He clenched his jaw, his gut in knots. “And you must remain loyal to your family. I’ll be well enough to ride in a few days. Better we not see each other again.”
~~~
Blinded by tears, Sophia hurried to her own chamber. It was mere steps away, yet it was a journey of a thousand miles.
She climbed onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow. She’d known Brandt only a day or two, but the prospect of never seeing him again turned her limbs to lead, her heart to ice. She feared she might be sick. The deep love she’d craved was a torment.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d lain there sobbing when she became aware someone was stroking her hair. She knew instinctively it was the one person she could confide in without being judged.
“He has sent me away, Mama,” she said hoarsely. “He doesn’t wish to see me again.”
“I don’t think that it true,” her mother replied. “I recognised the love in his eyes when he watched you dancing and singing.”
The bitter truth roiled in Sophia’s belly. “But there is someone else.”
The stroking ceased. “He is betrothed?”
Sophia sat up. “Nein. They haven’t signed an agreement.”
Her mother gave her a kerchief. “I see. A union arranged when they were children.”
Sophia blew her plugged nose. “Apparently she’s a harridan.”
Blythe von Wolfenberg frowned. “Your father could tell you a thing or two about being obliged to wed a shrew.”
Long minutes passed. Sophia recalled what she’d been told of her father’s first marriage to a madwoman who’d tried to kill him—Johann’s late mother. An icy hand squeezed her heart at the prospect of Brandt being condemned to such a life.
However, there was a bigger obstacle. Perhaps if she gave voice to it, the problem might not seem so insurmountable. “If war breaks out again between Emperor Lothair and the Staufens, our families will be on opposing sides.”
The ensuing silence was nerve-wracking. Apparently her mother was considering her reply.
“Long ago,” she finally began, “I was a lady-in-waiting carried away by mistake in your father’s failed attempt to kidnap my mistress, the Empress Matilda. You know this story, but perhaps there are things about it you aren’t aware of.
“My loyalty lay with the Imperial side, not with the rebels from Köln. I was an Englishwoman. My mistress was the daughter of my English king. Your grandfather’s family, the Montbryces and the FitzRams, were loyal supporters of King Henry.”
Sophia curled up with her head in her mother’s lap, aware Blythe von Wolfenberg still found it difficult to speak of her parents though it had been sixteen years since they’d drowned in the White Ship disaster.
“I pouted, I sulked, I treated my captor with disdain and hostility. I even plotted escape. However, my heart soon convinced me I had fallen in love with him and in the justice of his cause.”
Sophia had indeed heard the story many times. It was part of her family’s lore, but now it held new meaning. “I never truly understood your predicament,” she admitted.
“My father and twin brother travelled from England in the belief Dieter planned to ransom me. Your uncle Aidan was ready to kill him for kidnapping me. However, my father recognised my feelings and gave his blessing to our union, though it meant we were on opposite sides of the struggle for control of the city.
“Fortunately, the emperor died not long after. Your father’s Saxon Duke Lothair became King of Germany and eventually Holy Roman Emperor. The widowed empress returned to Normandy, married Geoffrey Plantagenet and is challenging her cousin Stephen for the throne of England now her father is dead.”
Sophia snorted. “A woman? Queen in her own right?”
Her mother bristled. “Why can’t a woman be queen? She is Henry’s only legitimate child, though he sired countless illegitimate sons and daughters. Mind you, I didn’t care for Matilda when I was her lady-in-waiting. She was a spoiled child, married at twelve to a man of twenty-eight years.”
Sophia sat up. “Another example of the folly of arranged marriages.”
The familiar tale of her parents’ meeting was comforting. However, an inevitable truth remained. “But if the Staufens challenge Emperor Lothair again for the throne, my father and brothers could meet Brandt on the battlefield one day.”
Her mother took a deep breath. “Yes,” she replied sadly.
THE BROTHERS
“You’re a better physician than I gave you credit for,” Brandt said to Wendelin the next morning. In an effort to erase the sour expression from her ugly face, he added, “but I hope my skin won’t be permanently green.”
The hexe eyed him as she cleansed the knitbone off his chest. “Look at these muscles,” she chortled, having evidently decided to ignore his jest. “Your injuries might have dispatched a weaker man. You’re strong, healthy and young. You have a lot to live for.”
He pondered her words as she went about finishing her task, humming off key. What did he have to live for? Rödermark was a sizeable grafenstand, one of the most scenic earldoms in the valley of the river Main, though his father had done little to make it prosper. Brandt had plans to improve the cottages of the peasant farmers, and the manor house needed a great deal of work. Sophia would have tackled the challenges with relish, but he’d banished her from his life.
Yet he kept his eyes on the door, hoping she would appear.
“Given your progress, we’ll try to wrestle you into this,” Wendelin announced. He hadn’t noticed she’d produced a linen shirt. It wasn’t his, but looked about the right size. She looped it over his head then helped him raise each arm in turn and slide it into the sleeve. To his consternation sweat broke out on his brow with the simple effort.
She fussed over tying the laces at the neck, then produced the tincture. “Open,” she commanded. He obeyed, nigh on choking on the drops when she said, “Fräulein Sophia is out walking her horse.”
How did she know what was in his heart?
He swallowed hard, but she shuffled off to tend to the flame under the fumitory before he could reply. The pleasant aroma of burning rosemary tickled his nostrils.
She came back to the bed, pounded the pillows and helped him sit up. “That’s it. Inhale the fumes. Good for the bones. We’ll soon have you back on that fine beast of yours.”
And then I’ll be on my way home, he thought as she waddled out of the chamber with her bowl of sodden compresses.
The future without Sophia loomed like a bottomless abyss. He closed his eyes, conjuring an image of her riding the fields of Rödermark atop Mut, charming a smile out of his ill-tempered father, inspiring the respect of his servants, lying naked in his bed, her glorious hair arrayed across his body.
The sound of the door opening drew him back from his reverie, but he was disappointed and puzzled to see Lute and Konrad enter the chamber. He pressed his fists into the mattress and eased himself up a little. “My thanks for the use of your chamber, Konrad,” he said.
The shy youth’s smile and nod of acknowledgement proved he’d been right in his assumption. “Call me Kon,” the boy said. “I prefer it.”
Brandt’s spirits lifted. The Wolfenbergs were a courteous and honorable family and he was glad he seemed to have made a friend among them.
Lute on the other hand wasn’t smiling. “Wendelin informs us you are on the mend,” he said gruffly, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back.
“She has worked miracles. I am much improved thanks to her ministrations,” he replied, wondering what the purpose of this visit was. His instinct was to let them talk.
“I expect my father has already extended our family’s apologies for what happened to you on our lands,” Lute said formally.
Nose twitching, Kon scanned the chamber as if making sure he’d removed all his belongings. He wandered over to the fumitory. “Rosemary,” he remarked.
“Ja, on both counts,” Brandt replied. “Don’t worry, it won�
�t take long for the aroma to disperse once I am gone and you have your chamber back.”
Kon frowned. “I might keep it,” he replied. “Sweetens the air.”
Despite the rosemary, it occurred to Brandt that the odor of knitbone predominated, and probably sweat from his fevered body, but he held his tongue. These two hadn’t come to make small talk. “Sophia tells me you plan to enter the priesthood, Kon,” he offered.
The youth’s face brightened. “Ja!” But then his smile disappeared. “However, it seems I might not get my wish.”
Lute glared at his brother, but Brandt’s curiosity had been pricked. “Why is that?” he asked solicitously.
Seemingly emboldened, Kon sat on the edge of the mattress. “Father says there are plans afoot for Emperor Lothair to invade the lands King Ruggero of Sicily has occupied. He’ll need all the men he can get. I might have to go to war.”
A worm wriggled in Brandt’s belly, but he chose his words carefully, not wanting to reveal what he knew. Lothair’s forays into Italy had failed before thanks to a lack of manpower. “I’ve heard of the struggle for the Italian kingdoms.”
“Everyone is aware of the conflict for control of the Papacy,” Lute said, apparently warming to the subject. “The emperor backs Pope Innocent whereas Ruggero supports Anacletus.”
Brandt’s Duke Conrad had long ago proclaimed himself King of Italy as well as Germany. There’d been talk he’d abandoned his Italian claims when the Staufens reconciled with Lothair after the war, but Brandt’s father refused to believe the rumors.
“Over the last few years Ruggero has extended his control over the Norman kingdoms in southern Italy,” Kon went on. “Now he rules much more than Sicily. There’s Apulia, Calabria, Naples…”
“Innocent fears he’ll try for Vatican lands next,” Lute interrupted again. “He’s already encroaching. If he succeeds, he’ll put his puppet Anacletus on the papal throne.”
Brandt suddenly had the impression he was listening to a miniature version of Dieter von Wolfenberg, but this wasn’t the time to make mock. If Ruggero controlled the Pope, German influence over the Holy Roman Empire would be eroded. If the emperor marched on Sicily, Sophia’s happy-go-lucky brother would be obliged to fight with the imperial army. He knew first hand the sobering effect battle could have on a man’s sense of humor.
Would Conrad and Friedrich Staufen honor their pledge to the emperor or seize the chance to exploit disruption in Italy and claim the throne of the Holy Roman Empire? Either way, Brandt had a sinking feeling he too might soon be on his way to Sicily.
RUMORS OF WAR
Everyone waited in silence in the family dining room. Imperial envoys had arrived in the early afternoon. Whatever decisions had been reached in the meeting between them and Sophia’s father would have a profound effect on all of them, Brandt included.
The servants would not serve the evening meal until Graf Dieter arrived. It was unusual for her father to be late and Sophia sensed her mother’s nervousness as she folded and refolded her linen napkin.
Lute stared at the door. He was uncharacteristically quiet, though now she sensed it was apprehension dulling his wit, not ale.
Kon’s head was bowed in prayer, his hands clasped in his lap.
Her brothers were capable swordsmen, but not one had the heart of a warrior. Johann had inherited his father’s diplomatic abilities, Lute their mother’s joyful spirit and Kon—well, who knew where her youngest brother had found his studious bent and religious calling?
Johann and Kristina sat as close together as propriety allowed in the dining room. Sophia suspected they held hands under the table. Their physical union seemed to have gone well. Both looked different, though Sophia couldn’t say why. Kristina was no longer her playmate, she was Johann’s wife, and the serious half-brother she’d always loved was now a married man.
She longed to know everything about their sexual congress. What was it like to sleep naked with a male? To join your body to a man’s? But of course she would never ask. She’d discussed the theory of such matters with her mother, but intense private feelings and sensations had never been a factor.
Her thoughts went to Brandt. She hadn’t seen him since the previous day and wished he was present, holding her hand while they waited. Though he’d sent her away, an inner voice whispered that he loved her.
“We visited Rödermark earlier,” Kon said suddenly.
Lute scowled at him.
Sophia’s heart turned over. “Was he well?”
A pulse thudded at her throat. It was a silly question from a befuddled nitwit. How could he be well when he was likely in agony?
“He seems to be improving,” Kon replied. “Wendelin is pleased.”
Lute sulked. “He was wearing one of Johann’s shirts.”
Sophia’s throat constricted when she considered the effort it must have cost Brandt to don a shirt, but her wayward thoughts drifted to the lower part of his body. Was he still naked beneath the linen?
“An old one,” Johann explained, jolting her back from Brandt’s nether regions. “Wendelin asked me for it. I suppose I’m about the same size.”
“Thank you, Johann,” their mother said with a smile. “That was generous of you.”
Sophia wasn’t sure what to think when Kristina beamed a big smile and winked at her. Nevertheless, she murmured, “Thank you, Johann.”
“Why do you care?” Lute said rudely. “Still lusting for the Franken?”
“Luther,” his mother replied in a menacing voice she rarely used.
Sophia didn’t blame her chastened brother for his uncharacteristic behavior. “It’s all right, he is as worried as all of us,” she said.
Scant hours ago life had been carefree. They’d celebrated a wedding in a time of peace, though she suspected her father had been aware of the rumors of war and hadn’t wanted to cast a shadow over the celebrations. He and Lothair and Heinrich must have discussed Ruggero of Sicily.
When her stern-faced father entered the room and took his customary seat, it was as though a wizard had cast a spell of immobility. All eyes went to Dieter von Wolfenberg. No one breathed, or spoke. Sophia’s belly roiled.
He waved away the servant who stood ready to serve. “Later. Leave us.”
When only the family remained, he took hold of his wife’s hand. “The emperor has made his decision. The campaign against Ruggero of Sicily will commence in two months.” He clenched his jaw. “Duke Heinrich will accompany him. As the duke’s vassal I am obliged to commit men to the fight.”
Johann put an arm around Kristina’s shoulders when she sobbed aloud and leaned against him.
Lute gasped.
Kon raised his clasped hands to his twitching nose, but didn’t open his eyes.
A tear trickled down Blythe von Wolfenberg’s cheek.
Sophia had been thrown into the pit of despair. Her heart raged. She suspected even her father didn’t know which side the Staufens would support. Either way, it was likely Brandt would also be sent to Sicily. She stood to lose her brothers and the man she loved.
Useless to deny that the die had been cast when she first set eyes on him. Faced with that inescapable truth, Sophia suddenly knew the choice she’d made was the right one. If the obstacle of Dorothea Rittenhuis could be overcome, she would pledge herself to Brandt.
Her father coughed just as she was about to make her declaration.
“The emperor has suggested a meeting with the Staufens,” he said. “With their support there is more likelihood of victory.”
Sophia swallowed hard.
“He requests we invite Friedrich and Conrad here, since the Staufen envoy is already our guest.”
Sophia recognised, as did everyone else, that an imperial request couldn’t be refused, and that Dieter von Wolfenberg’s reputation as a diplomat was the reason for the choice of location. The dukes had more than likely forgotten whom they had sent to the wedding in their stead.
FIRST KISS
Br
andt gripped the mattress in an effort to steady his breathing before attempting to get back into bed. The short walk to the necessarium to take care of his needs was as exhausting as a pilgrimage to Rome. Drinking copious amounts of tea was all very well, but how did Wendelin expect him to get through the night?
The well designed indoor facility was impressive, a feature he intended to add to the manor house in Rödermark at the earliest opportunity. Enough of outhouses and chamberpots.
Had he been asleep he might not have heard the door open and close softly. There was no light in the chamber, but his eyes had already become accustomed to the dark. The same evidently couldn’t be said of the person who hesitated with her back pressed to the door.
Even if he hadn’t been able to see her, he’d have known it was Sophia. The fumitory was no longer lit, but a faint trace of rosemary hung in the air. Sophia brought with her the heady perfume of honeysuckle.
He would never inhale the scent of honeysuckle blossom again without being reminded of her.
His body also knew it was Sophia and reacted predictably. He drew the linen over his arousal.
However, an unmarried maiden should be abed in the middle of the night, not entering the chamber of a half naked man. It was his duty—to Dorothea, to his host, to his duke, to his father—to make her aware he’d seen her, tell her to leave, quash all hope of a relationship between them.
But he craved her with an intense longing that stole away his will to speak. This young Saxon woman had roused hopes and feelings he’d long ago buried under the weight of duty.
She took a tentative step toward him, peering into the darkness, then inhaled deeply. “I know you are sleeping,” she whispered, “but I have made my decision.”
Another step forward.
He stopped breathing. Had she come to tell him that family loyalty and fealty to the emperor overrode any feelings she had for him?
“I pledge myself to you, Brandt,” she whispered.
His heart turned over in his chest.
Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) Page 10
