He cleared his throat, determined not to laugh. “Of course. However, there is something you must know before we seal our betrothal.”
Franz Kresge had entered behind him and he sensed the man’s agitation. A pale-faced Nicolina stood in the doorway of the dining room.
“Are you prepared to take on the responsibilities of being a gräfin?”
She narrowed her eyes. “A countess? But I thought…”
Much as he thirsted to toy with her, he couldn’t keep the news to himself. He had to share it with the woman who loved him enough to accept him as a landless nobleman. He put his hands on her shoulders. “As a reward for my service Lothair granted me the title of graf. My lands lie not far from Wolfenberg.”
She gaped for only a brief moment then rained fisted blows on his chest. “And when were you going to tell me this?”
He had no opportunity to reply when her parents enclosed them in a happy circle of congratulatory delight.
She looked up at him. “Now I understand what Heinrich meant.”
“What did he say?”
“That I would soon learn of my reward for tending the emperor.”
Brotherly Love
Francesca longed for a few private moments with Lute, but there was no opportunity to share intimacies that evening. The count was informed of the betrothal and insisted on organizing an impromptu celebration that lasted well into the night. Her parents were apparently well known and respected in the area, and the guests who attended expressed seemingly genuine joy at the news.
Zitella was like a person reborn, rushing about to make sure the wine flowed.
Her mother and father were obviously elated at the match and talked of nothing else but Graf Luther and the new status of their long-lost daughter.
Exhausted, but happy, she was obliged to sleep in her sisters’ bedroom in the house, while Lute couldn’t refuse the hospitable offer of an opulent chamber in the castle.
He kissed her tenderly before she departed. “Good night, Gräfin Herzlachen. Sleep well.”
She yawned. “I’m too happy and excited to sleep.”
That proved not to be the case. She slept more deeply than she had for months. However, dawn broke too soon and after a hearty breakfast the horses and donkey were saddled and they were ready to depart.
“It’s a pity you can’t stay to meet my other daughters,” Francesca’s tearful mother lamented to Lute. “They live in München now and we hardly ever see them.”
Afraid her betrothed might suggest they extend their visit, she joined the conversation, pulling on his hand. “Mayhap we’ll see them when we pass through the town.”
Hopefully, he understood her warning glance. She had no intention of seeking out her twin sisters.
His reply came as a relief. “Unfortunately, I’ve already taken more than the day’s leave granted me. We’ll have some catching up to do.”
Franz shook his hand. “Send word of the wedding. Saxony isn’t that far away.”
She embraced her father, then her mother. “I would love you to be at the ceremony.”
“Indeed,” Lute added, snaking an arm around her waist and drawing her to his side.
His possessiveness since she’d agreed to the marriage elated her. He was letting her know she belonged to him, and the notion filled her with joy.
“I acknowledge the necessity for the escort Graf Andechs has provided,” Lute said as they rode away from Grünwald, “but I’d have preferred it was just you and me.”
She smiled in reply, but her regret at leaving her parents was plain to see in the brown depths of her eyes.
“Don’t fret. We’ll come for visits, or mayhap they will attend our wedding.”
“That would mean a lot to me,” she replied, “so long as they don’t bring my sisters.”
He sensed her words were spoken partly in jest, but it saddened him that she and her siblings didn’t get along. It brought home how fortunate he was in the relationships he shared with his brothers and sister.
It was the reason Kon’s continued self-imposed isolation and uncharacteristic sullen demeanor bothered him. Perhaps once they arrived home…
“You will love Sophia,” he told her in an effort to take his mind off his younger brother. “Although she’ll be going to live in Rödermark eventually.”
“I am anxious to meet your family, but I confess to being nervous still.”
“They will love you, as I do, mein schatz.”
“I have never been anyone’s darling before.”
Their escort led them back a different route to the main road to München where they found evidence that large numbers of troops had already passed. The captain examined the hoof-prints and wheels ruts. “An hour, no more,” he declared confidently.
However, they had travelled only a mile or so when they came across Brandt and a handful of men from his company, including Drogo. Lute dismounted as his brother-by-marriage rose from the fallen log on which he’d been sitting. “What are you doing here?” he asked as they clasped arms.
“Waiting for you, of course. I thought that if you returned alone you might need company, but I am glad to see that’s not the case.”
Over the months since his sister’s wedding, Lute had come to understand why she loved her husband, but he’d never expected Brandt to care about his well-being. “And the duke agreed?” he quipped.
Brandt cocked one eyebrow. “Well, I didn’t phrase it in quite those terms, but he concurred we should assure your safety, Graf Herzlachen.”
Guilt churned in Lute’s gut. Brandt had commanded the defence of Termoli, yet Lute had been handsomely rewarded.
His brother-by-marriage laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. “You’re as pale as a ghost, but no need to feel sorry. Lothair bequeathed me a small fortune—money I’ll certainly need for repairs to my father’s house and estate.”
He turned to Drogo who fidgeted at his elbow, gazing longingly at Zitella. “Go to her.”
The boy grinned, rushed to the donkey and kissed the smiling Italian girl.
Brandt leaned close to Lute’s ear. “Was it the title convinced her?”
Lute clenched his fists, torn between a desire to punch Brandt’s nose and an urge to strut like a rooster. He opted for the latter. “Nein. I told her after she’d agreed to be my wife.”
Brandt’s eyes widened. “Lucky man.” He strode over to Francesca, still mounted on her horse, reached for her hand, kissed it and declared. “You made the right choice, my lady.”
The nervous frown left her face as she smiled. “I know,” she replied, sending Lute a smoldering glance that caused a stirring at his groin.
He dismissed the escort with his thanks and remounted Mitte. He and Francesca rode side by side behind Brandt and his men. Perhaps it was because he was back in his own country or simply that the future held promise, but he felt more like the old devil-may-care Lute. The torments he’d endured over the past few months had melted away like a winter frost in the warm spring sunshine.
The only niggling worry was that it was Brandt who’d stayed behind to wait for him and not Kon.
Reunions
The armies and militias that had massed in München for the Italian invasion were making preparations to go their separate ways.
It was early morning when Lute sought out Francesca in the tent provided for her and Zitella. She came into his embrace as soon as he entered. “You miss me as much as I miss you,” he murmured.
She purred her agreement into his chest. The maid was nowhere to be seen and he toyed briefly with the notion of reaching under her skirts. However, time was short. “Duke Heinrich is anxious to transport Lothair’s bones to Königslutter as quickly as possible,” he told her. “His route will take him close to Wolfenberg, but I’m of a mind to accompany Brandt’s Staufen troops to Franconia before heading for Saxony. I think there is much to be learned from my brother-by-marriage.”
She stood on tiptoe and pecked a kiss on his nose.
“Heinrich is no doubt preoccupied with the election for a new emperor. He’s overbearing enough as it is.”
He laughed and squeezed her tightly. “To Rödermark then.”
She looked into his eyes. “I don’t care which way we go if I am with you.”
He decided there was time to cup her breasts and brush his thumbs over the pouting nipples. She closed her eyes. The purr became a groan.
“Mayhap my hospitable brother-by-marriage will provide us with a cozy bed in his manor house,” he suggested, his rute urging him to take her, time constraints be damned.
“I wish we could lie together now,” she whispered, her sultry voice echoing his need.
“As do I, but the first time we join our bodies will be in a sweet smelling bed, not on the hard dirt floor of a tent.”
“As befits a countess,” she quipped with a naughty gleam in her eye.
Zitella was clearly overjoyed they had stayed with the Franconians and Francesca was glad to be far away from the ossuary carrying Lothair’s bones.
It was a reminder of the emperor’s long suffering and the gruesome measures that had been necessary to prepare his bones for transportation.
The simple box represented a memory of events in the past she’d rather forget. The future lay with Lute. For better or for worse, she accepted that they were each other’s destiny.
Challenges lay ahead—meeting his parents, settling into Lute’s new lands—but she would do her utmost to be a good wife and helpmate. She had the upbringing to make a good contessa, though she conceded knowing Lute had changed her views on what that meant.
Chuckling inwardly, she watched her betrothed ride back towards her. He’d gone to the head of the column to meet with Brandt, sensing they were nearing Rödermark after two days on the road from München.
“Another half hour perhaps,” he told her. “He’s excited, but nervous.”
“Why nervous?”
“Apparently his father was a bad-tempered old man who wasn’t well liked. Brandt is coming home as the new count, but has years of neglect to make up for. He’s not sure of his reception, so he sent Vidar ahead.”
Her spirits fell. The much-anticipated sweet smelling bed suddenly seemed less of a possibility.
They hadn’t gone much further when Drogo rode up. “My master wants you to take over leading the march,” he told Lute, before pausing to take a breath. “He has ridden ahead to the manor house. Vidar returned with news.”
Lute clenched his jaw, obviously anticipating trouble.
“What could be wrong?” she asked.
Drogo grinned. “Nothing, my lady. His countess has already taken up residence in Rödermark.”
The frown disappeared from Lute’s face. “My sister?” he exclaimed.
His delight was another reminder of the strong bond between him and his siblings, but she hadn’t anticipated meeting the much-loved Sophia so soon. She raked her fingers through tangled hair. “I look a fright after so long on the road.”
Lute leaned over to kiss her. “You are still the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on. Don’t worry. Sophia will love you. Come with me.”
As they rode to the head of the column, she could only hope he was right.
Many of the Staufen troops who’d served under Brandt’s command in Italy had gradually left the main column in order to return to their homes in different parts of the duchy. Only the men from Rödermark and beyond remained, so Lute encountered no opposition when he urged them to a faster pace.
“I want to give Brandt time to properly reunite with Sophia and meet his son,” he told Francesca, “but I can’t wait to see my sister again.”
Another possibility flitted around his brain, but he hesitated to give it much thought. Their father would have accompanied Sophia, but if he’d already returned to Wolfenberg…
His throat constricted when he caught sight of a rider galloping towards them. There was no mistaking the bearing, the hair, the familiar face as the horseman neared.
“Papa!” he shouted, waving furiously, his heart filled with joy as he rode to meet his father.
They reined to a halt in a cloud of dust, dismounted and rushed to embrace each other.
His father stroked his back. “My son. I prayed for your safe return, but feared I might never see you again.”
There was much Lute wanted to say, but the words refused to emerge. He clung to the man who had been the rock of their family, who’d made him what he was, but who seemed to have shrunk alarmingly in stature.
They broke apart. His father sniffled back tears and swallowed hard. “Brandt tells me you’re a first-rate soldier.”
“Surprisingly, yes,” he replied hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off the beloved face, sad to see the toll worry had taken.
“And a count, I hear.”
Lute arched his brows. “You’ve had a long conversation.”
His father laughed. “Nein. He was too anxious to get his hands on his wife and child.” He looked beyond Lute to Francesca. “But he did mention something about you being betrothed.”
It was immediately clear to Francesca from whom Lute had inherited his features and his laugh, but that didn’t stop the peculiar pulse thudding at her throat.
The moment she’d anticipated but dreaded was at hand as Dieter von Wolfenberg strode towards her, arm in arm with his son.
She’d known terror atop the battlements of Termoli, but this was a different kind of fear. She knew from Lute’s tales of home that his father was an astute man. Much was riding on the count’s first impression.
Should she dismount, or stay atop the horse?
If she dismounted, was it appropriate to curtsey?
Her hair was beyond redemption, but she hoped her face was clean.
She gripped the pommel and caught a glimpse of her dirty broken fingernails. All was lost.
She thanked God and all his angels and saints that Lute clamped his strong hands on her midriff and lifted her from the horse. When her feet touched terra firma his reassuring arm around her waist banished any thoughts of curtsey.
“Papa, please welcome my betrothed, Francesca di Cammarata.”
The count arched one eyebrow. “Niece of King Ruggero?”
She might have known this renowned diplomat would know who she was, but Lute answered before she had the chance to. “One and the same.”
Lute’s father laughed heartily. “Well done, my boy.” He reached for Francesca’s hand and brushed a polite kiss across her knuckles. “Welcome to our family, Francesca.”
Meeting the Family
A lump lodged in Francesca’s throat as she watched Lute and his tearful sister cling together for long minutes in the entryway of the manor house. They didn’t speak but their joy was evident. He hadn’t exaggerated Sophia’s beauty, but had he mentioned she was blonde?
She hardly recognised Brandt as the stern warrior she knew. He cradled a gurgling babe in his arms and gazed at Sophia as if in the presence of the Madonna.
She fervently hoped Countess Rödermark never discovered she’d put a scorpion in her husband’s bed.
Lute took a step back and held out his hand to her. “Sister, may I present my betrothed, Francesca di Cammarata from Sicilia.”
Sophia smiled, but then her eyes widened. “My goodness,” she exclaimed, taking hold of Francesca’s hands, “I was a wreck after travelling here from Wolfenberg. You’ve come much further and you look wonderful.”
Comforted by a warm and welcoming embrace, Francesca understood Lute’s love for his sister. “Thank you. You’ve lifted my spirits.”
“You speak our language!”
Francesca hadn’t spoken Sicilian for many sennights and Lute’s language had become second nature, but suddenly she couldn’t think of a thing to say. The ability to speak German seemed a simple notion, yet it was so bound up in her history the prospect of explaining it made her tongue-tied.
Brandt came to her rescue. “Her father is Bavarian.”
Count Dieter took Francesca’s arm. “We must go inside. My wife will be getting anxious.”
Lute startled. “Mama is here?”
The polite smile left the count’s face. “Ja, but I’m afraid the journey exhausted her. She’s abed.”
Lute had never known his mother stay in bed during the daytime. His immediate gut-wrenching fear that illness had forced her to miss greeting him was confirmed by the distress in his sister’s eyes. He turned to his father. “Is she ill?”
He had his answer when Dieter von Wolfenberg clenched his jaw and averted his gaze, an uncharacteristic response. He took hold of Francesca’s hand and spoke to Sophia. “Lead the way.”
His sister chattered nervously as they walked through the dwelling. “This is a grand house, but it has seen better days, I’m afraid.”
“She’s right,” Brandt agreed, “though in the short time you’ve been here, liebling, you’ve already worked miracles. Much cleaner for one thing.”
“Papa hired extra servants from the village,” she explained. “I don’t know how Brandt’s father expected to run a house like this without help.”
Brandt snorted. “Didn’t want to spend the coin. Not that there’s much of it. He let the estate go to ruin, but the emperor’s gift will help solve that problem.”
Lute barely noticed any of his surroundings, dreading what might await them. When he entered the chamber, his worst fears were confirmed.
Propped up by several pillows, his mother opened her arms, but it was clearly an effort. Her pallor was alarming; the sparkling eyes he knew so well had dimmed.
Choking back tears, he sat on the edge of the bed and enfolded her in his embrace. It was as if he held a skeleton. Her wrinkled skin was cold and clammy. A faint odor of decay had replaced the familiar, comforting perfume that had been part of his life since childhood.
His mother was dying.
She’d lived a longer life than most, respected by her peers, adored by her husband and children, and their lives would be diminished after her passing.
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