Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1)

by Anna Markland

  Kristina leaned back against the door frame, looking as nervous as he felt. “Guten abend, Johann,” she murmured shyly.

  “Good evening, Fräulein Kristina,” he replied. “Did you have a good lesson?”

  He berated himself inwardly. Her music lessons were important, and he was proud of her mastery of the dulcimer, but why couldn’t he tell her of his feelings, his fears?

  The knot in his gut loosened when she beamed a big smile and he caught a trace of her perfume. He inhaled deeply. Lavendel.

  “I love lavender—”

  “Meister Grigor is like a wind instrument—”

  “Sorry,” they exclaimed at once.

  Emboldened by the smile, he reached for her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I am not usually at a loss for words,” he rasped. “Only with you.”

  She pressed her warm fingers against his, ever so slightly, but didn’t withdraw them. “I have the same problem with you.”

  Encouraged by a hint of longing in her blue eyes, he said, “It’s strange. After all, we’ve known each other since we were children.”

  “But we are no longer children,” she replied in the sultry voice that never failed to arouse him. “And you’ve never kissed my hand before.”

  He itched to blurt out a request to kiss her lips, but there was the topic of madness to discuss before things went any further. “There is a matter we must speak of,” he said, sounding too desperate for his own liking.

  His heart plummeted when she looked him in the eye and whispered, “I don’t care.”

  He gaped like a fish out of water.

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” she added hurriedly. “I do care…about you.” She averted her gaze, chewing on her bottom lip. “A lot.”

  He’d dreamt many times of taking her into his embrace and begging her to become his wife, but…

  He cursed his mad mother’s legacy. Dread seeped into his veins. Kristina knew. The happiness that seemed within his reach might yet be snatched away. “You know,” he said hoarsely.

  “Ja. I’ve known for years,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He swayed, but caution still rooted his feet to the planked floor. “Your parents…”

  She took a step towards him. “They are snobs. The prospect of their daughter becoming a countess…” Her voice trailed off and she averted her gaze. “But I am being forward.”

  She was too close, the faint aroma of her excitement too much for his beleaguered senses. Was it possible she cared for him?

  He put his hands on her waist and drew her closer so her breasts brushed against him. He was careful to keep her away from his arousal, lest it alarm her. It was an effort to resist the temptation to brush his thumbs over her pouting nipples.

  Her eyes widened and to his great delight and relief she stood on tiptoe, curled her arms around his neck and molded her breasts to his chest. With a cat-like whimper she surrendered, thighs to thighs, belly to belly, hips to hips. He was certain she was a virgin, yet she seemed instinctively aware of what the hard flesh pressed against her signified. Perhaps his intuition that she was a woman of passion had been right. The notion did nothing to stem the need surging in his rute.

  He inhaled deeply. “I’ve wanted to hold you like this for a very long time,” he rasped.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. “I’ve waited forever.”

  He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. Their welcoming warmth thrilled him. He nibbled her lower lip, biting gently. Still whimpering, she swayed backwards against the doorframe, pulling him with her. She opened her mouth, then flicked her tongue along his lip. He sucked it, elated when her tongue mated with his.

  His knees threatened to buckle when she in turn sucked his tongue into her mouth. He recognised in a moment of blinding clarity that this woman was his destiny. “Kristina,” he rasped when the need to breathe broke them apart, “be my wife.”

  She leaned her forehead against his. “You are the only man I have ever loved, Johann. I will marry you.”

  Despite his euphoria, doubt raised its ugly head once more, but he had to be sure she understood the risks. “God willing, our children will be whole and healthy,” he said.

  “We will love them anyway,” she whispered.

  He cupped her bottom and pressed her to his arousal, elated that doing so felt completely natural. His heart swelled with the certainty that the years ahead would be filled with closeness and trust, in and out of the bedchamber. “You are wise,” he said.

  “And patient,” she added.

  ~~~

  Kristina didn’t know what to expect when Johann squeezed her hand reassuringly and led her to the parlor door. She’d entered the cozy room many times before, but always as Sophia’s friend. Would the Von Wolfenbergs consider her a suitable wife for their eldest son?

  He leaned over to whisper in her ear, his warm breath sending tendrils of desire up her thighs and thence into a very private place. “They already love you,” he said, nibbling her lobe. “But not as much as I do.”

  She’d always believed Johann would be a patient and loving husband, but this was a side of him she’d only imagined. She saw him through different eyes, at once confident and overwhelmed by the certainty that he would be an ardent lover. Perhaps Sophia’s advice wouldn’t be needed. She and Johann would learn how to please each other. Now that they’d admitted their feelings the long pent up desire seemed to be in full control of her body. Even her nipples tingled.

  Hoping the lust in her heart wasn’t apparent on her face, she entered the parlor.

  Count Dieter stood with his back to the fire. His frown disappeared when he saw them. “I see you have good news, my son,” he said to Johann with a broad smile.

  The man she loved puffed out his chest, filling her with pride. “I intend to ask Kristina’s father for permission to marry her.” He glanced at his step-mother. “If no one in this family has any objections.”

  Sophia squealed, scrambled out of her chair and hurried to embrace Kristina. “Sister,” she sobbed.

  Kristina’s throat constricted and she was in tears by the time the entire Von Wolfenberg family gathered in a happy cluster around them, all voicing their joy.

  Johann’s father kissed her on both cheeks. His stepmother hugged her, as did Lute. Kon politely brushed a kiss across her knuckles and smiled his congratulations. Sophia clung to her all the while bouncing up and down, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Lute and Kon punched Johann playfully until their father waved them away and gave his eldest son a bear hug.

  Lastly, Johann went into his teary-eyed stepmother’s open arms.

  Even Armond and Amara wanted to be in on the celebration, barking and sniffing Kristina’s feet, as if something about her new standing had changed her scent. The notion sent heat rushing to her face.

  A polite cough brought everyone’s attention to Manfred. “Dinner is served,” the elderly manservant intoned.

  Count Dieter led the way into the dining room, but Johann grasped Kristina’s hand and held her back. “I should warn you,” he rasped, pulling her close so they were nose to nose. “I am quite mad.”

  She rose to the bait. “Someone has stolen your wits?”

  He chuckled. “Exactly.”

  LOYAL HEART CHAPTER ONE

  One month later

  Kristina twirled around the chamber in the elaborate satin wedding gown. The kneeling seamstress sank back to inspect the hem.

  Perched on the edge of her bed, Sophia feigned a pout. “The blue of purity becomes you. I’m jealous.”

  “Your turn will come soon,” her best friend said with a smile.

  Sophia frowned. “You’ve been in love with my brother forever. I haven’t even met anyone I like.”

  Kristina took both her hands. “It’s true I’ve loved Johann for years, but it took your meddling to get us together.”

  Sophia grinned. “Everyone in this household has known for a long time you and
Johann were meant for each other. You were both too much in love to see it!”

  “Mayhap you’ll meet someone special at the wedding,” Kristina said, preening in front of the oval mirror.

  Sophia shrugged, suddenly remembering recent unsettling news. “I wish Friedrich and Conrad Staufen weren’t coming.”

  Arms raised, Kristina stood still while the seamstress unlaced the gown’s fastenings. “That’s my parents’ doing, I’m sure. They weren’t discrete about who they invited. My father claims the brothers have reconciled with the emperor.”

  Sophia slid off the bed to help the servant and her apprentice lift the gown over Kristina’s head. “Perhaps they have,” she replied, “but it took a bloody war to bring that about. The Staufens can’t be happy about losing.

  “Four bitter enemies intend to be at your wedding; on the one side the emperor and our Duke Heinrich of Saxony, on the other Friedrich and Conrad Staufen.”

  Kristina sighed resignedly, donning a day gown over her chemise. “Look on the bright side. It’s not every girl who’s honored by the presence of three dukes and a Holy Roman Emperor at her wedding.”

  Sophia tied the sash of her friend’s dress. “Emperor Lothair is obligated to come. He might not have won the throne without my father’s support.”

  Kristina nodded as the seamstresses left with the heavy gown. “Johann is very proud of your father’s role in the victories at Welfesholz and Andernach, and you have a brother who was named for the emperor.”

  As if mention of his imperial namesake conjured him, Lute poked his head around the door after tapping lightly. “All clear?” he asked with his usual grin.

  Sophia flew at him. “You can’t come into my chamber, Luther Caedmon Von Wolfenberg.”

  He caught hold of her wagging finger. “I came because I knew you’d want to hear the good news. I saw the seamstresses leave and assumed the fitting was finished.”

  Pouting, Sophia yanked her finger out of his grip, but curiosity got the better of her. “News?”

  Fiddling with the cuffs of his tunic, Lute strutted into the chamber and pecked a kiss on Kristina’s cheek. “Are you pleased with the gown, soon-to-be-sister?”

  Kristina giggled her approval of the frock.

  Sophia fisted her hands at her sides. “I’m aware you enjoy taunting me, bruder, but what is your important news?”

  He sank down into the cushions of the settee, covered a yawn with the back of his hand, then announced, “Dukes Friedrich and Conrad aren’t coming after all.”

  Sophia and Kristina flopped down on either side of him in a flurry of skirts. “That’s a relief,” Kristina exclaimed.

  “We can’t breathe easy yet,” he replied with great seriousness. “They are sending an envoy to represent them, so Papa will still have to tread warily.”

  Kristina pouted. “Johann will be distracted too, as the future count.”

  He patted her hand. “Praise be to the saints I don’t have to worry about political games. Did I ever thank you for marrying my half-brother?”

  Kristina elbowed him. “A thousand times.”

  “Seriously,” he insisted. “Can you imagine me as a count? I’d be known far and wide as Graf Luther the Laughable!”

  Sophia poked him. “I’m aware Johann threatened to cede the title to you because of his fears of passing on his mother’s madness, but Kristina soon convinced him she wasn’t concerned.”

  “Exactly,” he replied with a wink. “Johann will become graf, our saintly brother Kon will enter the priesthood, you’ll marry. As for me…” He shrugged.

  Sophia felt a pang of pity for her happy-go-lucky brother. “You’ll find your rightful place,” she said, linking arms with him. “Besides, the way things are, I’ll probably never marry. We’ll grow old together, two crotchety old crones.”

  Lute extricated himself from the settee, grasped her hand and pulled her up. “Nonsense. You’ll see. At the wedding you’ll have many eligible men pursuing you. You’re the only daughter of an influential graf.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Kristina said.

  Sophia chewed her bottom lip. Young men she’d never met were en route to Wolfenberg for the wedding, but the notion of a pack of suitors made her nervous. However, if one of them swept her off her feet…

  Then she chuckled. Such things only happened in the poetry of the Frankish troubadours.

  FRUSTRATION

  Estate of Count Gunther Rödermark,

  Duchy of Franconia, Germany

  One hand braced on the smoke-blackened mantel of the hearth in the parlor, Brandt Rödermark stared at the parchment in disbelief. “A wedding?”

  “Ja,” his father replied, puffing out his chest. “A sennight from today. It’s a great honor to represent King Conrad and his illustrious brother.”

  “Conrad isn’t a king, only our duke,” Brandt retorted.

  Gunther Rödermark’s rare good humor disappeared. He thumped a meaty fist into his palm. “Nein! Our Duke of Franconia is the rightful King of Germany.”

  Aware it was useless to argue when his father stubbornly refused to recognise reality, Brandt nevertheless insisted. “Conrad and Friedrich Staufen lost the war against the emperor. They’ve reconciled with him.”

  “Bah!” his sire replied, struggling to his feet with the aid of a cane. “You’ll see,” he added gruffly, limping out of the parlor.

  Brandt winced when the door banged shut. He and his father rarely saw eye to eye, but for the sake of his mother’s memory he usually fell back into the role of obedient son. For some reason beyond his understanding, Delfina Rödermark had loved her husband.

  Shaking his head, he looked again at the ducal missive crumpled in his grip, tempted to toss it into the greedy flames of the hearty fire burning in the grate. Despite the sweltering heat of the summer, his father insisted on a fire and constantly complained of being cold.

  He’d heard of Graf Dieter Von Wolfenberg, loyal vassal of Heinrich, Duke of Saxony. He was heralded as the hero of Andernach and Welfesholz, two decisive victories that had cemented Lothair’s claim to the throne of the Holy Roman Empire. Apparently the count’s son was to be married, and the Staufen brothers preferred Brandt attend in their stead.

  In good times and bad his father had been a staunch ally of the Staufens in their quest for the throne of the Holy Roman Empire. Brandt had risked his life in various skirmishes during the war. As a reward they were sending him into the Wolf of Saxony’s lair. Lothair Süpplingenburg, Holy Roman Emperor and true King of Germany would doubtless be in attendance, as would Duke Heinrich.

  He had no choice but to go. However, careful consideration needed to be given to the number of troops in any Rödermark escort. Too many would be considered a belligerent gesture; too few and Brandt might never see Franconia again.

  The son of an obscure graf was hardly a suitable substitute for two dukes, and he suspected the insult to the Saxons was deliberate.

  Wolfenberg was a risky four-day journey to the north, through uncertain lands. His father had apparently forgotten the betrothal ceremony arranged for three days hence that would forever bind him to Dorothea Rittenhuis. He conjured a vision of the spitfire’s fury when she arrived from Frankfurt and learned of the postponement.

  It was of some satisfaction that Graf Rödermark would be the one left to deal with Dorothea’s angry parents.

  MUT

  Four days later Brandt signalled his men to a halt atop a rise. He’d pushed them hard, but there had been no complaints and no incidents. He once again thanked the saints for a horse with the heart of a lion.

  Congratulating the snorting Löwe with a hearty pat on the shoulder, he scanned the wide valley below. An impressive timbered manor house occupied an elevated position on a high bank of the Elbe. Dozens of elaborate pavilions pitched in the surrounding fields attested to the large number of wedding guests and their social standing. Colorful pennants flapped in the warm breeze; men and women scurried hither and thither li
ke ants, probably servants bringing food and supplies from the manor house.

  They wouldn’t find a campsite near the house, but he didn’t mind being closer to the river. Muddy banks were unlikely given the early summer heat and a refreshing swim in the Elbe would revive his travel-worn body and agitated spirit. Pitching camp at a safe distance from everyone else was a good idea, given that he had no way to be certain who was friend and who foe. On the surface the contenders for the throne of the Holy Roman Empire had reconciled, but the undercurrents of intrigue that still went on could quickly drag down the unsuspecting.

  His adjutant rode up beside him and surveyed the scene. As expected, Vidar soon grunted his selection of a suitable spot and Brandt urged Löwe to begin the gradual descent.

  They were nearing the river when a group of about thirty riders galloped out of a heavily wooded area at the far end of the valley.

  Brandt’s first impulse was to retreat, but it quickly became apparent this was no war party. Male laughter, the strident sounds of hunting horns, and the barking of dogs echoed across the meadow.

  A tall, grey-haired man led the riders. Brandt assumed from his bearing that this was Count von Wolfenberg.

  Directly behind him, flanked by bodyguards, rode two noblemen, probably the emperor and the duke. They made their way to the largest pavilions, but the count reined to a halt and looked back to the trees. Four or five stragglers emerged, two of them women riding sidesaddle.

  Brandt had an eye for horses. The Wolfenbergs and their guests rode palfreys that ambled with the easy gait the breed was known for; but one stood out—a magnificent dappled grey, outshone only by the woman riding it. Few women of Brandt’s acquaintance could handle a horse with such confidence and grace.

  Keeping an eye on the beast, Brandt led his men to the site Vidar had chosen. He dismounted and gave the reins over to his squire, confident Drogo would take good care of Löwe. Vidar’s men began unloading the donkeys. He had to reluctantly take his attention off the splendid horse and its rider in order to discuss with his adjutant the positioning of the three smaller tents and Duke Conrad’s pavilion.