“Tastes good,” he said. “You can relax. I won’t bite.”
Mama says biting can be very arousing.
She shook her head, afraid her mouth and her heart might get the better of her wits. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be here.”
He lay his head back against the pillows and inhaled deeply. “I want you to stay, Sophia. You make me feel better. Your reputation is safe. Drogo is here.”
She laughed out loud. “I’m not worried about my reputation,” she admitted, putting another spoonful to his lips. “It’s hardly likely you’ll make advances in your condition.”
Her mouth had triumphed and her face was likely as red as the gown she’d worn at the wedding. “I mean, not that you’d want to.”
He put a hand on her knee, reminding her of their closeness at the waterfall. “I understood what you meant.”
She studied the elegant fingers as his heat flowed up her thigh and thence into her womb. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes locked with his.
“And I do want to,” he rasped.
~~~
Wendelin reappeared abruptly with a large bowl full of steaming compresses. She cocked her head in the direction of the hallway. “It’s all quiet now. Graf Dieter has given your naughty brothers strict instructions they’re not to bother the newlyweds.”
Her cheeks rosy red, Sophia rose from the edge of the bed. Brandt instantly missed the warmth of her knee beneath his hand, but the die had been cast, the enchantment woven in the moments they’d stared into each other’s eyes. “You should go,” he whispered. “I’m not a pretty sight swathed in hot green compresses.”
“Knitbone,” Wendelin explained when Sophia frowned. “The tea will help him sleep this night, and you can see him on the morrow.”
“And mayhap I can get up then,” he tried.
The healer wagged her finger. “Nein. At least a sennight abed.”
Sophia smiled. “Wendelin is right. Your body needs time to heal.” She fluttered her eyelashes, warming his heart with the innocence of her unpractised flirtation. “I’ll come every day to help you pass the time,” she said.
He beckoned her closer so he could whisper, “Wear your hair down next time.”
She rolled her eyes up at the once elegant coiffure, blew a wayward strand off her face, smiled wryly and took her leave.
Wendelin pulled the sheet from his chest. “Gut!” she declared. “Bruises aren’t as red.”
He closed his eyes as she set about placing the compresses on his body. The heat was soothing, but a maelstrom whirled in his mind. He had to devise a plan to make Sophia his, but the obstacles seemed insurmountable. A question arose. He blinked open his eyes. “Is Fräulein von Wolfenberg promised in marriage?”
Wendelin eyed him like a tutor eyes an impertinent child. “Nein,” she croaked. “Her parents have allowed her to chose her husband. Not a good idea in my opinion. She should be wed by now.”
Brandt drifted off to sleep smiling inwardly. One less impediment. He was confident Sophia would choose him.
DIFFICULT INTERVIEWS
No one expressed surprised that Johann and Kristina didn’t appear when the family gathered the next morning in the small private dining room.
Sophia wished she’d been able to stay abed. She’d tossed and turned all night, drowning in the depths of Brandt’s blue eyes, practising different ways to break the news about her feelings for the Franken envoy.
Lute looked pale and out of sorts, Kon not much better. Both stared at the smoked ham and fresh bread set before them, but neither spoke. They weren’t used to imbibing copious amounts of ale and wine and were probably suffering the consequences of the previous evening’s over indulgence.
Her parents also looked tired, but happy, exactly as she’d expected. However, perhaps this wasn’t the best time to…
“I understand you helped Wendelin with our injured guest yestereve,” her father said.
She poked at the ham, reluctant to meet his gaze. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d thought. Last night the future seemed to fall in place, now Brandt’s status as the representative of her family’s enemy loomed large. She decided to put on a brave face. “Ja. He is making good progress. We gave him tea and fed him mashed vegetables.”
Lute made a strange choking sound. “May I be excused?” he rasped, fleeing the table before permission was granted.
Kon shifted his weight on the bench, his eating dagger poised in mid-air.
“Do you need to be excused also, Konrad?” their father asked with a smile.
Everyone knew Kon hated to be addressed by his full given name. He nodded, dropped the knife and fled.
Her mother pushed away from the table. “I should go after them.”
“They’ll be fine,” her husband assured her. “It’s a rite of passage. Every young man needs to experience the after-effects of drinking to excess.”
She regained her seat. “You’re right.” Then she looked at Sophia. “What about you, daughter? Any after-effects from last night?”
She knows.
Pointless to lie. Her mother knew her too well. She laid aside her eating dagger and clamped both hands on her knees. “I have made my choice,” she said softly.
Her parents stopped eating and pushed aside their trenchers, but said nothing.
She gathered her courage. “You’ve both assured me I would know when the right man came into my life.”
Her father took hold of his wife’s hand. “How do you know Brandt Rödermark is the right man?”
She might have known they’d be aware of her infatuation. “I can’t stop thinking about him,” she murmured, determined not to avoid their gaze. She had an urge to sing out My love, we’re like that vine and tree; I’ll die without you, you without me, but thought better of it. “When I’m with him, I feel…”
She hesitated. She’d never discussed sexual matters with her father present. How to explain the ache of longing in private places?
“You feel drawn to him,” her mother said.
There was no censure in the words and she was grateful, and emboldened. “I think I am in love with him,” she said.
Her father leaned forward, both forearms on the table. “You only think?”
Here was the point of no return. “I do love him,” she declared, rendered almost giddy by the realization it was true.
“Does he feel the same?” her mother asked softly.
She recalled the longing in deep blue eyes, the hoarse admission he wanted her. “He does.”
“Is he free to marry?”
Sophia suddenly felt like she too had over-imbibed. Her parents had expressed no concerns over Brandt’s allegiance to the Staufens, but it struck her like a bolt of lightning she knew nothing about the man she’d fallen in love with. Surely he wouldn’t have made advances if he were promised to another. She averted her gaze from her father’s probing eyes. “I didn’t ask him,” she admitted.
~~~
Brandt hadn’t slept well, awakened from time to time by the dull ache in his broken bones. However, it was an improvement over the previous night. His preoccupation with Sophia had also prayed on his mind. His cock had taken control of his wits and he’d led her to believe there might be a future for them.
He supposed he shouldn’t be too worried. It was unlikely the graf would allow his daughter to wed a Franken, but the thought of never seeing Sophia again left him empty. The prospect of life without a woman he barely knew loomed like an endless desert. He’d felt more alive in the brief time spent with her than ever before. It was madness, folly, and she’d be devastated when he told her about Dorothea.
The house was strangely quiet after the festivities of the night before. He ate some excellent smoked ham brought by a servant, pleased his appetite seemed to be returning. Drogo helped him to the garderobe. The excursion exhausted him and incurred Wendelin’s wrath when she arrived as he was trying to get back into bed. She packed the you
ng squire off in search of Vidar, administered another dose of tincture, muttered dire warnings all the way through an application of hot compresses, then left in a huff.
Her ire was mildly amusing and he hoped he’d be as feisty in old age. His father could learn a thing or two from Wendelin.
As time dragged by, he longed for Sophia to appear, yet dreaded what he had to tell her.
His hopes rose when the door opened, but fell again when a stern-faced Graf Dieter entered.
He was glad Wendelin had propped him up on the pillows. Lying flat on his back would have put him at a disadvantage and he doubted he’d have been able to raise himself up. He wasn’t sure what had put his normally jovial host out of sorts but deemed it better to begin the conversation. “My lord von Wolfenberg, I humbly thank you for the care I’ve received in your house. I’m an inconvenience in the middle of a wedding.”
Graf Dieter folded his arms. “You were attacked on my lands. I failed in my duty to protect a guest and I apologise. You are not an inconvenience.”
Yet something was bothering him.
“I should have been more careful, listened to Vidar. He warned me not to come to the house without an escort.”
His host unfolded his arms and walked to the end of the bed, his eyes on Brandt all the while. “It pains me to think a man cannot walk from the river to my home without being beaten.”
Brandt got the feeling Sophia’s father was taking the measure of him, seeing how he would react. Had she told her parents about last night?
“Resentments run deep after the war,” he replied. “The men who ambushed me evidently thought they had good reason.”
Von Wolfenberg shook his head. “Or they were drunk.”
Brandt smiled. “That too.”
For the first time a trace of amusement tugged at the corners of the Graf’s mouth. “Duke Heinrich’s men?”
Brandt nodded, reluctant to mention the dagger. “Three, mayhap four. I’m not sure.”
“They are long gone, as you know, but the duke will hear of what happened. Bullies are often braggarts and sooner or later we will find the culprits.”
Much as Brandt thirsted to retaliate, what little strength he had was dwindling.
“I’m tiring you,” von Wolfenberg said. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
An urge to blurt out his feelings rose in Brandt’s heart, but what to say? I love your daughter but have a duty to another? He’d be lucky to leave Saxony alive.
An alarm sounded in the recesses of his weary brain. There was something his visitor wasn’t saying.
“By the way,” Graf Dieter said, pausing at the door, “Sophia is checking on Mut, and probably your horse.”
“Löwe?”
“Ja! Did she tell you I once had a rottweiler by that name? Heart of a lion.”
The graf evidently knew Sophia had visited him. No point denying it. “I don’t think she did.”
“Last rottweiler I owned. We breed only hovawarts now, and Armond and Amara are the only two we keep around the house. One saved my life, long ago. They’re not good watchdogs, but a hovawart will give its life in defence of its master. Much like a father will do everything in his power to protect his daughter.”
~~~
On her way to the stables, Sophia glanced across the meadow where scant hours ago dozens of pennants flapped in the breeze atop pavilions. Most had been dismantled or were in the process of being taken down and packed away ready for departure.
She shaded her eyes against the early morning sun, already bright in the summer sky, searching for Duke Conrad’s standard. Her breath caught in her throat when she espied it near the river and realized Brandt’s men were taking down their smaller tents and loosening the guy ropes of the pavilion. Did they intend to leave without their master?
Or perhaps he regretted what had passed between them and decided to flee. Mayhap she’d imagined he had feelings for her.
She hesitated. Hastening unaccompanied across the field would draw unwanted attention from the soldiers and servants striking camp, and she desperately wanted to see Mut.
The decision became clearer when she caught sight of Vidar rounding up a string of horses, her own palfrey among them. She lifted her skirts, thrust her nose in the air and strode off towards him. These were her father’s lands after all, as far as the eye could see, and beyond.
She was hot and bothered by the time she came face to face with him, relieved he’d shortened the distance by walking towards her leading the dozen or so horses.
He bowed. “Guten Tag, Fräulein von Wolfenberg,” he said politely, “Mut is glad to see you.”
Her worries about Brandt leaving seeped away as she kissed her palfrey’s nose, then examined his leg. “He looks better,” she said. “Thank you.”
“He is much improved. I brought him to our camp,” Vidar explained. “Forgive me, but your ostler…”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “I know.”
“Mut and my master’s horse get along,” he remarked, smoothing a hand over Löwe’s neck. “Two courageous steeds.”
She wondered if her feelings for his master were written on her face. Was he trying to tell her something? “You’re departing?” she asked with what she hoped was a nonchalant gesture towards their camp.
“Nein,” he replied. “I deemed it wise to move closer to the house. Drogo and I will be better able to serve our lord, and we can stable our mounts now most of your guests have left.”
She perceived from his manner of speech and forthright nature that he was well-spoken, confident and intelligent. She suspected he could tell her a great deal about his master. Anxious though she was to learn more, this man was a servant nonetheless and most likely a loyal one. That he’d been trusted to accompany Brandt on this risky expedition spoke of his standing in the Rödermark household.
Vidar seemed to sense her hesitation. “May I visit my master this morning?”
She didn’t know what to make of the curious look in his eyes. It was as though he felt sorry for her. “I am certain he will be glad to see you,” she replied. “I haven’t seen him myself yet.”
“I will wait until after your visit, then,” he said. “Will you do me the honor of walking to the stables with me?”
She took Mut’s reins and led the way, trying to dispel the nagging suspicion he knew something she didn’t.
They reached the stables at the same time as her frowning father. Her heart sank when he drew her aside and said, “Walk with me to the house.”
Before they entered, he turned to her. “I have spoken with Brandt Rödermark.”
Her belly churned, though his voice held no censure.
“It’s my impression he is a good man.”
She couldn’t begin to imagine the conversation, but her spirits lifted.
“However, I think there is something he has not told you.”
INEVITABLE TRUTH
Brandt saw the uncertainty on Sophia’s face as she stood nervously at the foot of the bed, and he knew. “You’ve spoken with your father.”
She nodded, picking at the linen with one finger, avoiding his gaze. “He thinks there is something you should tell me.”
He inhaled deeply. “He’s a perceptive man.”
She looked up then, anger flashing in the green eyes. “So you lied,” she spat, her lip trembling. “You don’t care for me.”
He leaned forward and held out a hand, the pain in his ribs nothing compared to the ache in his heart. “Don’t be angry with me, Sophia. Come, sit by my side.”
Pouting, she obeyed.
Still holding her hand, he intended to embark on the speech he’d rehearsed over and over. However, certain things had to be made clear first. “Look me in the eye.”
She lifted her indignant gaze.
“I am not a liar,” he said softly.
She frowned slightly.
“You can believe me when I tell you that if I wasn’t injured, you’d be lying beneath me in this bed, naked.”
He studied her reddening face. Did she know what he meant? He decided to risk it. “And we’d be making sweet love.”
She pressed her lips together and tried to pull her hand from his, but he held on. “If I could pledge myself to you at this moment, Sophia von Wolfenberg, I would have no hesitation. You are the woman I want.”
He watched her struggle to understand what he had said. Soon her eyes widened, and filled with tears. “But you are betrothed to another,” she murmured.
He clenched his jaw. “Nein. However, there is a woman named Dorothea from Frankfurt. Our parents made an arrangement when we were children. We were supposed to sign the betrothal documents a few days ago, but Duke Conrad despatched me here.”
“Dorothea,” she whispered.
“Dorothea Rittenhuis,” he replied, praying she would understand.
She lay her free hand atop their joined ones. “Do you love her?”
He let out a long slow breath. “She isn’t what I would call lovable. She’s probably haranguing my father and the duke about the postponement.”
“She loves you if she wants so badly to be your wife.”
“Dorothea is in love with the idea of being gräfin.”
Sophia stared at their hands. “Perhaps she’ll be good at it.”
He snorted, then immediately wished he hadn’t when his ribs protested. “You will make a better countess, Sophia,” he rasped.
“Gräfin Rödermark?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye that caused a stir in his loins. But then he sobered. It was cruel to give her false hope. “There are other obstacles,” he reminded her. “Our families are on opposing sides in a conflict between powerful men. I am heir to my father’s title, an obligation I cannot abandon.”
She let go of his hand. “It’s your birthright. I would never expect you to turn your back on it.”
Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) Page 9