Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1)

by Anna Markland

  “We’ll be able to entertain outside in the pavilion this evening,” her mother remarked.

  Sophia glanced up sharply. The emperor and dukes hadn’t dined together since negotiations began. “What makes you think…?”

  Her mother nodded to the window. “Take a look.”

  In the distance, Duke Heinrich was heading for the river amid an eerie mist rising from the field as the sun dried up the mud. His son rode on his shoulders. She crumpled the square of Egyptian cotton in her hand. “Why isn’t he…?”

  She swallowed her words when Brandt hurried by outside. He brandished a rolled parchment at her. And smiled.

  Together tree and vine will last.

  “He’s smiling,” she murmured, afraid to fan to life the spark of hope in her breast. She turned quickly. “How did you know? Did Papa say something?”

  “Your father was confident from the beginning that an agreement would be reached.”

  It occurred to her then how little she knew of Dieter von Wolfenberg’s role in the complicated and sometimes dangerous world of political manoeuvring among the duchies. She hadn’t told him often enough how much she admired him. Then a worrying notion nagged. “Did Brandt know the dukes would eventually agree?”

  “Nein. Your father wanted to see how he fared in the role of diplomat. He’s very pleased with your husband-to-be.”

  Sophia wanted to take wing like a bird freed from its cage. “I must go to him.”

  “Not yet. He and your father still have work to do.” She pointed back to the field. “See, they’re off to the emperor’s pavilion. The self-congratulatory celebration there will go on well into the afternoon, then they’ll invite the Staufens to join them. I’ll be surprised if any of them are still able to stand by the time dinner is served.”

  Tears trickled down her cheek as she watched her father make his jaunty way across the field, one hand on Brandt’s shoulder. Armond loped along beside his master. Amara flanked Brandt.

  HERCULES AND APHRODITE

  Three sennights later

  Sophia’s father proffered his arm. “Well, daughter, the afternoon sun has decided to come out after the morning’s brief shower.”

  She accepted and squeezed his arm, grateful for the presence of two loving parents on her wedding day. “Rain is a good omen, but I’m glad it has stopped.”

  Kristina fussed with the ermine trim around the neckline of Sophia’s red dress. “After all, a bride doesn’t want to arrive at the church with muddy shoes.”

  “Ready?” her father asked.

  She nodded. “Thank you, Papa, for everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. “I’m only sorry your wedding isn’t taking place in the cathedral.”

  They exited the front door of the manor house where she’d lived all her life. Wendelin stood with a few of the household servants. “God bless you, Fräulein Sophia,” the healer croaked, bobbing a curtsey.

  Sophia offered the little leather purse she’d prepared for this occasion. “Nothing I can give you will ever repay what you have done for me, Wendelin.”

  “It was foretold he would recover,” the old crone insisted, shaking her head. “I was just the instrument.”

  “Nevertheless, please accept this small token.”

  Wendelin took the purse and tucked it into her shawl. Sophia was confident the funds would sustain the old woman for years to come.

  She was about to resume her walk when Wendelin whispered. “Did you dream last night?”

  She stopped abruptly. She’d expected to dream of weddings, of bearing children. Instead…But Wendelin would know if she lied. “I dreamt of lying in clover.”

  The old woman laughed gleefully. “A good sign. Clover means a happy and prosperous marriage.”

  Heartened, she turned back to her father, trying to recall what they had been speaking of. “I prefer the village church with just my family in attendance. Your wedding was wonderful, Kristina, but Brandt was understandably reluctant to undertake that journey again.”

  Her father chuckled as they set off. “And when I think of how close to death he was in Naumburger Dom, no wonder he’d rather not set foot in the place again.”

  A shiver stole over her nape. She’d nearly lost the one man essential to her happiness. Best not to think on it. “This setting will be more intimate.”

  “And in any case the emperor and the Staufens have sent lavish gifts, even though they aren’t attending,” Kristina said gleefully.

  Sophia exchanged a knowing glance with her father, but neither mentioned the lack of a gift from Duke Heinrich.

  She paused and looked at her sister-by-marriage. “Your friendship is the most important gift, Kristina.”

  Her friend blushed. “We’ll always be friends, Sophia.”

  Her father patted her arm as they resumed their steady progress. “Now try to be patient with Father Gebbert.”

  She rolled her eyes. The old priest had been adamant the wedding couldn’t proceed without the consent of Graf Gunther Rödermark, but her father’s persistence had eventually paid off and he’d capitulated.

  They turned a corner and the little stone church came into view. A large crowd of villagers gathered near the entryway cheered when they saw her, warming her heart.

  Brandt stood at the door, resplendent in a blue tunic. Vidar was at his side, her brothers behind him, Johann arm in arm with her smiling mother.

  She was at peace, confident she’d made the right choice. The path of her life had led to this moment. “He completes me,” she whispered to her father.

  He squeezed her hand as he passed it into Brandt’s. “Be happy,” he rasped, stepping back to stand with his wife.

  The man she craved stared at her with a love so intense she feared she might melt. His need of her was balm to her soul. He was a man who could have any woman of his choosing, yet he’d chosen her. The warmth of his skin chased away the slight autumn chill in the air.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered. “Thank you for wearing the red gown.”

  She was about to reply when Father Gebbert cleared his throat. He eyed her up and down, evidently not as pleased with the gown as Brandt. Recalling her father’s advice, she smiled sweetly.

  “Are you both of age?” the cleric asked.

  His question took her unawares. Surely her father had solved this problem.

  “I am of age and Sophia’s father is here to give his consent,” Brandt replied.

  “Therefore there is parental consent?”

  Her heart skittered.

  “Ja,” Brandt replied decisively.

  The priest apparently decided not to challenge him and she relaxed.

  “Are you related in any way that would prevent you from wedding in accordance with God’s holy law, that is to say, do you have a common great, great grandparent?”

  The question was so absurd she was tempted to laugh out loud, but she supposed the cleric was simply following the rules. She murmured, “Nein.”

  Brandt’s response was the same.

  The cleric took a silver salver from the lad standing at his elbow and thrust it at Brandt. “Dowry?”

  Vidar passed a small purse to Brandt who placed it on the salver.

  “By dowering your betrothed you are confirming your willingness to give her financial management of your affairs,” the priest explained.

  “I so confirm,” Brandt replied.

  Aware of the substantial amount of money her parents had provided for the dowry, Sophia risked a naughty grin at her beloved as she took the purse from the salver and passed it to Kristina.

  “You have the wreaths?”

  Vidar stepped forward, a laurel circlet held firmly in both hands.

  Kristina gave the one she held a little shake.

  “Gut!” the old priest declared, finally smiling. “We can proceed.”

  He put a hand on each of their shoulders and shuffled them closer together. “As it should be,” he pronounced. “The groom
on the right, the bride on the left facing the doors, since Eve was formed from Adam’s left rib.” Apparently satisfied he made the sign of the savior in the air, raised his arms and began the Latin rite.

  Grateful as she was for the sun, Sophia began to feel overheated. Perhaps refurbishing the red dress with ermine trim hadn’t been a good idea, and Brandt had requested she not pin up her hair. It felt like a heavy cloak.

  When the time came for them to profess their vows, Brandt placed the wreath on her head. Following the priest’s lead he pledged himself to her. “Sophia Agneta von Wolfenberg, I take you to be my wife and I espouse you. I commit to you the fidelity and loyalty of my body and my possessions. I will keep you in health and sickness and in any condition it please our Lord that you should have, nor for worse or for better will I change towards you until the end.”

  Smiling broadly, Kristina passed the other wreath into her trembling hands. Her heart was beating too fast as Brandt bent his head. She placed the garland, itching to sift her fingers through the glossy curls. He straightened and she had difficulty swallowing when it flitted through her mind that she was marrying Hercules. This daunting notion was followed by a wicked thought that she couldn’t wait to see him naked. She gaped then realized the scowling priest was waiting for her to repeat her vows.

  She stammered her way through, buoyed by the strength in Brandt’s firm hand and the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  She may have heard her father chuckle behind her.

  When Father Gebbert pronounced them man and wife she closed her eyes and sent a fervent prayer heavenward for his safe return from Italy.

  Then Brandt kissed her, gently, respectfully. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth.

  He put his arm around her waist and escorted her into the church for the mass. The familiar heady perfume of incense stole up her nostrils.

  “It’s incredible,” Brandt whispered. “You still smell of honeysuckle.”

  She smiled inwardly. One day she’d have to let him in on the secret of Wendelin’s concoction of distilled honeysuckle oil.

  ~~~

  The ring of booted feet on stone, the clouds of incense, the chanted Latin rite of the mass, the canopy under which he and Sophia stood, all reminded Brandt of weddings in the village church in Rödermark. He wasn’t sure the villagers at home would have turned out in such happy numbers for his wedding, but Sophia would change those fortunes once she became gräfin.

  He turned to look at his new bride through half closed eyes, remembering his vision of the red angel. Sophia had indeed turned out to be a gift from God. The laurel wreath had replaced the golden crown. Instead of an angelic apparition she looked like Aphrodite, but he was confident that, unlike the Greek goddess, Sophia would be faithful to her Hephaestus.

  To most people Brandt probably looked like a handsome fellow garbed in the blue of purity, but Sophia knew the depth of the ugly hurts inside and loved him anyway. Wendelin may have healed his body, but Sophia had brought him back to life, redeemed his soul.

  Management of the Rödermark lands had loomed like a giant rock on which his ship might founder, but now he looked forward to restoring its prosperity with his wife’s help.

  However, first he had to survive the Italian campaign. As the priest placed the wafer on his tongue he prayed for a safe return of all those Sophia loved and swore to do his utmost to protect her brothers. They were his brothers now.

  Later, as Father Gebbert settled into the second quarter hour of his homily, his mind drifted to the night that lay ahead. His arousal stirred as he wondered what delights Sophia had in store for him. Then he chided himself for his inappropriate thoughts and sent another prayer heavenwards that Hephaestus would prove equal to Aphrodite’s appetites.

  BEDDING

  The church was too small to accommodate all the villagers. Those crowding around the entryway raised a hearty cheer when Brandt and Sophia emerged. A smiling peasant woman thrust a wailing baby into Sophia’s arms. Brandt frowned, but she reassured him. “It’s a local custom. They are making sure I’ll be fertile,” she told him, relieved nevertheless when the baby fixed his gaze on Brandt and quieted. “You evidently have a way with infants,” she said, handing the child back to his mother.

  Her husband preened, filling her heart with joy.

  Johann, Lute and Kon welcomed him to the family, slapping him on the back, rather too heartily she feared, but he took their teasing in good part.

  Her mother chided their over exuberance then gave her new son-by-marriage a kiss on each cheek. “I trust you’ll take care of my little girl,” she warned menacingly.

  Brandt returned her embrace. “Thanks to you,” he said, “I look forward to many happy years with my beautiful bride.”

  She eyed her daughter curiously, but Sophia didn’t want to reveal she’d told Brandt of their “secret” discussions.

  Her father shook Brandt’s hand then embraced her. “Be a good wife to your new husband,” he quipped.

  “I intend to,” she replied with a naughty wink.

  Following Lute’s direction, some of the local folk struck up shawms and tambours and the procession back to the house began.

  The servants greeted them with bows and curtseys and gleefully showered them with coriander seeds.

  For Sophia it was bittersweet reminder that she would eventually have to leave this beloved place to start a new life with Brandt in Rödermark, but she resolved not to dwell on the notion. Today was the happiest day of her life and she would allow no dark thoughts to intrude.

  “You’ll miss this house,” he whispered as they made their way inside.

  “I will,” she agreed, thankful for his understanding.

  “Now,” her father declared, “your mother has arranged for us to to partake of a tumbler of your uncle Aidan’s mead in my solar.”

  “It’s a special treat,” she explained to Brandt. “My uncle lives in Northumbria in the house where mother grew up and he produces the finest mead from his own hives.”

  “We toast newlyweds with mead in Franconia,” he replied, “but not a vintage that’s come all the way from the north of England.”

  Servants waited with trays full of tumblers. Brandt took two and gave one to her, then everyone else claimed theirs as they entered.

  Her father raised his tumbler. “To my beautiful daughter, Sophia Agneta Rödermark, future gräfin, and her husband, our new son-by-marriage, Brandt. Welcome to the family. Prost!”

  The toast echoed around the room and tumblers were quickly drained.

  “Köstlich,” Brandt crooned, licking his lips. “Very smooth indeed.”

  Lute grabbed another tumbler. “Replenish, everyone,” he urged. “I want to toast my sister.”

  She elbowed Brandt. “Oh, oh.”

  Her brother winked at her. “Before I do that, I must warn your husband. Sophia has grown up with three older brothers whom she has taunted mercilessly.”

  “Nein!” she replied. “The other way around. Except for Johann, who never teased me.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Lute feigned seriousness. “Truth be told, we have spoiled her.”

  Brandt laughed out loud. “Then I look forward to continuing the spoiling, and to being the recipient of her teasing.”

  “Well said,” her father exclaimed, but she was lost in the depths of her husband’s seductive blue eyes.

  Johann cleared his throat, looking askance at Lute who’d already drunk his mead. “As the eldest brother, it is my pleasant duty to wish health, wealth and happiness to Sophia and Brandt, and that they be blessed with many healthy children.”

  “Thank you,” Sophia replied. “I am fortunate to have three wonderful brothers, and I admit they’ve spoiled me.”

  “Right,” her father said, replacing his tumbler on the tray. “Your Mama indicates all is ready in the dining room if the bride and groom will lead the way.”

  As they processed out, Sophia was relieved to see
her mother dissuade Lute from helping himself to another tumbler of mead.

  Kon sidled up beside her and kissed her cheek. “I didn’t make a toast, but you know I wish you happiness, dear sister. I’m determined not to over imbibe this evening.”

  She smiled. At least one of her siblings had learned his lesson when it came to consuming intoxicating liquids.

  ~~~

  “I fear our priest is falling asleep,” Sophia’s mother told Brandt several hours later. “He wishes to bless your marriage bed before he leaves.”

  It was the perfect excuse to whisk his bride off to their chamber, but he realized to his regret it was too early to leave the gathering. The sweet had yet to be served and he didn’t want to appear over anxious.

  “Here’s an idea,” Lute offered. “You get under the coverlet. Father blesses the bed then leaves and you rejoin the party. He’ll never know you’re still clothed.”

  Sophia grasped Brandt’s arm. “It’s a surprisingly good idea. Let’s do it.”

  The glint in her eyes added fuel to the fire already raging in his loins. He rose. Conversation ceased as faces turned to him. “Father Gebbert, can I ask you to accompany my bride and me to our chamber so you can bless our marriage bed?”

  The old priest nodded and Graf Dieter helped him to his feet. Lute and Kon each took an arm and had to almost carry the cleric.

  He and Sophia hurried ahead, climbed into bed fully clothed and quickly covered themselves. “I might not be able to refrain from laughing,” she admitted, her face flushed in the soft candlelight.

  It was the first time Brandt had entered the chamber where his bride had slept since childhood. The subterfuge had rendered him somewhat giddy as well, but it was the chamber that wrapped him in a cocoon of welcome. Everything about it sang Sophia: the tapestries depicting happy scenes, the simple furnishings, the hint of honeysuckle in the air.