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 bathtub, 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.”
&nbs
p; 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 show 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?”
It wasn’t the first time someone in the employ of the Polani fleet had politely intimated he might not have the ultimate authority, and probably wouldn’t be the last, but he rather enjoyed the diplomatic game. He was his father’s son. “Signora Zara is indisposed, as you know, and understands fully the Venetian docks are no place for a woman with child.”
He refrained from mentioning the tantrum that had erupted when he’d forbidden her presence at the inspection of the refurbished Nunziata. Living with a woman used to having her own way was sometimes a diplomatic tour-de-force in itself.
He looked up to the forecastle. Bruno stood there with legs braced and hands clasped behind his back, looking out to sea. He made a silent promise—one day he would take his brother-by-marriage on a voyage. Sailing was in his blood.
He pointed to the forecastle. “I’ve discussed the matter with the master of the fleet and he is in full agreement.”
Rospo followed his gaze. A rare smile broke out on his face. At least Kon thought it might be a smile. “Sì,” he croaked.
“Very well,” Lupomari replied with a hint of impatience. “I await your instructions. In the meantime, we must catch the noon tide if we are to make it to Istria before nightfall.”
Kon scanned the cargo. The Nunziata was crammed with every resource Jakov’s missives had indicated his people lacked. “You’re right. It’s a short voyage, and you’ve fair weather.” He beckoned Bruno, and together they left the ship, though the young man’s sullen pout and dragging feet betrayed reluctance.
He put an arm around his brother’s shoulders as they walked along the dock. “Zara is waiting anxiously. You can describe the refurbishments to her. We’ll practice skimming stones on the way.”
This seemed to lift Bruno’s spirits but the frown returned when they were stopped by a man he didn’t recognize, a wealthy merchant by the look of his garb.
“Mein Herr von Wolfenberg?”
Being addressed in his own language took him completely by surprise. “Ja,” he replied hesitantly.
The man bowed, then produced a slim metal tube from his sleeve. “Ruprecht Klauber, from Hamburg. I have a letter for you. From your family.”
~~~
Zara rolled her eyes and wiped her brow. “You’re not listening,” she complained after the third unsuccessful attempt to extricate her body from the armchair in her chamber.
Ottavia dragged her attention away from the document on her lap. “I’m sorry. I was reading Jakov’s letter. What did you say?”
Zara prayed for patience and pasted a smile on her face. “I requested your help getting out of this chair. You’ve read the missive at least ten times.”
Ottavia chuckled indulgently. “He misses me.”
Zara couldn’t fathom how a sophisticated, mature nobleman like Jakov might be interested in her selfish sister, but she had other things to occupy her thoughts, like how she was going to endure another three months of pregnancy.
Ottavia came to her feet and offered a hand. “You’re already huge,” she said, as if she’d read Zara’s thoughts. “Do you think it might be twins?”
Feeling slightly dizzy once she was on her feet, Zara clung to her sister. She had considered the possibility. “Kon told me his mother was a twin.”
As if conjured by the mention of his name, her husband entered the chamber. But his pallor was alarming. Her knees buckled and she slumped back into the chair. “What’s wrong? Is it the Nunziata?”
He stared hard at Ottavia. “Can you leave us alone, sister?”
She frowned but took her leave immediately.
Zara clenched her fists. “I can’t bear this. What is it?”
He held out a trembling hand. A small metal tube lay in his palm. “It’s a letter. From Wolfenberg.”
“At long last,” she exclaimed. “What does it say?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t had the courage to open it.”
She understood. He loved his family dearly and feared he had disappointed them. “Shall I read it to you?”
Relief shone in his eyes as he handed her the tube. She squealed when he scooped her up as if she were a feather and sat in the chair with her in his lap, one big hand on his babe. “No matter the contents of this missive,” she assured him, pulling the parchment from its sheath, “reme
mber I love you, and nothing will ever change that.”
He inhaled deeply. “Could it be twins?”
She smiled and unrolled the document.
Konrad, my dearest brother.
“Must be from Sophia,” he said. “Johann and Lute wouldn’t address me as dearest.”
We are more than relieved to hear you are safe and well. Your Zara sounds like the perfect partner for you, and who could have imagined my pious little brother would marry the mistress of a fleet? We are glad you are happy.
“Huh,” he murmured.
She scanned the next few lines and swallowed the lump in her throat before continuing.
Brandt and I travelled to Wolfenberg when Johann informed us Papa was dying. He passed away a fortnight since. Do not be sad. You are aware it was his dearest wish to be reunited with Mama in the hereafter.
Zara had never known Kon’s parents, never met his siblings, but her hands trembled and tears blurred her vision as her husband shook with the effort of controlling his emotions.
Please be comforted, Konrad Dieter. Papa died with your letter in his hands and a smile on his face. I believe sheer determination kept him alive until he was assured you were safe. Your name was the last thing he uttered.
Konrad stiffened and became so still she feared he had stopped breathing. Her rapidly beating heart calmed when his thumb began to stroke her belly. She hurried on.
Johann is Count von Wolfenberg now, of course. He and Kristina are well, as are Lute and Francesca. Imagine Lute is a count! And a good one according to Johann. We are all doing our part to populate the world with more little Rödermarks and von Wolfenbergs.
You are forever in our hearts and we hope you and Zara will travel to visit us one day.
God be with you.
Faithful Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 3) Page 16
