The Black Knight’s Captive

by Markland, Anna

  The bodice had long sleeves and a pinkish-red cowl plunged from her shoulders to the high waistline. As she walked, she lifted the edge, revealing an underskirt of the same color and dainty shoes tied around the ankles. Around her neck she wore a stunning amber necklace, a betrothal gift from Dieter. A gold circlet trimmed with pink ribbons and a see-through veil adorned her flowing tresses.

  Blinking away tears, Caedmon closed his eyes as his thoughts drifted back to his own wedding in the fledgling abbey at Alnwick. Though not a wealthy man then, he had been just as consumed with love for Agneta as Dieter seemed to be for Blythe.

  The broadly-smiling count—now his son-by-marriage—wore a long-sleeved black tunic of fine wool, black leggings and black boots. White ribbon adorned the black hilt of his ceremonial sword, and a long white cloak, worn off the shoulders, fell almost to his feet. It struck Caedmon he had never seen Dieter in anything other than black raiment.

  Dressed in an outfit identical to his father’s, Johann fulfilled his role as Blythe’s page with great aplomb.

  Caedmon smiled broadly as he passed Blythe’s hand into Dieter’s. He would be able to report to Ragna that it was indeed a magnificent wedding. He relished teasing her mercilessly about missing it. Aidan would be the perfect ally.

  * * *

  Archbishop Frederick conducted the lengthy marriage rites. As he settled into the second quarter hour of his homily, Blythe’s mind wandered over what Dieter had told her about the cathedral in which she sat. Christian buildings had existed on the site since the fourth century. Her thoughts flew back to the coronation ceremony in Mainz. It seemed long ago and far away. How unhappy she had been then, homesick and in the thrall of loneliness and despair.

  The angelic voices of the choir soared into the vaulted ceiling, echoing the happiness and optimism swelling in her heart.

  Despite the pomp and magnificence, she longed for the nuptial ceremony to be over, the banquet to be done. They’d endured a fortnight of restraint that had stretched both Dieter’s and her patience. She wanted to get on with discovering the passions her mother had hinted at. She thirsted to see Dieter naked again. He had confided he dreamed every night of running his hands through her auburn hair while she lay beneath him, their bodies joined.

  She appreciated the red velvet chairs on which she and Dieter sat. Everyone else was obliged to stand. Aidan shifted his weight restlessly. He did not speak German, and was still cool towards Dieter. She understood it was difficult for him to accept his sister would be living far away. She, too, would miss her twin, but they’d always sensed what was in each other’s hearts even if great distances separated them.

  Her father didn’t miss his cue when asked to place the coins symbolic of her dowry on the prayer book. Caedmon endowed her with one of his Sussex estates and a substantial sum of money. Dieter presented her with an estate he owned in Saxony.

  It would soon be Yuletide and the cathedral was chilly. Incense hung in the air as if frozen in place. Her toes were freezing. Dieter noticed her shiver and tightened his grip on her hand, smiling his enigmatic smile. His warmth filled her with longing. Would anyone notice if she kissed his elegant fingers? She willed the cleric to cease speaking.

  At long last, the rites were completed and Archbishop Frederick led the recessional out of the cathedral. Blythe’s happiness grew when her grinning father shook Dieter’s hand before turning to embrace her. “Love him well,” he whispered.

  She nodded, blinking away tears.

  Dieter and Aidan lifted her by the forearms and carried her so her feet would not touch the slippery path. “I’m flying,” she quipped, pleased to see her brother smile.

  Anna draped a warm fur around her shoulders and Dieter shrugged into a wolfskin coat held out for him by Bernhardt. Laughing, they were bundled into a horse-drawn sleigh rendered necessary by an unusual December snowfall. Dieter tucked the blanket around her then kissed her deeply as the driver cajoled the horse into a trot and headed for home.

  “Ich liebe dich, Blythe,” he whispered, caressing the side of her face and gazing into her eyes. “I love you, my wife. You’re so beautiful.”

  The love and regard she saw in those blue depths humbled her. “I love you too, Schwarzer Ritter.”

  He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her closer. She relished the warmth of his solid chest when he tucked her cold hands inside his coat.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop shivering. “My toes are like ice.”

  “Not far now, liebling, and then I’ll warm your feet. In fact, I hope it won’t be long before I’m warming your whole tempting body.”

  She shivered again, but not from the cold.

  A Bedding

  When the sleigh driver reined to a halt, Blythe was thrilled to see throngs of cheering citizens assembled to greet the hero of Andernach. She and her new husband stood in the sleigh and kissed, to the delight of the crowd. Dieter waved, scooped her up and carried her over the threshold of his house.

  “Willkommen, Gräfin von Wolfenberg, welcome to your home, my Countess.”

  She kissed him and rubbed her cold nose against his, warmed by his playful laughter. He sat her on a chair, eased off her boots and knelt to rub her feet until she stopped shivering. She marveled his hands were comfortingly warm though he had been outside in the frigid air.

  Excited servants in brand new livery scurried here and there, looking important. When the guests arrived they were ushered into the dining room, and Dieter and Blythe took their places at the head table, accompanied by Caedmon, Aidan, Marius and Johann. Shy at first, the little boy had quickly responded to the loving attention Blythe had heaped on him. She was enjoying getting to know Dieter’s modest father who was clearly exceedingly proud of his son, and treated her like a queen.

  Indeed, she felt like royalty as the festivities commenced. Their guests were happy for them, and she almost burst into tears when her beloved father winked and smiled. He had been the rock of their family and she felt privileged to be the daughter of such a loving man. She had met many young women at King Henry’s court who barely knew their fathers.

  Her twin’s presence was a boon beyond measure. She caught him gazing at her thoughtfully several times and wondered what his true feelings were. She leaned in to whisper to him as the food was being served. “Aidan, you’ll always be the most important man in my life.”

  He smiled back, clasping her hand. “No, I won’t, but I don’t object to being the third most important, after Dieter and Father.”

  Caedmon rose to propose a toast. “It will be difficult to leave my daughter here, so far from home. However, I am confident she has married an honorable man who will protect and love her. Blythe has always been a credit to our family. You can be assured she will be a loving and faithful wife, who will provide Dieter with many healthy children.”

  He paused, cleared his throat, then repeated his words in surprisingly good German. The smiling guests responded with applause and shouts of “Prost!”

  Dieter’s father then proposed a toast, coming close to tears as he expressed his heartfelt joy at the happy future in store for his son and grandson.

  Dieter embraced him, and then proposed a toast of his own to his bride. “I’m the most fortunate of men. I am today the husband of the beautiful Blythe. My bride is a woman of incredible courage and fortitude. Though she’s not of our homeland, she has embraced our culture and our customs. I’m proud to call her my wife. Please drink to the long life and health of my bride, Blythe Lacey von Wolfenberg.”

  The toast was echoed loudly and tankards banged on tables. Blythe rose to respond. “Graf Dieter Von Wolfenberg is a man any woman would be proud to have as a husband. But he has given his life to me, and I’m humbled by his gift. I am doubly lucky that I have two new men in my life, Dieter and his handsome son, Johann.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “Meine damen und herren, drink to the long life of my husband, Count Dieter von Wolfenberg, the hero of Andernach.”

  Again
the toast was echoed and loudly cheered. Johann grinned, though he looked ready to fall asleep any second. His father tousled his hair and whispered in his ear. He came to Blythe and kissed her cheek. She hugged him, her heart full.

  Servants served plentiful vegetables, including cabbage, carrots, onions, beets and garlic. Kippers made from herring caught in the North Sea were a delicacy appreciated by the guests, and Blythe was secretly pleased her mother had long ago learned the secret Montbryce recipe for trout. As soon as the guests tasted the delicate flesh she saw their amazement. Praise ran high for the roasted swan and peafowl. Beer and wine flowed freely, and by the time the krapfen—fried pastries with sweet fillings—were served, everyone was well into their cups—everyone except Dieter and Blythe whose intoxication came from heated glances exchanged between them. Johann fell asleep and was taken to his chamber by his nursemaid.

  Dieter squeezed Blythe’s hand and leaned close. “I fear the archbishop is so far gone he may pass out before he has blessed our marriage bed. Let’s adjourn to our chamber.”

  He rose and announced to the guests, “My bride and I will await you in our matrimonial chamber.”

  Cheers and guffaws broke out.

  When they reached their chamber, Dieter gave her a conspiratorial wink and urged her into bed fully clothed. She hesitated. “Wait! Let me take off your cloak.”

  She raised her shaking hands to the ornate clasps holding his white cloak in place and unhooked them. The cloak fell to the floor and pooled at his feet. He put his hands on her waist and growled, “I suggest we lock the door and dispense with the blessing.”

  To her surprise an echoing growl emerged from her throat as he brushed his lips over hers, lifted her on to the bed, and tucked the bed linens up to her neck. He climbed in beside her after pulling off his boots and tossing them against the wall.

  Five minutes later, their giggles were interrupted by the solemn entrance of the tipsy archbishop, leaning heavily on his crosier, his mitre askew on his bald head. A crowd of well-wishers gathered behind him as he intoned God’s blessings on the marriage bed.

  They struggled to be serious, holding hands beneath the covers, and finally burst out laughing when the last of the group left. The wistful expressions on the faces of her father and brother sobered Blythe a little.

  The newlyweds flung the bed linens aside and stood facing each other, hand in hand, breathless, still fully clothed.

  “What do you think of my chamber?” he asked. “Anna insisted on making it more welcoming for a female.”

  Feeling a little guilty she’d had other things on her mind, she gazed about. “I must thank her. To be honest, I’m more interested in taking off all your clothes. I want to see my Black Knight naked. I’ve dreamt of it for so long.”

  Grinning broadly, he undid the topmost fastening of his tunic then held out his arms in a gesture of submission. “Music to my ears,” he said.

  She grasped the hem of his tunic and slowly, tantalizingly, raised it over his head as he held his arms in the air. She tossed the garment aside then smoothed her hands lovingly over his shoulders and arms.

  “Raise your arms again,” she commanded. He obliged and she traced her fingertips through the black hair under his arms. “Silky,” she whispered as a bolt of longing shot through her.

  His eyes never left her face.

  He wants to see my reaction to his body.

  She laid her cheek against the black curls on his broad chest, gasping at their softness. Her fingertips caressed the chiseled muscles, her thumbs grazed his nipples. He shuddered and she paused to gaze into his smoldering eyes as he stood with legs braced.

  She lowered her eyes to his manhood straining against the wool of his leggings. This loving man’s most private part would soon be revealed to her once more. She had longed for it since the stolen glimpse at the lake, but she hesitated, a little afraid.

  She untied the bindings of his leggings, hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly peeled the garment from his body. Her hair brushed against his swollen phallus. He growled deep in his throat and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. She helped him free one foot then the other from the leggings. His toes were long, the nails beautifully manicured. Her breasts swelled, the linen of her chemise chafing the hardened nipples.

  “Blythe,” he whispered.

  His seductive voice struck a chord of longing deep within. She rose and looked upon his nakedness. “You’re a golden god,” she whispered, awed by the sheer size of him as he stood before her proudly, his eyes burning into hers. She frowned when she noticed something she hadn’t seen in the twilight by the lake—a thin, white scar that ran from navel to groin. The blade had come dangerously close to his impressive manhood.

  He held out his hands. “Do you like what you see?”

  Scarcely able to breathe, she traced the length of his erection with one fingertip, wanting to remember the moment forever. “Dieter, you’re magnificent. It’s been worth the wait.” She touched the faint scar. “This isn’t where the emperor’s assassin wounded you.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Nein, that is a memento from Fredericka.”

  Bile rose in Blythe’s throat. “She did this to you?”

  “She was determined to unman me.”

  Blythe did the only thing she could think of to ease the pain a madwoman had inflicted upon him. She licked Fredericka’s mark, trying to erase it from his body. “Make love to me, Dieter. Make me a woman.”

  He took her hand and placed it firmly on his shaft. “You’re already a woman, Blythe. This night, I’ll make you my woman.”

  His elegant hands disrobed her quickly and the blue and cerise silk lay in a puddle at her feet. The heat of his gaze stoked the fires raging in her body.

  “Touch me again, Blythe, put your hands on me.”

  “Your skin is soft, Dieter,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the thick length. “You’re so—large—and full.”

  “Move on me,” he whispered, breathing hard and grazing his chin against her face. “You know what’s going to happen soon, liebling? You know we’ll join our bodies?”

  “Yes, Dieter, I know. My mother prepared me for this night. It’s just that, er…I didn’t realize a man’s…”

  He put a forefinger on her lips. “Hush, sweetheart. I’ll ready you. It might be painful the first time, but you’re a passionate woman, you’ll triumph over the discomfort and carry us both to ecstasy.”

  He lifted her onto the big feather bed.

  Her body was on fire. She responded to the urge for this man to possess her, her legs falling open when his mouth found her nipples and suckled. His lazy fingers trailed down her belly, finally finding the private place that longed for his touch. Spasm after spasm of pure delight tore through her as he caressed her most intimate folds. She fell under his spell, murmuring his name over and over.

  “Blythe, my Blythe,” he whispered, “I’ve longed to make you mine. I need to come inside you now. Are you ready to welcome me?”

  “Now, Dieter, now, now, now.”

  He knelt between her legs, nudged them further apart and guided his manhood into her opening.

  “Look into my eyes, Blythe,” he commanded as he thrust home.

  She could not tear her gaze away from his as the pain came and went, but the urge went on—and on—and on, until finally she soared on clouds of bliss.

  He cried out his euphoria as waves of pleasure swept over them.

  Blythe sent a silent prayer of thanks to her mother, who had been right all along.

  * * *

  Dieter watched his wife sleep. He had never ached so unbearably for a woman. It had been difficult enough concealing his rock-hard erections when he thought Blythe would never care for him. Now, he seemed to have no control at all over his rute.

  Blythe’s sensuous innocence sent his senses reeling every time he looked at her. The desire in her eyes had promised, and delivered, a physical joining that exceeded all exp
ectations, and his expectations had been high. He was a man of action, a warrior who was proud of his body. Women were attracted to him, and he enjoyed their company, but Fredericka had stolen any desire to remarry. The realization he had found a deep love made him giddy.

  Yet, when he’d stood under Blythe’s burning gaze in their marriage chamber, he felt unexpectedly unsure. Despite her passionate nature, she was an innocent. Would his size frighten her? Would he please her?

  Subjecting himself to her slow undressing was a torture that inflamed him more, the scent of her female arousal filling his nostrils. It was her right to know about the scar. He shuddered at the memory of how close a raving Fredericka had come to unmanning him. But Blythe’s reaction had been to lick him. He had almost lost control, dragged her to the bed, fallen atop her and plunged into her depths like a wild thing.

  The whisper of the silk gown sliding off her body fanned the flames burning in his loins. He had dreamed of her breasts, of her body, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of her lovely nudity.

  He recalled his anger over the botched kidnapping, realizing now God had smiled on him that day. A remarkable woman had come into his life, a woman who ran her fingertips over his body, over his maleness, savoring her exploration. What a contradiction she was—naive, yet knowing. Her mother had prepared her for their union and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the mother-by-marriage he had never met. Sir Caedmon was a fortunate man. Dieter’s bride had not been fearful. The gleam in her eyes had betrayed her joyful anticipation. How many new brides insisted on undressing their husbands first? He had never basked in the glow of such admiration.

  He rejoiced at the memory of the warm wetness of her intimate folds on his fingers. The ecstasy on her face when she released humbled him. She was tight as he slid into her, but as their gazes locked he watched passion triumph over pain, her contractions pulsating on him as she climaxed again. When his seed erupted inside her, the breath rushed from his lungs. He hoped Blythe’s father had not heard his guttural cry of euphoria.