d never given much thought to motherhood, nor to the devastating effects the kidnapping of breadwinners and children must have on the women left behind.

  Preoccupied, she watched the sun slowly sinking and again failed to hear Wolf’s approach. She was startled when he spoke.

  “I’m to be your escort.”

  A ludicrous image sprang up behind her eyes—she and Konrad Wolf parading arm in arm into the Doge’s palace, dressed in fine raiment, the envy of all.

  She lifted her chin, cursing herself for a fool. “Lead on then, Wolf.”

  Smiling, he offered his hand and led her down the steps of the forecastle, then helped her over the side into the shallows.

  “Over there,” she said, pointing to an area of the cove she knew would provide protection from the elements.

  She was glad of the strength of Wolf’s hand as they made their way across the pebbled beach. His solicitous behavior confirmed her belief he was no ordinary seaman. She perched on a rock, intending to ease off her wet boots as two of the crew brought kindling and lit a fire. “Where are you from?”

  Wolf toed off his boots. The breath hitched in her throat when he hunkered down in front of her, and helped pull off the reluctant boots while he watched the flames cling to life in the light breeze. It was the most intimate thing any man had ever done for her, yet he seemed to expect nothing in return.

  “I told you. Saxony.”

  “You are no sailor,” she replied as he set her boots to dry.

  Even in the twilight his eyes betrayed a wistful longing. “Wolfenberg is far from the sea.” But then he clenched his jaw and watched her wiggle her toes in front of the fledgling fire. He was the first man to see her bare feet—a daunting and exhilarating notion.

  She feared she might be pushing him to reveal more than he wanted to. “You’re Wolf from Wolfenberg?”

  “It’s a long story,” he muttered, gazing into the flames once more.

  “We have the whole night.”

  She instantly regretted the suggestive words.

  He glanced at her toes again but made no remark, confirming her suspicion he was a gentleman.

  Suddenly he got to his feet and picked up several pebbles. “Can you skim stones?” he asked.

  IMPERFECTIONS

  A cherished memory of her beloved father warmed Zara’s heart. “I was good at skimming when I was a child.”

  He grinned, walking gingerly across the pebbles barefoot. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  Never one to back down from a dare, Zara laughed. “Perhaps it is, but you’ll have to carry me to the sand.”

  Her sister would be appalled at her behavior, but Ottavia was in Venezia, whereas she was on a beach watching the moon rise with an intriguing man who was both serious and playful. What harm in giving rein to feelings suppressed for too long for the sake of the family business?

  Wolf looked back at her bare feet. “Ah, of course. A gentleman would have realized.” He threw his cache of stones to the sand then scooped her into his embrace and cradled her against his chest. She slid her arms around his neck and giggled when he exaggerated the discomfort of walking on pebbles to the sand. When was the last time she’d giggled like a girl?

  She inhaled deeply, filling her
lungs with the warm zephyr. Surrendering to his strength was a momentous step, yet she felt freer than she had in years. When he set her on her feet and moved away to gather up stones she wanted to wail like a spoiled child.

  Perplexed as to what had become of Zara the ruthless, independent woman of business, she embarked on the search for her own arsenal.

  “The secret is in the shape,” he shouted.

  “Thin and light,” she agreed, recalling her father’s advice.

  He returned to her side, brows arched. “I’m impressed. My record is seven skips, what’s yours?”

  “Six,” she lied, having once achieved eight, much to her father’s delight.

  He drew back his arm, ready to throw. “My sister, Sophia, can do eight. It’s astonishing.”

  His words irked her. “Why? Because she’s a woman?”

  He shrugged. “No. Because she’s my sister, and brothers don’t like to be bested by sisters, especially younger ones.”

  She laughed heartily. “I wouldn’t know, I have no…”

  Then she sobered, mortified by what she’d almost blurted out. Bruno might be an imbecile but he was her flesh and blood.

  Wolf’s stone skipped five times before sinking. He wrinkled his nose in an endearing way she’d noticed before. Somehow it was safe to reveal the truth to him. “I have an older brother, Bruno, but he is…he cannot…”

  He came to stand facing her, opened his hands to reveal the stones in his palms. “Each one of these is perfect in its own way, but some are skimmers and others are not. It doesn’t mean they are good for nothing. Some are simply pleasing to look at.” He poked one with pits marring its surface. “You might be of the opinion this ugly thing won’t work well, but I’ll wager it will fly the farthest over the water precisely because of the imperfections.”

  He turned to the water, bent his knees, leaned back and threw the pitted stone.

  He counted the skips out loud, the rising excitement in his voice infectious. She laughed with joy for him when he thrust his hands in the air and strutted like a rooster after it splashed eight times. “Ja! A new standard for Konrad von Wolfenberg.”

  She was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. His sudden frown betrayed his regret at the disclosure of his true name, but the nobility in his simple words had freed her from a lifetime of confusion regarding Bruno. “You are right. I haven’t appreciated my brother’s strengths. He is still a child in many ways, innocent and trusting.”

  He came to her and brushed a calloused thumb across the tear trickling down her cheek. “If only everyone was that way.”

  “I haven’t trusted anyone for a long time,” she admitted, drawn into the depths of his blue eyes, “but I have faith in you.”

  The warm breeze turned chilly when he averted his gaze. “You know nothing about me, Zara.”

  ~~~

  She trusted him! The lying scoundrel who intended to rob her of all she held dear. He had an urge to fall at her feet and beg forgiveness for his duplicity.

  But his regret wasn’t solely that he was no longer his father’s son. He was plotting to rain devastation on a woman he was drawn to in a way he’d never experienced. He admired her spirit, the things she’d achieved, and he craved her body, despite his resolve to control his male urges.

  And he’d once aspired to a life of celibacy!

  She had wandered off and was throwing stones into the water, but in a half-hearted way. He regretted he’d disappointed her, failed to respond to the trust she’d admitted to placing in him. He sensed she wasn’t a woman who confided in others. Perhaps if he told her a little of himself…

  He growled out the painful truth. “I was supposed to become a priest.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the water. “Most younger sons end up taking the path of religion.”

  “No. I wanted to be ordained. I had a true vocation.”

  She glanced at him. “You would have made a good priest. You care deeply about people.”

  He snorted. “Problem is, I no longer believe in God.”

  Such an admission would result in his arrest in many places, and he marveled he had told her the truth. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders, but when he betrayed her she would question his sincerity. He was relieved when Lupomari arrived in the clearing, accompanied by the cook, both carrying food that smelled temptingly like…

  “The men have netted a bounty,” the captain cried. “Sardines!”

  FLOODGATE

  Lupomari brought good news as well as sustenance. “I persuaded the Fatimids to allow the slaves to bathe in the sea, but not before they forced them to clean up the filth.”

  Zara hoped the tidings would bring a smile to Kon’s face, but he merely grunted as he perched on a rock and ate his meal.

  She finished her portion of the roasted fish, babbling about how much she loved sardines. She couldn’t get her thoughts off Kon’s assertion he had lost his faith.

  The captain had proven his worth time and again. In normal circumstances she enjoyed discussing the voyage, the ship, the crew, the weather; but this night she willed him to leave, filled with a compulsion to challenge Kon.

  Lupomari picked at his food nervously as if he sensed her reluctance to respond to any of his efforts to begin a conversation. He finished his sardines and stiffly declared his intention to ensure the night watch was in position.

  There were many things she wanted to say, but once her captain had left she didn’t know where to begin. A dreadful premonition that whatever she said would change both their lives seemed to have rendered her mute. As a faithful adherent of the Church, she should condemn him, but she was unaware of the reasons for the dire change in his beliefs. If she pried too hard…

  After long minutes he got up, collected the discarded fish-heads and tails and threw them into the flames. “Rats,” he muttered.

  She murmured her understanding.

  He walked across the pebbles to the water and knelt to wash his hands in the rippling waves. He wiped them on his shirt then retrieved her boots and brought them to her. “Should be dry by now. Better not to sleep barefoot.”

  She obeyed as he dropped more wood on the fire then sat to put on his own boots.

  Hoping her judgement hadn’t failed, she got up and went to sit beside him. He moved over slightly and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. She pressed her hip against him, taking courage from his solid strength. She inhaled deeply then put her hand on his broad back. It was the most daring contact she’d ever initiated with a man and the heat of his body flooded her veins. As longing spiralled into her womb, she prayed desperately that her words wouldn’t alienate him. “I am an excellent judge of character, Konrad von Wolfenberg. You are a good man. You may have turned your back on God, but He hasn’t abandoned you.”

  He tossed a tiny sliver of driftwood into the flames. “If only it were true,” he whispered.

  ~~~

  As if he needed more proof of his worthlessness, Kon’s rute was insisting forcefully he should simply have his way with the woman pressed against him. Her warmth, the scent of the sea that clung to her, the gentle caress of her hand rubbing his back, all conspired to fill him with longing. He was about to rob her of her ship, why not her maidenhead?

  But such a travesty would entail the loss of his own virginity and the prospect held him back. He raked his windblown hair off his face and sat up straight. “I am a miserable sinner.”

  To his surprise, she chuckled. “How can you believe in sin if you don’t believe in God?”

  He was still searching for the answer when she meshed her fingers with his. “Tell me your story.”

  He looked into her emerald eyes and let the floodgate burst open.

  He told her first of his part in the invasion of Italy by the imperial army.

  “You were forced to be a soldier when you wanted to be a priest,” she said softly, never letting go of his hand.

  “Yes, but I was honored to do my duty, to represent
my family and fight for my Emperor.”

  He told of the battle for Salerno, and the surrender of Termoli, then eventually of his outrage at the slave market after the army occupied Bari, and of his attempt to free the young girl.

  “It was noble of you.”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps, but I lusted for her body.”

  After a long silence, she asked, “Was she the first female you’d seen naked?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Yes, and I wanted her despite her degradation.”

  “You were young. Her beauty moved you.”

  He snorted. “In more ways than one, but I paid for my foolishness with a beating. She paid too, despite having done nothing. The only thing I achieved was more pain. The slavers branded her.”

  His gut churned at the hideous memory. Zara’s fingers had turned white in his grip. “Duke Heinrich disciplined me in front of my men for causing a disturbance in the market when my responsibility was to keep the peace.”

  She startled. “Heinrich of Bavaria was your commander?”

  “Ja. He’s probably been elected Holy Roman Emperor by now. Lothair handed over the regalia to him before he died during our retreat from Italy.”

  She shook her head. “Heinrich is dead.”

  He must have misheard. “What?”

  “It’s believed the Electors deemed him too proud to be emperor. The man they did elect, Conrad Staufen, stripped him of both his duchies. He was in the midst of fighting to get Bavaria back when he died unexpectedly.”

  Guilt surged. He wasn’t sorry a man he hated was dead. “He was known as Henry the Proud, but how do you know this?”

  “Venezia is the crossroads of the world. Not much happens we don’t hear news of.”

  Something she had said echoed. “Conrad Staufen is the Emperor?”

  “Yes.”

  Memories surfaced of his father’s diplomatic dealings with the Staufens. “I don’t know if my father is still alive,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “He may have died while I’ve been away, no doubt bitterly disappointed in me.”