She smoothed a hand over her stomach. “You think they noticed?”
“I guarantee it is already the talk of the village.”
The household servants lined up in the courtyard behind Dieter’s father, who held Johann’s hand. They applauded when Johann ran forward to embrace Dieter.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as he hugged his son, intending to pick him up, but the boy resisted. “Nein, Papa, I want to introduce Mama to my tutor.”
Tears welled in Blythe’s eyes as Johann put his arms around her hips and rested his head against her. It seemed his grandfather had imparted the news and the boy was content. A weight lifted off Dieter’s heart.
His step-mother stroked his hair, then allowed him to lead her by the hand to a lanky youth who bowed respectfully.
As Dieter watched his wife converse with his son’s tutor, the bright smile on Johann’s rosy face renewed hopes for the future. He shook his father’s hand. “I think it will be all right.”
His father slapped him on the back. “Ja. A fine woman. Well done.”
Epilogue
In the autumn of that year, Blythe and Dieter welcomed their son, Luther Caedmon into the world. Graf Dieter strutted around the manor house in Wolfenberg, proudly showing everyone his son’s maleness. The midwife trailed after him, objecting loudly.
A fortnight after the birth, Dieter had developed the skill of carrying his baby son belly down on his hip, much to the delight of all the devoted servants and seemingly Luther himself. Johann rode on his father’s back, laughing and giggling.
When the babe wailed his demands, Blythe took him to her breast. “This child is going to be ruined if you keep on this way.”
When Johann wandered off to play with his toys, Dieter watched his babe suckle at his wife’s breast. Contentment washed over him. Blythe adored the manor house in Wolfenberg as much as he did. He had another healthy son. If it was possible, he was more in love after the birth of their child. “You were born to be a mother, Blythe. You’re radiant.”
She gazed at her son. “I’m not sure yet whom he favors. Perhaps, when he grows hair we’ll have a better idea! He has your blue eyes, though my mother told me a baby’s eyes sometimes change color.”
“I hope his will change to the color of yours. Sometimes, I think they’re brown, sometimes green. You’re a woman of mystery!”
Gazing at his family had the predictable effect on his body. He stroked his son’s head and then trailed his fingers over his wife’s swollen breast. “Perhaps, when you’re done with Luther you can see to my needs? I know I can’t enter you yet, but there are other ways to—”
He looked at her speculatively, hoping she would not be shocked. He should have known better!
Her eyes twinkled and a suggestive grin lit up her face. “Dieter, you know I’ll always be ready to meet your needs in whatever creative way I can.”
* * *
Sweet Taste of Love tells the story of Blythe’s twin brother, Aidan, and his heroine, Nolana.
* * *
Northumbria, April, 1121 A.D.
Nolana Kyncade squeezed her eyes tight shut. How long could she hold her breath underwater? Was that the echo of horses’ hooves still crossing the stone bridge above her, or the thudding of her own heart?
She had to evade her stepfather’s men. The dastard intended to marry her to Baron Grouchet, a man two score years her senior. The auld bugger needed an heir, his only son having gone down with the White Ship. Her stepfather wanted the coin the Norman would pay for her, and to be rid of the stepdaughter who chafed under his leash. What had her dead mother seen in the man?
She had run, her only plan to escape to a place of sanctuary until...until what? She had fled without coin, without even a dagger. Her stepfather made sure she never had access to either. He was a man who kept tight control of his purse and his armory. The future looked bleak. Why did men have the right to make all the decisions for a woman? Perhaps the novitiate was a solution. Then she wouldn’t worry about men ruling her life ever again.
A religious life would also mean abandoning her dreams of a family and children.
Lungs bursting, she broke the surface and gulped in great breaths of air. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. Water dripped from her nose and streamed from her hair. No sound of horses. She pressed her elbows into her ribs in an effort to stop the uncontrollable trembling that seized her.
She had to move, but her legs seemed frozen in place in the icy water. She was rooted to the spot. She managed to pull off her playd, struggling to wring out the water. Spluttering, she peeled the ringlets back off her face and, after several unsuccessful attempts, scrambled up the bank. She had already walked for most of the day, leaving Berwick behind once she crossed into England. There was no chance of refuge in Scotland. No border clan would challenge her powerful stepfather.
Twilight loomed. She scanned the seemingly endless expanse of moorland, teeth chattering, looking for any sign of life. She must stop whimpering and find shelter. Was that a wisp of smoke off in the distance? Perhaps a croft? They might take pity and allow her to stay for a night.
The hem of her sodden léine felt like it was weighted with lead as she slogged over the moor to the tiny cottage she now spied. Though she hugged the wet playd to her body, it offered little warmth. The smell of wet wool assailed her nostrils as she clutched it beneath her chin. Darkness had fallen by the time she balled her fist to pound on the door, frozen to the bone. “Shelter, for the love of God, I beg shelter.”
The door scraped open a crack and Nolana had to cling to the frame to avoid collapsing into the cottage. She tried to speak but no sound emerged. The wizened face of an auld woman appeared, a long stemmed wooden pipe clenched in her teeth. “Be gone. Want no borderers ‘ere.”
Nolana took a deep breath, hoping her voice would return. “I’m not a borderer. I’m soaked to the skin and will surely freeze to death if you don’t take pity.”
The old woman hesitated, chewing the stem of the pipe, then dragged the door open and motioned Nolana inside. “They was ‘ere looking for ye.”
Nolana tensed and hesitated on the threshold. “For me?”
The woman grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. “Aye. Don’t play the innocent wi’ me. Armed men they were, asking after a young lass.”
Nolana decided it was best not to lie. She was close to succumbing to exhaustion and needed this woman’s help. “They are my stepfather’s men. I’ve run away. I eluded them by ducking in the burn.”
The old woman looked her up and down. “Takes a brave lass to do such a thing. I’ve a spare shift. Take off yer wet clothes, dearie. They’ll dry by the fire. I lack company. Gets lonely up ‘ere on these moors.”
Nolana peeled off the wet garments and accepted the homespun shift. It was like a shroud, but its enveloping roughness brought warmth to her skin. The woman spread her wet clothing by the hearth.
Nolana thanked her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
The crone sucked on her pipe once more then took it from her mouth. “Folks call me Jennet.”
Nolana hugged the shift to her breasts, and rubbed her arms, chasing away the chill. “Thank you, Jennet. I’m Nolana Kyncade.”
“Y’are a Scot then?”
There was no point giving her full Gaelic name. Her father, having sired no sons, had named her his champion, but the language had been forbidden her for so long she had forgotten it. “My stepfather’s lands are in the Scottish lowlands. I’m from further north, closer to the Highlands. I came south with my mother when she wed my stepfather.”
Jennet shrugged and took another draw on her pipe. “Now, yer mother’s dead, and ye hate yer stepfather?”
Nolana smiled ruefully. “Aye. He wants to wed me off to an auld man.”
Why was she confiding in this woman? Perhaps the pleasant aroma of the pipe smoke had soothed her.
Jennet laughed. “Ye dinna want to wed an auld man. ‘Twas my fate for many a year! Th
ank God the bugger’s dead now, nigh on five and ten winters ago.”
Nolana inhaled the scented smoke. “What’s in your pipe, Jennet? It smells good.”
Jennet pursed her lips and blew out more smoke, wafting it towards Nolana, mischief in her eyes. “Aye. ‘Tis me own blend. Mostly red clover, rose hips and a touch of a secret ingredient.”
Nolana smiled, but could barely keep her eyes open. “Secret ingredient?”
Jennet put a fingertip to her lips, looked around furtively and whispered, “Honey.”
Nolana arched her brows, but had to stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry. I walked a long way today.”
Jennet pointed to a pallet by the hearth. “Sleep now. I’ll wake ye in the morn.”
“But where will you sleep?”
Jennet tapped her pipe on the stones of the hearth and curled a finger inside the bowl as she blew into it. “I’ve a pallet in the loft. Heat rises. You need the hearth more than I do. I bid ye goodnight.”
Nolana accepted the pallet and drew the meagre blanket over her. “Goodnight, Jennet.”
She drifted into a fitful sleep haunted by visions of a life behind convent walls.
* * *
Blythe’s eldest son, Luther, known to his friends as Lute, also has his own story. You can get to know him and his heroine Francesca in Courageous Heart.
* * *
Inside the walls of Termoli, Italy.
The Holy Roman Emperor’s army is laying siege.
“You will be sorry,” Francesca di Cammarata raged, fists clenched in the rumpled skirts of her too-heavy gown. “My uncle will never forgive you.”
“Be calm, cara,” Count William advised patronizingly, his leather armor squeaking as he offered a kerchief.
She turned up her nose at the overly-embroidered linen. She would never be the obese William’s dear, no matter how much he might desire it.
“I have no choice,” he went on, using the kerchief to dab the sweat from his three chins. “Have you seen the number of troops the emperor has at his disposal? Do you want the entire populace slaughtered?”
Francesca had indeed watched the massing of heavily-armed military might outside the walls, her heart sinking further with each passing hour. But to give up without a fight? “We could have held out for a sennight at least, until my Uncle Ruggero arrives with his army to save us.”
William of Loritello cleared his throat. “King Ruggero is still in Sicilia with no apparent plans to rush to our defense.”
“But he will come,” she insisted.
“Just like he came to the aid of Salerno,” William replied sarcastically. “There are reports he is dying, or mayhap already dead.”
Her uncle boasted loud and long of his crusade to unite all the separate duchies, principalities and kingdoms of southern Italy. She admitted inwardly she didn’t understand why he had allowed the Holy Roman Emperor to so readily confiscate territory he’d fought for years to bring under his rule.
The possibility he had died filled her with dread. His son hadn’t yet reached his majority.
William paced. “Emperor Lothair has exploited the opportunity to support the rebellions against King Ruggero.”
Francesca shuddered at the bitter truth. For Robert of Capua to rebel against his king was one thing, but Rainolfo of Alife was Ruggero’s brother-by-marriage, a serpent in the bosom of the family.
“The emperor must not discover who you are,” William declared.
Startled by his statement, she thrust out her chin. “I shall proudly reveal my identity.”
He shook his head. “You jeopardize all our lives as well as your own. Lothair will use you as a pawn against your uncle. It’s better to work silently and secretly against the occupying forces.”
The notion made sense. “If they don’t know who I am, they won’t suspect me of causing disruption.”
“Exactly. You will play the part of my wife.”
“Your wife?” she exclaimed, filled with revulsion at the notion. “I am Francesca di Cammarata, niece of King Ruggero of Sicilia and of all Italy.”
“But you speak German,” he reminded her, reopening the shameful wound. “And if he knew your true identity, the Saxon monster Duke Heinrich would like nothing more than to throw you into a dungeon and let you rot until he wrests concessions from our king.”
Reluctantly, she admitted she had little choice. Her ability to speak the invaders’ language would be an asset, though Zio Ruggero had never ceased berating his sister for her marriage to a lowly Bavarian knight.
But if William so much as looked at her the wrong way…
“My steward has moved your belongings into my chamber,” he announced. “We cannot leave doubt in their minds.”
“I will play along with this charade,” she conceded, seething with resentment that he would presume to even touch her clothing without her permission. “But…”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted with an irritating dismissive wave of his hand. “Do not be concerned, cara, I have more important things to worry about than you.”
There was little point in arguing, despite the insult and the lustful glint in his eye. An emperor awaited.
William made the sign of his Savior across his body. “May God go with us.”
Filled with regret she’d ever left the safety of Sicilia, Francesca followed her husband.
Historical Footnotes
HEINRICH V
For a summary of Heinrich’s war with Cologne, see
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_V,_Holy_Roman_Emperor#War_with_Cologne
* * *
MATILDA
Readers familiar with other stories I have written (Jeopardy and Forbidden in particular) will be aware I have never endowed the daughter of Henry I of England with admirable qualities. Yet, it cannot be denied she played an important role in history. When she was twelve, she and Heinrich were finally married in Worms. His death in 1125 left Matilda a widow at a young age, but she was always referred to subsequently as Empress.
Her claim to the throne of England after her brother, the heir apparent, drowned in the White Ship disaster (1120), eventually resulted in the first English Civil War. During the long conflict with her cousin, Stephen, she was often referred to as Maud.
Maud was never queen in her own right, but her son (by Geoffrey of Anjou), Henry II (FitzEmpress), became a powerful king, not only of England, but of Normandy and most of France.
* * *
COLOGNE
Construction on the world-famous Cologne cathedral did not begin until 1248, long after our story. For a more complete account of the city’s history visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cologne
* * *
TRIER
You can learn more about this ancient town and see a great picture of the Porta Nigra at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trier#History
About Anna
“Getting Intimate With History.”
Thank you for reading The Black Knight’s Captive. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the book, and/or on Goodreads, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.
Blythe and Dieter eventually sired three children, two sons and a daughter. If you’d like to read their stories, here are the details.
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia and Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther and Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon and Zara
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I was born and educated in England, but I’ve lived most of my life in Canada. I was an elementary school teacher for 25 years, a job I loved.
After that I worked with my husband in the management of his businesses. He’s a born entrepreneur who likes to boast he’s
never had a job!
My final “career” was as Director of Administration of a global disaster relief organization.
I then embarked on writing a romance, something I’d always wanted to do. I chose the medieval period because it’s my favorite to read.
I have a keen interest in genealogy. This hobby has had a tremendous influence on my stories. My medieval romances are tales of family honor, ancestry, and roots. As an amateur genealogist, I cherished a dream of tracing my own English roots back to the Norman Conquest—an impossibility since I am not descended from nobility! So I made up a family and my stories follow its members through successive generations.
I am a firm believer in love at first sight. My heroes and heroines may initially deny the attraction between them, but eventually the alchemy wins out. I want readers to rejoice when the power of love overcomes every obstacle and lovers find their soul mates. For me, novels are an experience of another world and time. I lose myself in the characters’ lives, always knowing they will triumph in the end and find love. One of the things I enjoy most about writing historical romance is the in-depth research necessary to provide readers with an authentic medieval experience. I love ferreting out bits of historical trivia and including them in my stories.
I hope you come to know and love my cast of characters as much as I do as you get intimate with history.
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