He glanced up sharply. “I know we must speak of this, Blythe. I want no secrets between us, but it is difficult to talk about. I admit I have put it off.”
She rose and went to kneel at his feet, resting her head on his lap. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to.”
The silence stretched between them. She felt the tension in his body as he stroked her hair. “Her name was Frederika. She was mad.”
Blythe raised her head abruptly and looked at him, wishing she hadn’t. Despair haunted his eyes. She gripped his hands and swallowed hard, hating to see him in such pain. “Dieter, my love. What happened to her?”
He inhaled deeply. “Eventually she drowned herself.”
Blythe had to sink her teeth into the flesh of her hand to stifle a cry of sorrow and outrage. What this man had endured. “Did she love Johann?”
Dieter shrugged. “I don’t think she even knew who he was at the end.”
Tears trickled down Blythe’s cheek. “Why did you marry her if she was mad?”
He took her face in his hands and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. “We were betrothed when we were children. No one knew then what would befall her. It was an obligation. I did not meet her until the day of our marriage and I sensed then something was wrong, but it was my duty. If I’d known the extent of her madness, I would not have married her, but the die was cast once we were wed. I never loved her, Blythe. You are the only woman I have ever loved.”
She put her hands over his. “And you are the only man I have ever loved, ever will love. Your child is my child.”
He came to his feet and helped her rise, pulling her into his embrace. “I never expected to find a love like ours, liebling.”
“Nor I.”
***
Caedmon FitzRam walked proudly into the Old Cathedral in Köln with his magnificent daughter on his arm. She looked radiant and his heart was filled with joy that she’d found someone with whom she could share love and passion. He was sorry Agneta couldn’t be there. However, Dieter had sent messengers to Saint Germain, and Robert would send the message on by way of the regular relays the Montbryces used. He was confident it was the quickest way to get the happy news of Blythe’s betrothal and marriage to his family in England. He laughed as he thought of his precocious daughter, Ragna. She would be mortified not to be present at her sister’s wedding and would ask him thousands of questions. He studied his eldest daughter, trying to memorise the details of the occasion, for he well recognised Aidan would be useless in this.
Blythe’s blue silk dress, edged along the hem with ermine, fell gracefully from the high waist, banded with a wide sash of the same silk, which emphasized the swell of her breasts. He noted with satisfaction that she was indeed her mother’s daughter. The bodice had long sleeves and a cerise coloured cowl plunged from her shoulders to the high waistline. As she walked she lifted the edge, revealing a cerise coloured underskirt and dainty shoes tied around the ankles. Dieter had given her an amber necklace as a betrothal gift and she wore it proudly now. On her head she bore a circlet headdress, beribboned with cerise ribbons, and a shimmering veil. Caedmon closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted back to his own wedding in the fledgling abbey at Alnwick. Though not a wealthy man then, he’d been just as consumed with love for Agneta as Dieter seemed to be for Blythe.
The Count wore a long sleeved black tunic of fine wool, black leggings and black boots. The black hilt of his sword had white ribbons entwined around it, and a long white cloak, worn off the shoulders, fell almost to his feet. It struck Caedmon he’d never seen his son-by-marriage in anything other than black clothing.
Johann acted as his father’s page and was dressed in garb identical to his father’s.
Caedmon smiled. He would be able to report to Ragna that it was indeed a magnificent wedding. He relished teasing her mercilessly about it. In that regard, Aidan would be the perfect ally.
***
Archbishop Frederick conducted the lengthy ceremony. As he settled into the second quarter hour of his homily, Blythe’s mind wandered over what Dieter had told her about the cathedral in which she knelt. Christian buildings had existed on the site since the fourth century. Her thoughts flew back to the coronation ceremony in Mainz. It seemed long ago and far away. How unhappy she’d been then.
She longed for the nuptial ceremony to be over, the banquet to be done. It had been a fortnight of restraint that had stretched both hers and Dieter’s patience. She wanted to get on with discovering the passions her mother had hinted at. She thirsted to see Dieter naked and he’d told her he dreamed every night of running his hands through her auburn hair while she lay beneath him.
Aidan didn’t speak German, and he shifted restlessly in his pew. He was still cool towards Dieter and she suspected it was difficult for him to accept his twin would be far away.
Her father didn’t miss his cue when asked to place the coins symbolic of her dowry on the Bible. Caedmon had endowed her with one of his Sussex estates and a substantial sum of money. Dieter had presented her with an estate he owned in Saxony.
It would soon be Yuletide and the cathedral was chilly. Incense hung in the air as if frozen in place. Her toes were freezing. Dieter noticed her shiver and tightened his grip on her hand, smiling his enigmatic smile. His warmth filled her with longing. Would anyone notice if she kissed his hand? She willed the Archbishop to cease speaking.
Finally, the rites were completed and everyone processed out of the cathedral. Dieter and Aidan lifted Blythe by the forearms so her feet wouldn’t touch the slippery path. Anna draped a warm fur around her shoulders and Dieter shrugged into a wolfskin coat held out for him by Bernhardt. Laughing and giggling, they were bundled into a horse-drawn sleigh and tucked in. Köln had experienced an unusual December snowfall. Dieter kissed her deeply as the driver cajoled the horse into a trot and headed for his house.
“Ich liebe dich, Blythe,” he whispered, caressing the side of her face and gazing into her eyes. “I love you, my wife. You’re so beautiful.”
The love she saw in those blue depths humbled her. “I love you too, Schwarze ritter.”
He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her to him and tucked her cold hands inside his coat, warming them with his body. She felt the firm muscles of his chest.
She shivered. “My feet are so cold.”
“Not far now, liebling, and then I’ll warm your feet. In fact I hope it won’t be long before I’m warming your whole body.”
She shivered again, but not from the cold.
***
Blythe was delighted to see throngs of cheering crowds assembled to greet the hero of Andernach and his bride as they arrived home. He assisted her from the sleigh, taking a moment to kiss her, to the delight of the crowd. He waved, picked her up and carried her over the threshold of his house.
“Willkommen, Gräfin von Wolfenberg, welcome to your home, my Countess.”
She kissed him and rubbed her cold nose against his. They laughed. He sat her on a chair and rubbed her feet, until she stopped shivering. How could his hands be so comfortingly warm when they’d been outside in the frigid air?
Excited servants scurried here and there, looking important. As the guests arrived they were ushered into the dining room, and Dieter and Blythe took their places at the head table, accompanied by Caedmon, Aidan, her father-by-marriage, Dieter’s sister, and Johann. Shy at first, the little boy had quickly responded to the loving attention Blythe had heaped on him. She was enjoying getting to know Dieter’s modest father and sister who were proud of Dieter and treated her like a queen.
Indeed she felt like royalty as the festivities commenced. Their guests were happy for them, and she almost burst into tears when her father winked and smiled. How she loved him. He’d been the rock of their family, and she felt privileged to be the daughter of such a loving man. She knew many young women at Henry’s court who had no relationship with their fathers.
To have her twin there was a boon beyond measure. She caught him
gazing at her thoughtfully several times and wondered what his true feelings were. She leaned in to whisper to him as the food was being served. “Aidan, you know you’ll always be the most important man in my life?”
He smiled back, clasping her hand. “No, but I don’t object to being the third most important, after Dieter and Father.”
Caedmon rose to toast his daughter and her new husband. Dieter’s father came close to tears expressing his sentiments in his toast.
Dieter embraced him, and then proposed a toast of his own to his bride. “I’m the most fortunate of men. I am today the husband of the beautiful Blythe. My bride is a woman of incredible courage and fortitude. Though she’s not of our homeland, she has embraced our culture and our customs. She’s a woman I’m proud to call my wife. Please drink to the long life and health of my bride, Blythe Lacey von Wolfenberg.”
Voices echoed the toast and tankards banged loudly on tables. Blythe rose to respond. “Graf Dieter Von Wolfenberg is a man any woman would be proud to have as a husband. But he has given his life to me, and I’m humbled by his gift. I am doubly lucky that I have two new men in my life, Dieter and his handsome son, Johann.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him and smiled. “Meine damen und herren, drink to the long life of my husband, Count Dieter von Wolfenberg, the hero of Andernach.”
Again the toast was echoed and loudly cheered. Johann grinned, though he looked like he might fall asleep any second. His father tousled his hair and whispered something in his ear. He came to Blythe and kissed her cheek. She hugged him, her heart full.
The servants waited at tables and served plentiful vegetables, including cabbage, carrots, onions, beets and garlic. Kippers made from herring caught in the North Sea were a delicacy appreciated by the guests, and Blythe was secretly pleased she’d long ago coaxed Trésor, the cook at Ellesmere Castle, into sharing the secret Montbryce recipe for trout. As soon as the guests tasted the delicate flesh she saw their amazement. Praise ran high for the roasted swan and peafowl. Beer and wine flowed freely, and by the time the krapfen—fried pastries with sweet fillings—were served, everyone was well into their cups—everyone except Dieter and Blythe whose intoxication came from heated glances exchanged between them. Johann had fallen asleep and been taken to his chamber by his nursemaid.
Dieter squeezed Blythe’s hand and leaned close. “I fear the Archbishop is so far gone he may collapse before he has the chance to bless our matrimonial bed. Let’s adjourn to our chamber.”
He rose and announced to the guests, “My bride and I will await you in our matrimonial chamber.”
Cheers and guffaws broke out.
When they reached their chamber, Dieter gave her a conspiratorial wink and urged her into bed fully clothed. She hesitated. “Wait! Let me take off your cloak.”
She raised her shaking hands to the ornate clasps holding his white cloak in place and unhooked them. The cloak fell to the floor and pooled at his feet. He put his hands on her waist and growled. “Maybe we’ll lock the door and dispense with the blessing.”
To her surprise an answering growl emerged from her throat as he brushed his lips over hers, lifted her on to the bed, and tucked the bed linens up to her neck. Then he climbed in beside her after pulling off his boots and tossing them against the wall.
Five minutes later their giggles were interrupted by the solemn entrance of the tipsy Archbishop, leaning heavily on his crosier, his mitre askew on his bald head. A crowd of well-wishers gathered behind him as he intoned God’s blessings on the marriage bed.
They tried to be serious, holding hands beneath the covers, and burst out laughing when the last of the group left. Blythe sobered a little at the wistful expressions on the faces of her father and brother.
The newlyweds flung the bed linens aside and stood facing each other, hand in hand, breathless, still fully clothed. “Dieter,” Blythe said at last, “I want to take off all your clothes. I want to see my Black Knight naked. I’ve dreamt of it for so long.”
He undid the topmost fastening of his tunic then held out his arms to her in a gesture of submission. She grasped the hem of his tunic and slowly, tantalizingly, raised it over his head as he held his arms in the air. She tossed the garment aside then smoothed her hands lovingly over his shoulders and arms.
“Raise your arms again,” she commanded. He obliged and she touched the black hair of his underarms, inhaling the scent of him. “Silky,” she whispered as a bolt of longing shot through her. His eyes never left her face.
He wants to see my reaction to his body.
She laid her cheek against the black hair on his chest, gasping at its softness. Her fingertips ran over the muscles of his broad chest, her thumbs grazing his nipples. He shuddered and she paused to gaze into his smouldering eyes.
He stood with his legs braced. She lowered her eyes to look at his manhood, straining against the wool of his leggings. This man’s most private part would soon be revealed to her once more. She’d longed for it since the stolen glimpse at the lake, but now she hesitated, a little afraid.
She untied the bindings, hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly peeled the garment from his body. Her hair brushed against his swollen phallus, covered now only by his linen braies. He growled deep in his throat and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. She helped him free one foot then the other from the leggings. His toes were long, the nails beautifully manicured. Her breasts swelled, the linen of her chemise chafing the hardened nipples.
“Untie my braies,” he whispered.
His seductive voice touched the core of her being. She did as he asked and removed the last piece of clothing that stood between her and his body. She rose and looked upon him in his nakedness. He stood before her proudly, his eyes burning into hers. What she hadn’t seen in the twilight by the lake was a thin scar that ran from his navel to his groin. The blade had come dangerously close to his manhood.
He held out his hands. “Do you like what you see?”
She licked her lips, scarcely able to breathe. She traced the length of his erect manhood with one fingertip, wanting to remember this moment forever. “Dieter, you’re magnificent. It’s been worth the wait.”
She touched the faint scar. “This isn’t where the Emperor’s would-be assassin wounded you.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Nein, that is a memento from Frederika.”
Bile rose in Blythe’s throat. “She did this to you?”
“She wanted to unman me.”
Blythe did the only thing she could think of to ease the pain a madwoman had inflicted upon him. She licked the other woman’s mark, trying to erase it from his body. “Make love to me, Dieter. Make me a woman.”
He took her hand and placed it firmly on his shaft. “You’re already a woman, Blythe. This night I’ll make you my woman.”
His elegant hands disrobed her quickly and the blue and cerise silk lay in a puddle at her feet. She felt the heat of his burning gaze.
He placed her hands on his sex. “Touch me again, Blythe, put your hands on me.”
“Your skin is soft, Dieter,” she murmured. “You’re so—large—and full.”
“Move your hands,” he whispered, breathing hard and grazing his chin against her face. “You know what’s going to happen soon, liebling? You know we’ll join our bodies?”
“Yes, Dieter, I know. My mother prepared me for this night. It’s only that—I didn’t realize a man’s—”
He put a forefinger on her lips. “Hush, sweetheart. I’ll ready you. It might be painful the first time, but you’re a passionate woman, you’ll triumph over the discomfort. You’ll carry us both to ecstasy.”
He lifted her back onto his big feather bed.
Her body was on fire. She responded to the urge to have this man possess her, opening her legs as his mouth found her nipples and suckled. His lazy fingers trailed down her stomach. Spasms tore through her as he caressed her most intimate folds. She fell under his spell, murmuring his name over and over.
“Blythe, my Blythe,” he whispered, “I’ve longed to possess you, longed to make you mine. I need to come inside you now. Are you ready to welcome me?”
“Now, Dieter, now, now, now.”
He knelt between her legs, nudged them further and guided his manhood into her.
“Look into my eyes, Blythe,” he commanded as he thrust home.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his as the pain came and went, but the urge went on—and on—and on, until finally the climax came. He cried out with her as waves of pleasure swept over them. Blythe sent a silent prayer of thanks to her mother, who had been right all along.
***
Dieter watched his wife sleep. He had never ached so unbearably for a woman. It had been difficult enough concealing his rock hard erections when he thought Blythe would never care for him. Now he seemed to have no control at all over his rute.
Blythe’s sensuous innocence sent his senses reeling every time he looked at her. The desire in her eyes had promised and delivered a physical joining that exceeded all expectations, and his expectations had been high. He was proud of his body. He was a man of action, a warrior. Women were attracted to him, and he enjoyed their company, but Frederika had stolen from him any desire to remarry. The prospect he’d been given another chance and found a true love made him giddy.
Yet, as he’d stood under Blythe’s burning gaze in their bridal chamber, he’d unexpectedly felt unsure. Despite her passionate nature, she was an innocent. Would his size frighten her? Would he please her?
Subjecting himself to her slow undressing had been a torture that inflamed him more, the scent of her female arousal filling his nostrils. He’d had to explain the scar. He shuddered at the memory of how close Fredericka had come to making him a eunuch. But Blythe’s reaction had been to lick him. He’d almost lost his control, dragged her to the bed, fallen atop her and plunged into her depths.
He recalled his anger over the botched kidnapping, but now knew God had smiled on him that day. This woman had come into his life, a woman who ran her fingertips over his body, over his maleness, savouring the discovery of him. What a contradiction she was—naive, yet knowing. Her mother had prepared her for their union and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the mother-by-marriage he’d never met. What a fortunate man Sir Caedmon was! His bride hadn’t been fearful. The gleam in her eyes had betrayed her joyful anticipation. How many new brides insisted on undressing their husbands first! He’d never felt as appreciated as a man.
Carried Away (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 7
