Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  The captain stroked his beard, looking to the far end of the dock. “However, you probably didn’t expect this.”

  She followed his gaze, recognizing her uncle’s devise emblazoned on the tunics of three soldiers marching towards them. Those in their path quickly stepped aside when they caught sight of the winged golden lion of San Marco.

  The three came to an abrupt halt when they reached the Nunziata and eyed the gangplank with nervous hesitation. She would have been amused at their fear had it not been a distraction from watching the Pravda dock nearby. She thirsted to reunite with Kon, but couldn’t ignore a delegation from the Doge.

  She gripped the railing of the forecastle and called to them. “I am Zara Polani. You are welcome to come aboard.”

  She normally took perverse pleasure in asserting her authority over men, but their scowls only served to increase her irritation. She folded her arms and stared, her foot tapping loudly on the planking.

  One of the soldiers evidently decided to take the lead, though all three remained on the dock. “Signorina Polani, it is you we seek,” he declared. “Our beloved Doge sends his regards and wishes to welcome you home.”

  A summons from the Doge, uncle or no, had to be obeyed, but when she espied Kon hurrying along the dock, she smiled and decided this was as good a time as any to introduce Pietro Polani to his future nephew-by-marriage.

  The voyage to Venezia provided Kon with many hours to ponder his experiences in the sennights since he’d sailed away on the Nunziata.

  He was a man reborn from the ashes of his former self. It had never been part of God’s plan that he become a priest. The fateful beating and consequent humiliation suffered in Bari, the rockfall, even the horrendous suffering aboard the Feloz, all had been part of the journey he was meant to take to his true destiny—Zara.

  He’d been provided with guardian angels; his family, especially his father who had allowed him to wander; Menas, the safe harbor in a sea of despair. He’d been tested by the malevolent forces of Drosik and Nizar, and Duke Heinrich. Now the pilgrimage was almost complete. The one important step remaining was to wed the woman he loved.

  He disembarked as soon as the Pravda was safely moored and hurried along the docks to reunite with Zara. He became concerned when he espied three soldiers with the Doge’s devise on their tunics at the foot of the gangplank of the Nunziata. Her enthusiastic wave from the forecastle reassured him, but he paused, able now to think before he reacted. The appearance of these men reminded him there was yet unfinished business. A wrong to be righted.

  He resumed his pace and reached the gangplank. “I am Konrad Dieter von Wolfenberg of Saxony, Signorina Polani’s betrothed,” he announced proudly. “State your business.”

  The three wrinkled their noses and eyed his sailor’s garb, but it was evident from the puzzled looks on their faces his manner of speech had confused them.

  The soldier who appeared to be in charge straightened the front of his tunic. “His Excellency the Doge requests his niece’s presence at the palace.”

  Kon glanced up at Zara. Her amused smile and nod of approval indicated she had an inkling of what he planned to say. “Then I will accompany her.”

  A thrill of anticipation swirled through Zara’s veins. She was a successful woman of commerce who made decisions normally made by men. Fate had cast her in the role. Many resented her authoritative manner; Kon recognised it as a strength. He would never be afraid to challenge her but she was confident he didn’t seek to dominate her. She looked forward to trading wits with him.

  She had to accept she wouldn’t always get her way, as she had in the past, but ceding to Kon would be no hardship. Her heart was irrevocably lost the moment she first set eyes on him.

  She strode proudly down the gangplank and accepted his hand when she reached the dock. “Welcome to Venezia, Konrad von Wolfenberg.”

  His answering smile and the light brush of his lips across her knuckles sent desire spiralling up her thighs. “I thank you, Signorina Polani, and it will be my honor to accompany you to your uncle’s palace. However, I am of the opinion Count Jakov of Istria should also attend the audience.”

  The soldiers looked from one to the other, clearly confused.

  “I agree,” she replied with a wink, enjoying the ease with which they both fell into the role, as if they’d been friends for a long time.

  “Follow us to the count’s ship,” he instructed the soldiers in a manner that reminded her he’d once been an officer in the imperial army. She was probably the only one who noticed his nose twitching slightly in the endearing way she loved.

  She stifled the urge to laugh as the soldiers quickly shuffled into line and followed them to the Pravda.

  “Relations with my uncle Pietro have been strained since my father’s death,” Zara confided to Kon and Jakov.

  They had been instructed to wait in an elaborately gilded antechamber of the Council Room at the Palazzo Ducale. She’d grown up surrounded by wealth, but the chamber suddenly struck her as garishly over-decorated. She wondered what Kon thought of it as he gazed around, nose twitching more than usual.

  “Why?” Jakov asked.

  “As I explained, my brother is incapable and I believe my uncle expected the Polani fleet to come to him.”

  “But your father had other ideas,” Kon said. “He recognized you were the one to take control. A wise man indeed.”

  She preened, recognizing how fortunate she was to have found a lover who wasn’t threatened by her abilities. “In any event, my uncle is richer than Croesus. Poor men don’t get elected Doge of Venezia.”

  He raised his eyes to the mural on the ceiling. “I can see.”

  “I don’t envy him,” Jakov said. “From what I understand, he cannot leave this palace.”

  She nodded. “Only to go to the chapel, the Basilica di San Marco, the edifice next door.”

  “Rather like being a slave,” Kon remarked.

  “But an extremely powerful one,” she reminded them as the double doors opened slowly and they stepped inside. “It’s wise not to forget it.”

  To his credit, when he noticed her attire, her uncle hesitated only a moment before rising from his ornate chair and spreading his arms wide. “Zara, my child,” he gushed.

  She had no memory of ever being embraced by him, but went into his arms after a brief and not well-executed curtsey. “Zio,” she whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat when a memory of her Papa surfaced.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away. The genuine concern in his grey eyes threw her off balance. “Let me be sure you are well. Outrageously garbed as usual. I am hearing tales of piracy and enslavement.”

  She took a deep breath. “I will gladly tell the whole story when we are more presentable, but permit me to introduce the man I am going to marry, Konrad von Wolfenberg.”

  Konrad stepped forward, bowed and held out his hand. “Your Grace, I am honored to meet you.”

  She’d wager her betrothed wasn’t what he expected. Nevertheless, he accepted Kon’s hand. “Welcome, I take it from your speech you are not from Venezia.”

  “I’m a Saxon,” he replied, “the son of Count Dieter von Wolfenberg.”

  She suspected from her uncle’s wide-eyed stare that for once he’d been taken by surprise.

  “The renowned diplomat?”

  “He’s the one,” he answered proudly, “and it seems I have inherited his belief in the need for justice. May I introduce our companion, Jakov, Count of Istria.”

  Jakov bowed. “Your Grace.”

  Her uncle frowned. “Istria? A neighbor.”

  “Indeed,” Kon declared. “Yet this high-ranking nobleman and his son were kidnapped by Venetians and sold into slavery. He escaped, but not before his heir drowned. As Chief Magistrate of the Republic, you’ll agree, Your Grace, that this crime cannot go unpunished.”

  Pride soared in Zara’s veins as she witnessed the transformation in Kon’s demeanor. He was no longer
a troubled, impetuous young man. The confident, assertive nobility instilled in him since birth had resurfaced.

  It was humbling to think her love had played a part in his rebirth.

  Her uncle stiffened his shoulders. She half-expected he would seek confirmation of Kon’s allegations from her, but instead he spoke to Jakov.

  “We apologise for this unforgivable attack on your person, Count, and we grieve the loss of your son. Please remain when the others leave us and we will discuss the matter further. Return on the morrow, Zara, and we will make preparations for your wedding with my chancellor.”

  Kon bowed. She curtseyed. He proffered his arm and they left the chamber, only pausing to embrace once the double doors had closed behind them.

  “You were magnificent,” she said with a smile. “Now to meet my family.”

  BRUNO

  As he and Zara entered the Polani apartments adjacent to the palace, Kon admitted inwardly he was nervous at the prospect of being introduced to her brother and sister. During his interview with the Doge, he’d been confident and assertive. It was as if he’d suddenly metamorphosed into his father.

  Siblings were a different matter. He had first hand experience, but none of his brothers were mentally deficient, despite Johann’s fears he might inherit his birth mother’s madness. He’d never heard Sophia utter a single word of sarcasm. “I hope they like me,” he whispered lamely.

  She squeezed his hand and smiled, but he got the feeling she was also unsure of their reception.

  When they entered the solar, Ottavia rushed to embrace Zara. “Sister,” she exclaimed. “I have been frantic.”

  As they broke apart both women seemed surprised and somewhat embarrassed by the obvious affection that had passed between them. He was confident his reunion with his kin would be less strained.

  Zara straightened her tunic and linked her arm in his. “This is Kon, my betrothed.”

  Her introduction seemed informal. Nevertheless, he clicked his heels like the disciplined Saxon officer he was and bowed smartly. “Signorina Ottavia.”

  He straightened and took hold of her outstretched hand. A fleeting but unmistakable glint of disdain flashed in her eyes as she inspected his garb.

  “Welcome to our family,” she said without warmth as he brushed a polite kiss on her knuckles. “I see my sister has found a fellow sailor to wed.”

  Zara smiled like a contented cat. “Konrad is from Saxony,” she revealed. “The son of Count Dieter von Wolfenberg.”

  Ottavia’s demeanor changed. She smiled brightly. “Oh! In that case…”

  Zara laughed. “You’re such a snob, sister dear,” she taunted.

  Kon feared an argument might ensue. However, the door opened unexpectedly and a young man entered in the company of an elderly gentleman who reminded him of one of Sophia’s former music teachers.

  Zara opened her arms wide. “Bruno!”

  If she hadn’t spoken his name, he would have known the lanky young man was her brother. He could pass for her twin. He bounded across the chamber into her embrace, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “Missed Zara,” he said over and over as she stroked his hair, her eyes welling tears.

  Ottavia looked on, fists clenched at her sides, her mouth drawn into a tight line. She was clearly embarrassed and he’d wager Bruno didn’t get much affection from his youngest sister.

  When he calmed, Zara took him by the hand and led him to Kon. “I am getting married, brother dearest. This man is my betrothed, Konrad.”

  Bruno studied his feet for long moments, rocking back and forth.

  Unsure if he should speak, Kon looked to Zara, but she shook her head.

  “We love each other,” she explained. “He will be a brother for you.”

  Bruno raised his head and stared at Kon with emerald eyes he recognised.

  Kon smiled and stretched out his hand. “Hello, Bruno.”

  Bruno stepped forward abruptly and threw his arms around him. “Kon-rad,” he stammered. “Bro-ther.”

  Kon choked back tears as he returned the hearty embrace.

  A VENETIAN WEDDING

  “Three stages must be observed in a Venetian wedding,” Zara explained to Kon as they walked with Jakov to her uncle’s council chambers. “The first step involves the families of the bride and groom drawing up the agreement. Normally, the bride doesn’t need to be there, but I have no intention of leaving decisions regarding our future to my uncle.”

  “Hopefully, Jakov can act as my sponsor,” he replied, “since my family is in Germany.”

  She paused outside the doors and smoothed her hands over the brocade of his new black and gold tunic. “The tailors did an outstanding job with this garment in the few short hours they had available. You look handsome.”

  “What about me?” Jakov preened playfully, puffing out his chest.

  She rolled her eyes. “You look wonderful too, but I am not marrying you.”

  It was the first time she’d seen the new clothing. Her uncle had insisted Kon and Jakov lodge at the palace, not in her family apartments, and she’d reluctantly concurred it was more appropriate.

  The doors opened and they were ushered inside by her uncle’s chamberlain. To her surprise, several members of the advisory council were also in attendance. She was pleased when her uncle introduced Kon with obvious pride, explaining the noble dynasty from which he was descended. She hadn’t known one of his ancestors had fought for William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings and been declared a hero. The Doge had evidently been asking questions.

  When Jakov was introduced, no mention of his kidnapping ordeal was made, but it was evident the Croat seemed comfortable. She surmised their discussions had gone well, and hoped for justice for him before he sailed home.

  The scrivener slowly explained the contents of the documents spread out on the enormous council table. She noted her uncle had made no mention of the Polani ships. “This has to be changed,” she declared. “My husband will be designated Bruno’s guardian with oversight for the fleet. His name must also be added to my brother’s will as his sole heir.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Kon protested quietly.

  She drew him aside. “You will be my partner in all things,” she insisted, avoiding her uncle’s glare, “then there will be no question regarding our children’s inheritance.”

  He nodded his understanding.

  Her uncle sulked while the scrivener shuffled the parchments and made the changes, but neither he nor the sapientes voiced any objection.

  Zara read over the documents a second time and offered them to Kon. “You should check them. They’re in Latin.”

  He shook his head. “I can read Latin, but I have complete faith in your judgement.”

  Zara had penned her signature to many documents, but never had as much confidence in any of them as she did in the agreement binding her to Kon.

  He added his signature with a flourish. “I want to kiss you, but I sense our audience wouldn’t approve,” he whispered under his breath.

  Jakov acted as a witness. Her uncle signed and added his seal. When he pecked a kiss on her cheek the dignitaries applauded briefly and then paraded out, leaving her with Kon and Jakov.

  Kon took her hand. “What’s the next step in a Venetian wedding?”

  “On the morrow comes the fidanzamento—the betrothal,” she explained.

  “I’m confused. Isn’t that what we just accomplished?”

  She hesitated. Evidently things were done differently in Saxony. “In Venezia, at the betrothal we exchange simple vows, and…gifts.”

  “What kind of gifts?”

  “A piece of fruit, a token, a ring sometimes.”

  He turned to Jakov. “You and I need to busy ourselves finding a gift for me to give to my lovely bride.”

  “No need,” she replied too quickly, feeling unexpectedly shy. “Often the gift is a kiss.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “I can fulfill such a requirement.”

&nbs
p; The chamber was suddenly stiflingly hot. She wished Jakov wasn’t present. “And the kiss usually leads to…er…”

  Their Croatian friend grinned. “Consummation is the word she’s looking for.”

  In the event, the fidanzamento was delayed for a sennight in order to allow for preparations for the betrothal banquet. Having learned he and Zara would finally join their bodies after the ceremony, Kon chafed that such a long interval was necessary, but she insisted he would understand once the festivities began.

  Considering it had taken only a day to make his new tunic, he deemed the lengthy sessions with the tailors tedious. Zara too spent hours being measured and fitted for her gown. While he eagerly looked forward to seeing her in something other than leggings, it seemed a waste of time since he intended they be rid of their clothing at the earliest opportunity.

  He was appreciative of the chance to assist Jakov with readying the Pravda for the voyage to Croatia. It helped take his mind off the constant daydreaming of seeing his beautiful lover naked for the first time.

  He and Jakov were summoned to the council chambers in the palace several times to add to their testimony regarding the Venetian slavers who had carried out the kidnapping, but were given no indication as to any progress in the investigation. It dismayed him that Jakov wasn’t hopeful.

  When the afternoon of the banquet arrived, he awaited his bride in the Doge’s solar, rehearsing over and over what he would be expected to say.

  “Be calm,” Jakov urged.

  Kon ceased pacing. “I used to easily memorize long passages from the Greek philosophers but suddenly I can barely remember a few simple words.”