“Don’t worry. Zara will be so impressed with your outfit, she won’t notice if you make a slip. The woman is smitten with you anyway.”
There was an unmistakable hint of melancholy in his friend’s voice and it struck him he knew little about Jakov. “It was remiss of me. I never enquired if you have a wife.”
The count averted his gaze. “Tatjana died in childbirth.”
Kon fiddled with the cuffs of his tunic, suspecting Jakov wouldn’t wish to further discuss such a sorrowful event. “I have to admit the tailors did a fine job,” he said lamely.
Fashioned of the finest Tuscan wool, the calf length blue tunic and the leggings were a perfect fit. He felt almost regal in the red mantle trimmed with squirrel and fastened on one shoulder. He was more than suitably attired, but his mouth fell open when Zara entered on her uncle’s arm. The red of her ankle-length gown matched his cloak, though it was made of lighter material, probably silk. The high neck revealed nothing of her bosom, but the fitted bodice emphasized the tempting curve of her breasts. The sleeves were tight from shoulder to elbow, then flared out into a trumpet shape. A corded girdle of blue circled her waist, the tasseled ends resting alluringly atop her mons.
He’d never seen anything as stylish in Saxony. Indeed, he’d never set eyes on a more stunning bride. And she was his!
“My lady,” he whispered, proffering his arm.
“My lord,” she replied with a smile, raking her eyes over his outfit.
The Doge and his duchess led the procession. Feeling like Paris with Helen of Troy on his arm, Kon escorted Zara into the Grand Hall of the Palazzo Ducale.
Zara walked proudly into the Grand Hall on Kon’s arm, remembering vividly the fleeting vision she’d had in the sheltered bay at Scardovari. Had Fate brought them together?
She’d long been proud of her ability to operate the fleet without the help of a man, but truth be told she had given up hope of ever finding a helpmate who wasn’t simply interested in marrying into the Polani family. Kon was her miracle. Power and prestige meant nothing to him.
When she’d mentioned Bruno didn’t attend public events, he’d enquired as to the reason. She admitted it was to avoid embarrassment and agreed he should be present. When she caught sight of her brother’s angelically happy face in the crowd, she was filled with regret that he had been excluded from so many important occasions. It was evident the folk around him were enjoying his child-like pleasure as much as he was.
As usual, Ottavia was the most lavishly dressed woman in the entire crowd. She wore a green silk concoction which had probably cost more than the wedding gown, but she seemed to be genuinely glad for Zara. If only she would stop making eyes at Jakov. Did she seriously believe a man like him would be interested in a spiteful…
She pushed aside the negative thoughts and soaked up the gasps of delight from the richly attired nobles and ladies invited to the banquet, smiling indulgently. A hush fell when they took their places at the front of the head table where they were joined by the Patriarch of Venezia. Bruno suddenly squealed with laughter and clapped his hands, but his outburst calmed her rapidly beating heart.
At a prearranged signal from the cleric, Kon took hold of her hands, inhaled deeply and asked, “Will you wed with me, Zara Polani?”
“I will,” she replied without hesitation, sure in her heart he was the right man. “Will you wed with me, Konrad Dieter von Wolfenberg?”
“I will,” he vowed. “I will.”
The Patriarch intoned a lengthy blessing in Latin.
Everyone responded with a loud Amen, then loud cheering broke out. Bruno rushed forward to hug first her then Kon, his obvious joy eliciting sentimental oohs and aahs and thunderous applause from the guests.
“That’s it?” Kon shouted over the din after Ottavia, of all people, had escorted their brother back to his place. “You’re my wife now?”
“I am.”
He took her into his embrace and pulled her to his body. They kissed, deeply, passionately, without regard for the cheering and whistling audience. Their tongues mated; they shared breath, tasting each other.
They broke apart when her smiling uncle clapped his hands and invited them to take their places next to him at the head table.
Servers spilled out of the kitchens carrying platters laden with food. Kon rubbed his hands together. “I am anxious to taste what took a sennight to prepare.”
His twitching nose brought home to her how much she loved his boyish enthusiasm. After everything he’d endured…
“The dishes will be delicious, but bear in mind the cooks had to make sufficient food for three days of feasting.”
“Three days? I thought…”
He looked so crestfallen, she had to enlighten him. “Don’t worry. You and I aren’t expected to stay for the whole time.”
He took hold of her hand and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Be forewarned, I will get my revenge for your teasing.”
She marvelled that something as ordinary as the touch of another person’s skin and the warmth of his breath on her ear could cause such delicious sensations of aching need in private places. “I can’t wait.”
He shifted his weight on the chair. “If I was to put your hand on a certain part of my body…”
Waves of heat threatened to turn her skin the same color as her gown, but a serving wench placed food before them and he let go of her hand.
He unfastened his cloak and a servant appeared as if by magic to carry it away.
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Are you feeling the heat too, Konrad Wolf?”
“Minx,” he growled.
He turned his attention to his trencher, a quizzical look on his face. “Pastries for the first course?”
“Made with pine nuts, and almonds,” she explained. “They whet the appetite.”
He chuckled after sampling one. “My appetite has already been whetted. Mmm. Tastes like marzipan.”
He licked his fingers when the second course was served. “Aha! Sausages and meatballs. More like Saxon food.”
She simply nodded as he bit into a meatball, her mind still on offering to lick his sticky fingers.
“Spicier than at home,” he said. “But good.”
His remark troubled her. “I was hoping you would consider Venezia as your home now.”
He looked into her eyes. “My home is wherever you are, Zara. I have no land or title waiting for me in Saxony, but I hope one day we will travel there together. I want to take you to my homeland and show you off to my family.”
She leaned forward to kiss his lips, to the delight of the guests whose lusty cheers only served to make the heat rise in her face again. “I would love to visit Saxony with you. Too bad we can’t go by sea!”
He chuckled and bit into a small sausage.
“There’s a lot more food to come,” she warned. “Roasted partridge, capons, ham, pigeons, wild boar. And that’s only today’s fare.”
He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, his eyes dark. “Aboard the Feloz, I feared I might never taste good food again.”
She couldn’t meet his anguished gaze. “Forgive me.”
He tucked his finger under her chin and raised her face to look at him. “There is nothing to forgive. I would gladly sacrifice myself again for your happiness.” His frown turned to a broad grin. “And to that end I will force myself to eat whatever is put in front of me this day. I need my strength for the strenuous night ahead.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud, drawing the curious eye of many in the hall.
MISCHIEF AFOOT
The feasting and drinking carried on for hours. Kon had no trouble keeping pace with the food, but only sipped the rich Tuscan wine imbibed by many in startling quantities.
Several of the male guests stood, one after another, and led suggestive chants that became more lewd as the afternoon turned into evening. When everyone else had echoed their verse to their satisfaction, they sat and were rewarded with raucous laught
er and applause.
“Reminds me of the reigen Lute is fond of,” he told Zara.
“A Saxon tradition?”
“A chain dance with a leader who chants a verse the dancers echo. My brother’s reigen at weddings tended to get more bawdy as time went on, though excessive drink wasn’t the reason. He just likes to have fun.”
She put a hand on his knee. “You miss your family.”
He covered her hand with his own. “I wish they were here to share in my happiness, but my brothers would be plotting mischief, at our expense.”
Her eyes widened. “Such as?”
He chuckled at the memories. “When my sister got married, Lute and I let live rabbits loose in the bridal chamber.”
“Rabbits! I’ll wager her husband wasn’t happy.”
“No, and trust me it was no easy task corralling those timid creatures in order to release them into the chamber at the right moment. However, Brandt got his revenge on Lute.”
“I am afraid to ask.”
“He tied cowbells underneath the bed when my brother married Francesca.”
Giddy with laughter, she looked around the hall. “Merry as these guests are, I don’t foresee any of them playing those kinds of pranks.” She rolled her eyes. “They would be considered most inappropriate in the Palazzo Ducale.”
He kissed her hand. “You sense I miss their mischief-making. I love you for it.”
She blushed as he gazed into her emerald eyes. “It’s time you gave me my gift,” she said in the sultriest voice he had ever heard.
“I’ve had it ready for a while,” he teased. “What’s the protocol for leaving?”
She came to her feet. “Don’t worry. They won’t notice we are gone.”
He stood and took her by the hand. “And where are we going?”
She grinned. “To the ducal bridal chamber of course.”
Their exit didn’t go unnoticed. They were almost through the doors when Ottavia came running across the hall, shrieking for them to wait. An icy shiver marched across Zara’s nape. Astonished at this uncharacteristic behavior, she paused to inform her sister in no uncertain terms she didn’t want or require her company. The words died in her throat when she realized Ottavia had Bruno in tow.
Kon’s grip on her hand tightened. “Stay calm,” he advised, though she sensed a slight impatience in his tone.
She settled a false grin on her face. “I have prayed one day Ottavia would acknowledge she has a brother, but does it have to be today?”
Bruno outpaced his younger sister and launched himself at Kon and Zara, nigh on knocking them off balance. “Come too,” he shouted.
Panting, Ottavia caught up. Zara couldn’t recall ever seeing her sister blush, but there was no mistaking the red flush that crept up her neck and spread across her barely covered breasts when Jakov appeared at her side.
“Surely you’re not leaving without saying goodnight?” the Croat teased.
Ottavia giggled.
Giggled!
Kon clenched his jaw and glared at his friend. “I was about to give my bride her long-awaited gift,” he growled.
Ottavia linked her arm with Kon. “We’ll see you safely to the chamber, won’t we, Count Jakov?”
“Indeed we will,” he echoed with a wink, taking Zara by the arm.
“Me, me,” Bruno insisted.
Zara recognised it would pointless to argue. “Looks like I was wrong,” she whispered to Kon. “Mayhap there is some mischief afoot.”
Kon couldn’t deny he was irritated by the unexpected trio tagging along, but it was of some consolation that he was no longer the impatient man he used to be.
The delay added to the anticipation.
When they entered the bridal chamber, he didn’t pay much attention to the details of the incredibly ornate ostentation of the decor. It was like squinting into bright sunshine. It took him a moment to realize the Doge, or mayhap his duchess, had evidently provided a bevy of maidservants for Zara. He tasted his disappointment. “I wanted to remove your gown,” he whispered.
She gave him a woeful look in return, but was whisked away behind a screen by her giggling sister and the excited maids before she had the chance to reply or protest.
Jakov took him by the arm. “I’m afraid the groom will have to make do with me and Bruno.”
There was a suspicious glint in his friend’s eye, but Kon admitted inwardly Jakov had become like a brother to him, and Bruno was in fact his brother-by-marriage. They were a welcome substitute for his family.
They led him into a small alcove behind another folding screen.
“Get on with it,” Jakov urged.
Evidently, he wasn’t going to enjoy being undressed by Zara this night. The pleasure would have to wait for another day.
He obediently peeled his tunic over his head and handed it to Jakov. “Satisfied?”
“Shirt, boots and leggings.”
He hopped around, removing his boots, took off his shirt, then carefully eased the leggings over his arousal.
Jakov’s reaction was predictable. “I see Zara is going to be pleased with her gift.”
Titters and sounds of movement from the other side of the screen indicated his bride was being tucked into bed. The women exited the chamber in a flurry of rustling skirts and excited whispers and suddenly all was silent.
His head full of the notion of his bride awaiting him, Kon impatiently looked around the alcove for a bed-robe. Finding none he turned to his friend. Jakov was no longer grinning. Bruno had shoved down his leggings and was pointing to his flaccid manhood. “Small,” he said with a shrug.
How to explain what was going on to this innocent young man? Thankfully, Jakov thrust Kon’s shirt into his hands and he quickly covered his private parts with the garment.
“Sorry, Bruno,” the Croat explained, hurrying to help the frowning lad cover himself. “Only Kon is getting undressed. For Zara.”
Kon stood like an idiot with his shirt clutched to his manhood while Bruno stared, but he saw the moment understanding dawned in the young man’s eyes. He contorted his face into what might have been a wink, then rushed out from behind the screen, accidentally brushing against it. It toppled over with a loud clatter.
Bruno ran to the bed, kissed his gaping sister who was halfway out of bed, and made for the door. He paused in the open doorway, impatiently beckoning Jakov.
The Croat executed a bow worthy of a count. “That, I believe, is my signal to depart.”
Chuckling loudly, the mischief makers exited arm in arm, leaving Kon standing naked with the shirt still clutched to his body. Zara stood beside the bed, raking her eyes over him.
He drank in the vision. Long, black tresses flowed over bare shoulders; the flickering flame of the candle on the night stand illuminated every curve of her nakedness beneath the flimsy nightgown; the startled expression of her blush revealed uncertainty, surprise, longing.
The impatient, hungry Kon rose up in his breast. He tossed the shirt over his shoulder, spread his arms wide and proudly displayed his body.
A BEDDING
Zara recognized the hunger in Kon’s eyes, but wasn’t afraid. The naked male beast stalking her was magnificent, a bronzed god who had vanquished the powers of hell that had tried to destroy him.
He hadn’t come through his ordeal unscathed. His beautiful body would long bear the scars inflicted on him by the slaver; but his once-troubled soul was at peace. She would never meet a man who cared more deeply for the feelings of others. Her body and her soul were safe in his hands and she was more than ready to surrender to him.
The notion sent desire spiralling up her thighs and into her womb as they stood facing each other, noses almost touching. He pulled loose the ribboned shoulder ties holding her nightgown in place, but never took his eyes off her face as the silk slipped silently to the carpet.
After many years of trying to disguise her female attributes, she now had an urge to strut around the chamber, hips swaying, bac
k arched. She stepped out of the garment, intending to put her arms around his neck and melt into him. “Make me a woman,” she whispered.
He put his warm hands on her arms and held her away. “You are already a woman. Tonight you’ll become my woman, but let me look at you first.”
Breathing steadily, he let his eyes wander over her breasts, down her belly to her mons as if he was studying an exquisite work of art.
Her racing heart nigh on stopped beating when he growled and fell to his knees, pushing her back gently onto the bed. His arms were suddenly gripping her thighs, his mouth on her most intimate place, lapping, sucking, driving her wild with need of him. She pressed her fingertips into his shoulders, her rapture heightened by his gentle strength. She moaned when his tongue found the place connected to every fibre of her being. “Yes, yes,” she growled in a husky voice she didn’t recognize as he licked and licked and licked.
The intensity of the indescribable feelings was too overwhelming. She needed him to stop, but her heart would shatter if he did.
Her nipples pouted to be touched, her toes twitched, the soles of her feet warmed. She was climbing, climbing, climbing, barely able to breathe. She reached the top of the mountain, held safe in his arms when she fell into a golden abyss of bliss.
Her mouth was too dry to tell him she needed him inside her, but he understood. His manhood carried her to mindless ecstasy. He thrust slowly at first, then faster and more deeply as she urged him on, matching the pace he set.
She’d been forewarned to expect pain, but there was none, only the supreme joy of at last being one with the man she’d craved since the first moment she set eyes on him.
She’d always considered men were brutish, unrefined creatures. She relished every bead of sweat on Kon’s back, every grunt, every flex of his muscles, every pulse of his manhood deep inside as he pumped his essence into her happy womb.
Self-control had long been her watchword, her mantra. Now she babbled her euphoria, uttering words she didn’t know she knew. He shouted something in German before collapsing on top of her, gasping for breath. She hugged him tightly for long minutes, her sheath still pulsing even after he slowly slipped from her body.
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