Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  “You’ll have to teach me your language,” she murmured, twirling a finger in his hair.

  When he raised up on his elbows she was humbled by the love in his eyes as he gazed into hers. “Gott sei dank,” he replied with a sleepy smile, “it means Thanks be to God.”

  Recalling Zara’s taste, her breast in his hand, her aroma—these memories had kept Kon’s spirit alive in the darkest of days.

  Dreams of lying abed with her had filled his nights ever since their meeting.

  None of his reveries came close to the ecstasy of being one with the woman he adored.

  He gazed into her eyes, humbled by the love shining in the emerald depths.

  The candles eventually guttered out as they cuddled together. He listened to her breathing, played with her hair, nibbled her ear.

  “I can hear your heart beating,” she whispered.

  “It beats for you,” he replied, his male urges already stirring again.

  As if sensing his need, she pressed her breasts against his chest and gently cupped his sac. “I want you,” she said softly.

  Kon had never allowed himself to dream he might one day marry a woman of passion, a wife who would bring him the fulfilling intimacy his liberal-minded parents boasted of sharing. In the army he’d known many men who complained of their wives’ reluctance in the bedchamber.

  Zara was in his blood, but it elated him that he was also in hers. He lifted one breast to his lips and suckled, hard.

  She moaned in response. It was the beginning of a long and beautiful night of sexual gratification.

  Four servants bearing trays of food tiptoed discreetly into the chamber. Zara had lain awake since dawn, listening to Kon snore softly, his warm breath tickling her back.

  She sat up and pulled the linens to her neck while the smiling maids set out the food on the elegant table in one corner. Could they tell she’d been transformed overnight from a virgin who knew nothing of congress with a man to a wanton who needed her husband’s manhood inside her again and again and again?

  Kon stirred and stretched. She covered his naked chest lest she be tempted to kiss his nipples and sift her fingers through the soft hair while servants looked on.

  “Good morning, Signora von Wolfenberg,” one of the maids crooned. “If you and your husband…”

  She glared at the other three when they giggled.

  “…If you would like to break your fast, we will refresh the linens.”

  Yawning, his hair tussled, Kon propped himself up on his elbows. “I suppose some wedding rituals are the same in every land,” he said with a wry smile.

  She wasn’t sure what he meant, but her immediate concern was their nudity. Her nightgown lay wherever it had fallen and Kon couldn’t very well get out of bed with a shirt clutched to his private parts.

  She hadn’t noticed a fifth maid standing by the door, arms laden with bed-robes. The girl bustled forward at a signal from the senior maid and shyly handed a bed-robe first to her and then one to Kon.

  He helped her slip her arms into the garment, hopped out of bed, apparently not as concerned with his nakedness in front of the maids as she had been, and shrugged on his bed-robe.

  He came around the bed, kissed her sweetly and offered his hand.

  “What did you mean by wedding rituals?” she said softly as she got out of bed.

  He winked and lifted the linens to reveal the proof of her lost virginity. “In Saxony, this sheet would be up the flagpole by now.”

  Mortified, she covered the telling stain. “We can’t let them see it.”

  He squeezed her hand. “We don’t want there to be any doubt you were indeed a virgin bride, do we?”

  She leaned against him as desire heated her body. “No,” she conceded.

  “Besides,” he said with a wink, “these young women will be mightily disappointed if we deny them their appointed task.”

  GETTING TO KNOW YOU

  Kon escorted his bride to the table laden with food and moved his chair until they were side by side.

  Eyeing the busy servants, she reached for a chunk of bread, but he stayed her hand. “It will be my great pleasure to feed you,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Not in front of the maids,” she whispered.

  He feigned a pout. “Zara, you need no longer be afraid to be your true self. You’re a beautiful woman. Indulge me.”

  She capitulated with a nervous smile. “I’ve played the role of the head of household for too long.”

  He grinned. “You have me now.”

  After she’d taken a bite of the bread and ham from his fingers, he wished the maids would finish and leave.

  She clenched her hands together. “They’re too slow.”

  Their eyes met and they smiled like two conspirators.

  “I suppose we can’t lie abed the whole day,” he conceded when it seemed the maids were dilly-dallying.

  “Why not? That’s the point of three days of feasting. The guests enjoy themselves, all the while happily aware the bride and groom are busy getting started on the next generation.”

  She’d spoken in jest, but he decided it was time to shoo out the servants. As soon as he got to his feet, they gathered up the soiled linens and scurried out.

  He unfastened the belt of his robe and threw it on the chair. “I suppose they sensed my impatience.”

  She stared at his arousal. “I still can’t believe your whole length fits inside me.”

  He looked down at his rute, arched a brow and offered his hand. “We evidently need another demonstration.”

  Zara had never in her life stayed in bed for a whole day, but she relished every moment of the days and nights she and Kon spent getting to know each other better.

  She lay face down on the bed, drooling as he trailed his fingertips along her spine, over and over. She shivered with anticipation when he changed to massaging her thighs, his thumbs parting her cheeks to open her woman’s place to his gaze. She squealed with delight when he raised her hips and impaled her sheath from behind, squeezing her nipples as he thrust and thrust, uttering endearments in his own language she knew in her joyful heart he would never whisper to anyone else.

  They bathed with rosewater from the ewer, each lovingly cleansing the other.

  He taught her intimate German words, showed her where he loved to be touched and how to bring him to the brink of ecstasy with her hand and her mouth. She savored swirling her tongue along the silky length of his rute and suckled the taste of an aroused male like a purring kitten.

  Servants brought food and drink from time to time—roasted pheasant, peacocks and quail, quinces cooked with cinnamon, olives. They placed the food on the table, but as soon as they were alone again, Kon carried the victuals to the bed and they sat crosslegged, feasting on the sight of each other’s nakedness.

  Each time Kon bit into an olive he declared his intention to have the fruit at every meal, since the tree had saved his life.

  That led to mention of the blue cave and his eternal gratitude to God his rute hadn’t been stained permanently blue.

  That led to laughter, and inevitably to further intimacy.

  She wanted the sojourn to go on forever, but on the last night as they lay together, contended and sated, he asked, “So, my love, I suppose I will learn on the morrow what the third step is in a Venetian wedding?”

  She cuddled closer, inhaling the scent she’d come to recognise as his alone. “The bride removes to the groom’s home.”

  He chuckled, stroking her arm with his fingertips. “That might take a while.”

  “Since your home is far away, I suppose we’ll have to change the tradition. You will move into the Polani apartments.”

  THE VENETIAN WAY

  Early on the morrow, they received an unexpected visit from Zara’s uncle and his wife. They sat up quickly and drew the linens to their chins as the Polanis paraded in unannounced with a retinue of servants laden with clothing. Two more followed toting a large wooden bat
htub, then four footmen entered carrying buckets of steaming water.

  Kon wondered what the reaction would have been had they been interrupted in an intimate position. He should be used to things being done differently in Venezia.

  “Ah, young love,” her uncle gushed. “A gift from my wife and myself,” he explained as the servants laid out the garments across the bottom of the bed. “I trust you are ready for the move. Your guests await you in the hall ready to send you on your way.”

  Kon was astounded to hear anyone was still awake and on their feet after three continuous days of eating and drinking, but he supposed Venetians were used to such festivities.

  Zara bristled beside him, evidently as surprised as he at the visit. “Thank you, zio.”

  The duchess seemed to detect the hint of annoyance in Zara’s voice before her husband and took his arm to lead him out. The servants traipsed behind. The footmen poured the water and exited.

  Zara leapt out of bed and hurried to the tub. “Much as I loved being sponged with rosewater, a bath is tempting.”

  He joined her, more interested in the prospect of washing her hair than inspecting a badly needed new wardrobe of tunics. “I’ll help you bathe.”

  Dishevelled and looking anxious, Jakov hurried to greet them when they entered the hall.

  “Sorry we are tardy,” Zara said. “I took a bath, then had to wait for my hair to dry, and…”

  “One thing led to another,” Kon interrupted with a sly grin.

  Jakov waved off the jest like a pesky gnat. “Yes, well, I have been summoned to the council chambers. They’ve reached a decision in my case.” He spread his arms wide. “I’m in no fit state after this lengthy celebration of yours, whereas you look splendid.”

  Zara linked arms with him. “Don’t worry. I suspect most of the sapientes who came to the wedding will be slightly the worse for wear. The important thing is you will have satisfaction before you leave for home.”

  Kon agreed. “She’s right.”

  Jakov raked a hand through his hair. “I am not hopeful.”

  She squeezed his arm. “At least you will have an answer.”

  Exuberant well-wishers flocked around the newly-weds and it was a while before they were eventually allowed to take their leave and make their way to the council chambers.

  The doors stood open. “We are expected,” Zara murmured.

  Smiling jovially, her uncle welcomed them and bade them sit. The sapientes in attendance nodded benevolently. “It’s a good omen,” she confided to Kon as they took their seats at the table.

  “Count Jakov of Istria,” the head of the council intoned.

  Jakov stood.

  Zara closed her eyes, a shiver racing up her spine when she recalled the vivid horror of his son’s drowning. She prayed he would be granted justice.

  “On behalf of our beloved Doge and La Serenissima, we offer our apologies for the crime perpetuated against you and your son and your people. Istria is a valued neighbor, and we give assurances that attacks on your person and your property will never happen again.”

  Jakov bowed slightly in acknowledgement.

  Kon bristled. “Surely there is more than that,” he hissed. “They must have uncovered who committed the heinous act if they can give such an assurance.”

  A dreadful premonition caused a pulse to throb in Zara’s throat. If the perpetrators were linked to some powerful, untouchable person…

  The councillor cleared his throat after a brief glance at the Doge. “In recompense, the Serene Republic grants to the Counts of Istria in perpetuity free and open access to her trading routes in the Adriatic and Mediterranean Seas and protection from piracy.”

  Kon seemed somewhat placated. “Well, it’s something, I suppose,” he muttered.

  Zara fidgeted with the cuffs of her new gown. The generous gesture only confirmed her suspicions.

  “Be assured the criminals have been punished.”

  Some insignificant minion had likely paid with his life.

  Jakov stood stock still.

  Kon clenched his jaw. “He wants the identity of the men who ordered the attack.”

  The Croat would receive no satisfaction.

  “We thank you for your forbearance,” the councillor concluded, “and wish you godspeed on your journey home.”

  “Godspeed,” the other men parroted before rising as one and filing out behind the Doge.

  Jakov slumped into his seat, propped his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his palms. “It is someone too powerful to touch.”

  His words echoed her fears, but all that emerged from her dry throat was, “It’s the Venetian way.”

  She acknowledged her husband would pursue justice for future victims of such travesties with the tenacity of a bloodhound. She was immensely proud of his stance against slavery, but many of her fellow countrymen wouldn’t take kindly to interference from someone they deemed an outsider.

  However, he had been willing to sacrifice everything for her. She resolved to stand by him, no matter the cost.

  BRUNO'S FLEET

  Kon was preoccupied with what he perceived to be an inadequate resolution to the crime that had cost Jakov his son’s life. He scarcely paid attention when Zara excitedly ushered him through the entry to the Polani apartments.

  Bruno rushed to greet him. “Kon,” his brother-by-marriage shouted, hugging him tightly.

  The effusive welcome jolted him back to reality. This was an important occasion for his bride and he’d thoughtlessly deprived her of the pleasure of bringing him home. He returned the hearty embrace. “Brother! Are you going to show me around?”

  Bruno stepped back and clapped his hands, but then looked at Zara. “May I?”

  “Of course,” she replied with a broad smile.

  The wealth of the family he had married into struck Kon full force as they toured the hall, the dining room, the kitchens, the solar. Bruno offered no explanation except to say We eat here, or They cook here, or For guests.

  It became apparent he was saving his enthusiasm for his own chamber. Eyes bright, he bounced up and down on the bed. “I sleep here.”

  Next he opened the creaky doors of an enormous armoire to reveal hundreds of tunics. “Mine.”

  Blushing, he pointed to an alcove hidden by a screen. “Pee there,” he whispered behind his hand.

  Then he knelt in front of a large iron trunk and pulled Kon down beside him. A questioning glance at Zara’s enigmatic smile revealed nothing.

  Bruno opened the lid and took out a wooden replica of a small cog. He held it up for Kon’s inspection like an offertory at a Mass. “Ottavia,” he said with great reverence.

  Kon thought perhaps the toy belonged to his younger sister, but then he noticed the name painted in tiny gold letters on the side. “I see,” he said, accepting the ship.

  Bruno retrieved another replica. “Zara,” he explained, grinning at his sister.

  Kon swallowed the lump in his throat as he put aside the first ship and accepted the cog named for his bride. “Beautiful, like her namesake.”

  Bruno nodded vigorously.

  A succession of model ships followed, some large, some small. “He’s got the whole fleet,” Zara explained softly. “My father had them carved for him.”

  Finally, Bruno stood and reached into the bottom of the trunk. Kon instantly recognised the replica he extracted.

  “Nunziata,” they all declared at once.

  They shared laughter, but as Kon stared at the Polani fleet arrayed before him he understood for the first time the awesome responsibility Zara had carried on her slender shoulders.

  His heart filled with pride and a determination to do everything in his power to be the partner she deserved.

  Zara had a feeling Kon now realized the scope of the responsibility he had accepted, but she wasn’t worried. He had inner strengths she would always be able to rely on.

  She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “I claim the right to sho
w my husband his new chamber,” she told Bruno.

  Engrossed in his collection of ships, her brother made no objection.

  They tiptoed out of the chamber. She paused and put her arms around his neck. “Most people have no notion how to treat Bruno,” she whispered. “I love you for the kindness you’ve shown him.”

  He circled her waist. “I have to admit I was nervous at first, and it’s a temptation to speak to him as if he’s a child. But he isn’t, and he knows he isn’t.”

  She leaned her forehead against his, relief flooding her veins. “Many men would have had him shut away.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “You know me better than that.”

  “I do,” she admitted, sniffling back the threatening tears.

  He took her hand. “Now, let’s see this chamber where I am going to spend my life making love to the most beautiful woman in the whole of Venezia.”

  She pouted, feigning annoyance.

  “Sorry, the most beautiful woman in the entire world.”

  EPILOGUE

  Six months later.

  With one foot braced atop a rowing thwart, Kon clamped a hand on Lupomari’s shoulder. “Congratulations, she looks wonderful. Like a new ship.”

  The captain thrust out his chest, but gestured to his steersman. “Couldn’t have completed the Nunziata’s refurbishment without Rospo’s skills.”

  Kon shook Rospo’s hand. “Thank you indeed. Zara will be thrilled when I describe what you’ve achieved. It’s time we considered making you captain of your own cog.”

  The green tinge of the gruff steersman’s face changed briefly to some indescribable color, but he said nothing.

  Lupomari eyed him curiously. “A fine choice,” he said thoughtfully, “though I will sorely miss him. Is Signora von Wolfenberg of the same mind?”