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 k
idnapping 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.”
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.”
“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.”
Faithful Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 3) Page 14
