Faithful Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  “Where have you been that you’re not aware of these events?”

  “Wandering,” he replied. “Trying to find…something, though I’m not sure what it is. After the avalanche in the Pale Mountains…”

  “Avalanche?”

  He told her of his head injury from the rockfall and the growing feeling of worthlessness on the long journey home.

  She put her arm around him.

  He inhaled deeply. “And then my mother died.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “When I lost my mother I cried for sennights,” she confided.

  The swell of her breast against his back gave him courage to tell the worst part. “I loved my mother dearly, but I’ve never shed a tear over her death.”

  ~~~

  Zara sensed she was sitting next to a volcano on the verge of erupting. Kon trembled as whatever demons he held inside seethed to get out. It was humbling he’d shared a great deal with her, but his inability to cry over his mother’s death had to be addressed. Perhaps he came from a stoic family who didn’t let emotions show. “Did your brothers weep at your mother’s funeral?”

  “Buckets. Even Johann who is actually my half-brother, my father’s son by a first marriage. He’s probably Count von Wolfenberg by now.”

  Her suspicions had been correct. “Your father is a count? I sensed you were of noble blood.”

  He shook his head as he turned to look at her, his blue eyes full of pain. “I am so noble, my head is full of the notion of kissing you.”

  The certainty she was gazing into the eyes of her destiny sprang to life deep inside Zara’s core and blossomed like an exotic flower inside her body. She wanted his kiss, longed for his touch. “There is nothing ignoble in that.”

  She trembled when he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face. His lips brushed hers and the spark of desire ignited a fire within. She held her breath and traced her tongue over his lips, savoring the salt and something unique she’d never tasted before. The taste of a man. Her heart careened around her ribcage when he growled and deepened the kiss. It seemed natural to open her mouth to his coaxing tongue and suckle him.

  He breathed his need into her, taking everything she gave, but giving of himself in return as he held her tightly in his strong arms. His lips were on her neck, one hand cupping her breast, his thumb brushing the nipple as he embraced her. It was wrong but very right at the same time. She had never allowed a man close, yet wasn’t afraid. She lay her palm on his warm neck and let the astounding sensations of physical need take hold of her body, surprised to realize she was the one making the strange mewling sound.

  He broke them apart and rested his forehead against hers. “I want more than a kiss,” he rasped, taking hold of her hand.

  Panic surged when he pressed her fingers to his hard maleness. She tried to withdraw, but he held firm. She wanted to join with him, but not on a beach, with her crew…

  Suddenly, pebbles crunched as he fell to his knees and took hold of both her hands. “I have frightened you, and such wasn’t my intent. You had to see how much I want you.”

  “I want you too,” she murmured. “But…”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Hush. I have a confession to make.”

  CONFESSIONS

  Feeling the bite of the pebbles beneath his knees, Kon cursed himself for a fool. As usual, he was his own worst enemy. Having tasted Zara, filled his hand with her breast and felt her response to his touch, he recognized he could never endanger her life nor steal anything she held dear. Revealing the truth would likely toll the death knell for any relationship between them, but…

  The flames of the dying fire flickered in her jewelled eyes and he resolved to hold her gaze while he bared his soul. “You should not put your trust in me, Zara. I am a pirate.”

  She tried to pull her hands away but he held fast. “I was sent as a spy by Drosik, the captain I was arguing with on the dock. It was a ruse to get me aboard your ship.”

  She stared, her lips pressed together in a tight line, her shoulders rigid. “You are nothing but a thief, then? A man who lies about being of noble birth? Will you rob me of my innocence as well?”

  He shook his head. “My purpose in joining forces with Drosik was solely to rescue the captives.”

  Her mocking laughter took him by surprise. He eased his hold and she struggled to stand. “You are a fool to believe a man like Drosik would go along with such a plan. If you deliver my ship to him he will take everything, including the slaves.”

  He got to his feet. “But he has given me his word.”

  She braced her legs, fisted her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. Her defiant stance emphasized the splendor of her breasts and only increased his need of her. “The word of a pirate?” she spat.

  It hit him like a bolt of lightning. She was probably right. He’d been naive to trust Drosik. “I swear to you, I no longer intend to fulfill my part of the bargain with him.”

  “And why should I believe you?” she taunted.

  He replied without hesitation. “Because I am drawn to you.”

  She glared at him with such vehemence that for a moment he feared she would call for the captain and have him clamped in irons, but then she slumped onto the rock where they had kissed and whispered, “And I to you.”

  ~~~

  Zara didn’t want to need Kon’s comforting embrace, yet when he sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, she sobbed against his chest. “You must be a priest,” she lamented with a hiccup, “why else would I confess such a thing?”

  “I have caused you pain,” he murmured into her hair, “and I am heartily sorry. I will do everything in my power to protect you and your ship, but we must free the slaves.”

  She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed. “It’s impossible. I understand your feelings regarding slavery. I’ve never been comfortable with the practice and I will undertake not to carry human cargo on Polani ships in the future. However, the Fatimids will kill you if you try to free these men.”

  He made no reply. His silence worried her as they clung together. She listened to the steady thud of his heart and wondered what he was thinking.

  “You are tired,” he said at last. “Let me wrap you in your blankets and bid you goodnight.”

  She let him lead her to the shelter of the rock where she’d slept on previous voyages, a safe haven discovered by her father. He tucked the blankets around her and pecked a kiss on her nose.

  “Will you lie with me?” she whispered, sifting her fingers through his soft hair.

  He shook his head. “You are too tempting. I will keep watch.”

  Her emotions in knots, she watched him walk away until the darkness swallowed him up.

  FOG

  Lupomari emerged from the mist the following morning, carrying what looked like chunks of real bread. Kon’s belly growled.

  “All’s well?” the captain enquired.

  Propped against a large rock a few yards away from where Zara lay, he had watched her sleep fitfully, regretting he was the reason for her disquiet. “All’s well,” he replied, getting to his feet.

  However, all wasn’t well in his heart. He’d spent the night plotting scheme after scheme to free the captives without endangering Zara and the rest of the crew. She was right, it was impossible.

  “Thick fog out on the water this morning,” Lupomari told him. “I don’t like it, but the lookouts haven’t heard anything untoward.”

  Kon looked out at the impenetrable white blanket, hearing only the waves lapping at the rocks and the distant call of seagulls. “Will it clear?”

  The captain shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You’d best go claim your rations before everything is devoured.”

  It was understandable Lupomari considered him no better than a simple seaman but he was disappointed nevertheless not to be breaking bread with Zara. He wanted to assure her once again of his determination to thwart Drosik.

  He waded into the shallows and
climbed aboard. It was eerily quiet, the enveloping mist muffling every spoken word, every footfall. There was no creak of wood on wood as the cog sat motionless in the still air.

  “Bad luck,” a ship-mate growled.

  Kon surveyed what was left of the rations and decided to forego the scraps of millet biscuits, hoping his belly would survive on the memory of the sardines from the previous night. He grabbed the last tankard of watered ale. “What is?” he asked in an effort to take his mind off his hunger.

  The man pointed to the wall of white. “Creatures lurk out in the deeps, and how’s a ship to avoid them if we can’t see?”

  Kon was slightly amused as he sipped the ale, though the man seemed genuinely agitated. “Creatures?”

  “Servants of Satan, with arms longer than the mast of this cog and tentacles that can pluck a man right off a ship and drag him to his death.”

  Anxious to be sure Zara got aboard safely, Kon was relieved when she and Lupomari appeared on the forecastle.

  Apparently, the captain had overheard. “No more superstitious nonsense,” he shouted. “Prepare to weigh anchor.”

  The man scowled, then slunk off.

  Kon was taking up an oar when Zara summoned him. He stood at the foot of the steps to the forecastle and looked up, desperate to erase the lines of worry marring her beauty.

  “Wolf,” she said without smiling. “It will be slow going this morning, a good opportunity to learn how the rudder is controlled. Go watch the steersman on the stern-castle.”

  He obeyed, his thoughts confused. Did she suspect his original intention to sabotage the rudder? It was doubtful, otherwise why send him there? Mayhap she wanted to spare him the prospect of more blisters on his already blighted hands. Nevertheless, he tasted the guilt tightening his throat.

  On the stern-castle he’d have a better chance of watching for an opportunity to help the captives, if the mist ever cleared. It was a forlorn hope the Fatimids would drop their guard, and what if they did? He’d have to kill them and the chances of killing three…

  He mounted the steps, relieved the stench from below wasn’t as bad as before. No doubt it would worsen as the day progressed.

  He saluted the steersman known only as Rospo. With a triple chin, warted skin, huge eyes, toothless grin and short bandy legs, the man looked, moved and smelled like the pond creature he was named for. “I’m to learn from you,” he said.

  “Right,” Rospo croaked.

  Suspecting he’d get no more out of the fellow, Kon braced his legs, keeping a close eye on his mentor as the call came to pull at the oars and the cog lurched out of the bay, propelled by the oarsmen.

  The captain and Zara were distant, blurred figures on the forecastle. Lupomari shouted commands as they made their way slowly to the open sea. Rospo echoed the orders and swung the tiller accordingly. He apparently had confidence in Lupomari, but a quarter hour seemed like an eternity. Kon feared they’d run aground at any moment on the rocky shore. “I suppose the captain knows these waters well,” he remarked when his nervous heart stopped racing.

  Rospo shrugged. “Your turn.”

  Kon stepped up to the tiller, though his legs had turned to mush, and took hold, grateful Rospo didn’t let go altogether. He gained confidence slowly as steorbord, and larbord became familiar terms. It was relatively simple. It also became alarmingly apparent how easy it would be to disable the rudder by damaging the tiller.

  ~~~

  Weary of peering into the white fog, Zara looked back at the stern-castle, barely able to make out Kon and Rospo at the tiller. She had prayed long and hard as the night wore on and hoped she had chosen the right path in entrusting him with the important task of steering.

  He’d sworn his loyalty to her and an inner voice whispered she had to trust him.

  Nevertheless, there was no harm in ascertaining his progress from Rospo, though in five years she’d never been able to elicit more than one word responses from the gruff fellow.

  Pulling tight the thong binding back her hair, she picked her way carefully past the rowing thwarts, elated to feel an unexpected breath of wind on her face. Lupomari shouted for the sail to be hoisted. Men eagerly began the task, voices raised as they pulled together, seemingly equally relieved that perhaps the worst was over. Her captain was skilled, but fog had sounded the death knell for more than one Venetian ship.

  She mounted the steps to the stern-castle, delighted to see a broad smile on Kon’s face. “You seem to be enjoying your new responsibility,” she teased.

  “As long as Rospo here keeps his hand on the tiller alongside mine, I’ll be fine,” he replied.

  She arched a brow when Rospo grunted, apparently pleased with Kon’s progress. She’d always loved the sea. In some inexplicable way, sharing the voyage with a man she was increasingly drawn to made it more pleasurable. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the weak sun. “The fog might lift soon. Smooth sailing from here on.”

  Her belly lurched when strident cries arose from below. She blinked open her eyes and looked over the railing to where the slaves were held. Two of the Fatimid guards were struggling to wrench the screeching child out of the arms of his distraught father.

  She understood only a smattering of the Arabic language but her blood ran cold when she recognised the word Siraya. She looked back at Kon. “Contagion,” she breathed.

  INTO THE DEPTHS

  Kon let go of the tiller, confident Rospo would continue to steer the ship. He was concerned for Zara who had rushed down the steps to intervene in whatever was going on below.

  If there was disease aboard the ship, it would spread rapidly. When he reached the deck, his heart stopped. Zara had one long leg astride the wale and was pulling desperately at the robes of a Fatimid who had the boy in his clutches, evidently intending to throw him overboard. She was screaming something unintelligible at the Arab.

  With a manacle still clamped around one wrist, the child clawed at the face of his captor, whose turban had been knocked askew, covering his eyes. Terror seemed to have struck the boy dumb. The father shouted desperate pleas in some foreign tongue while another Fatimid menaced him with a curved sword. The rest of the slaves were on their feet, their faces full of terrified outrage. The crew stared, apparently unaware of the mainsail dangling loosely in the still air, despite grunted warnings from Rospo.

  Lupomari’s hoarse command snapped them into action. Two hurried to right the sail. The rest turned to the struggle going on beneath the stern-castle.

  Kon was afraid for Zara and the threat the Fatimid posed to her. He drew his dagger and lunged at the infuriated Arab, yelling a loud war-cry. As his weapon sank into the man’s flesh, the brute released his hold on the boy. Zara lunged to save the child. His heart pounding in his ears, Kon heaved the Fatimid’s body out of his way and grasped hold of her shirt. The fabric ripped and she and the boy tumbled into the sea.

  He was vaguely aware of a melee in the cog’s stern, but had no time to worry about the slaves now. The only thing that mattered was saving Zara. He hurriedly pulled off his boots, climbed onto the side and jumped.

  ~~~

  Zara loved the sea, but she’d never experienced the numbing terror of falling overboard. The boy was ripped from her arms by the impact. When she resurfaced, gasping for breath, there was no sign of him. She cursed the ignorance of the Arab who had condemned the child for no good reason.

  She was a strong swimmer. Her father had insisted she learn and she thanked him for it now. The Nunziata had drifted on into the lingering mist but Lupomari would drop anchor and come to her rescue. Muffled shouts from the direction of the ship confirmed it. The boots were making it difficult to tread water, but she thanked her patron saint for the male attire. Skirts would have dragged her to her death.

  She took a deep breath and slipped beneath the surface, searching the clear water for any sign of the child, panic setting in when she found none.

  Lungs bursting, she broke the surface, surprised to be s
uddenly in Kon’s grip.

  “Thank God,” he gasped.

  She struggled for breath, relieved to rely on his strength. “I can’t find the boy.”

  He raked her hair from her face. “Mayhap it’s for the best if he is deathly ill.”

  She shook her head. “Yellow eyes,” she panted. “Jalnice. Not contagious.”

  “Can you stay afloat while I look for him?”

  She nodded, and he was gone before she had a chance to deter him. If he drowned…

  ~~~

  Kon had barely recovered from the shock of plunging into the deep water when Zara broke the surface. His immediate reaction was to offer thanks to the Almighty for her safe delivery into his arms.

  Perhaps there was a God after all.

  When she told him of the reason for the boy’s ordeal, he knew he had to try to find him.

  He filled his lungs and peered into the bottomless depths. The salt burned his eyes, and he acknowledged with a sinking heart that diving in the Adriatic wasn’t going to be anything like retrieving rocks from the bed of the Elbe.

  He struck out, kicking hard.

  ~~~

  Zara’s strength was fading, her arms on fire, her heart in knots. Despite the warmth of the water, a chill had seized her. No help had come from the strangely quiet and still mist-shrouded Nunziata. Something was wrong. And where was Kon? He’d been underwater too long.

  She cried out her relief and consequently swallowed seawater when he resurfaced at long last. He had the boy tucked under one arm. “You saved him,” she coughed.

  He reached out his free hand to buoy her up, but his reddened eyes were bleak. “I was too late,” he panted. “The lad drowned.”

  NEVER TRUST A PIRATE

  “We must get back to the ship,” Kon said hoarsely, spitting out seawater. “You’re cold.”

  “I don’t understand why they didn’t come to our aid,” she gasped as they swam in the direction of the Nunziata.