Courageous Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  His mother frowned. “The marriage must take place here, and soon. I want to see you wed before I die, and I won’t survive the journey back to Wolfenberg.”

  Graf Dieter opened his mouth to protest, but she glared him to silence. “I’m not afraid to die, my love, and better I die here in a comfortable bed in my daughter’s home than suffer my parents’ fate.”

  Sophia choked back a sob and ran from the chamber, muttering an excuse about feeding her screeching child.

  The countess looked to Francesca. “They drowned, you know, years ago. My father’s wish was to be buried in the crypt at Montbryce alongside his father, but their bodies were never found.”

  Lute’s shoulders stiffened. He had only a vague recollection of his grandparents. “No need to speak of the White Ship tragedy now.”

  Francesca plucked up her courage. “She needs to speak of it.”

  The countess nodded. “You have found a wise woman, my son. Heed her.”

  He glanced back at Francesca, smiling wryly, then leaned forward to kiss his mother. “Rest now. We’ll talk later.”

  “Very well,” she replied wearily, “but keep me apprised of the progress of the wedding plans.”

  FINDING STRENGTH

  Count Dieter stayed to keep vigil over his slumbering wife.

  Lute took Francesca into his embrace as they left the chamber. “Thank you for easing my mother’s pain,” he whispered.

  Sophia joined them. “I add my thanks. You have a special gift.”

  Francesca hesitated. Her uncle’s belief that she possessed a special gift had almost destroyed her life. She didn’t want to be thought of as a mystical healer. “I just have a knack of calming people.”

  “It’s true,” Lute confirmed. “She saved the lives of several wounded men I truly didn’t think would survive.”

  Sophia took Francesca’s hand. “Come, Axel is happy now his belly is full, and my husband is content to stay with him. I’ll take you to your chamber. Your maid has been sent there already, and I ordered a bath.”

  Francesca’s admiration for Lute’s sister grew. She must know her mother was dying, yet she was doing her best to be welcoming and friendly.

  Sophia pushed open the door. “It’s not a large chamber, and this place needs a lot of renovation.” She eyed Lute. “I understand your need to be together, but—”

  Her brother held up his hand. “I know, Papa would be offended.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Actually he probably wouldn’t be, but believe me, the interminable waiting only enhances the wedding night.”

  It seemed a wanton thing for a countess to say, but Lute only smiled. “So you think we should get married here?”

  “I am not the one to ask.”

  He turned to Francesca. “I apologise. I’m distracted. I’ve never seen my mother in anything but perfect health.”

  She cupped his sad face in her hands, desperate to ease his distress. “It’s important for your parents we wed here.”

  “That’s settled then,” Sophia declared, hugging Lute. “Brandt will arrange it with the local priest. It’s a relief you have all arrived. I’m used to relying on Papa but he has been distraught since mother fell ill.”

  A thought occurred to Francesca. “My parents aren’t too far away, in Grünwald. Mayhap they could come early and lend a hand with the preparations.”

  ~~~

  As the day of his wedding approached, Lute often found himself alone with his dozing mother. It was evident she wasn’t getting better, and he accepted the end was near, but she seemed at peace, for which he credited Francesca’s calming touch.

  He used the silence to think back on the Lute he used to be. War had robbed him of his naivete, but he thanked God he still had his sense of humor. His optimism now was different, more mature, and Francesca had brought him to the recognition.

  He still craved her and chafed that their marriage was yet days away, but knowing she would be his, was his, rendered the waiting exhilarating.

  For the first time in his life, his father needed him and not the other way round. Johann might be the eldest son and heir to the title, but it was Lute who’d been called upon to help their father deal with the demise of his beloved wife.

  In a time of great joy mingled with great sadness, he’d found the essence of Lute von Wolfenberg and knew who he was meant to be.

  ~~~

  Awaiting opinions on the alterations, Francesca walked back and forth in Sophia’s solar. She loved red and had gratefully accepted the offer of the already used wedding gown. She had nothing of her own. Her small trunk had miraculously made it to Rödermark, but she doubted the harem pants would be deemed suitable for the ceremony.

  “Looks better on you than it did on me,” Sophia quipped. “I wasn’t sure why I brought it with me, but now I’m glad I did.”

  A maidservant appeared in the doorway carrying a salver with a parchment. “Message from Grünwald,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.

  Francesca accepted the missive hesitantly.

  Sophia laughed. “I’m sure they’ll be here.”

  Francesca paused. “If they can, I know they will. I’ve been worried my sisters might come too, though I was careful how I worded the invitation.”

  Sophia bounced her baby son on her lap. “You don’t want them to attend your wedding?”

  “It’s probably hard for you to comprehend this, but I never had a good relationship with my sisters. I haven’t seen them for years and my memories are not good. They are twins and I was the intruder.”

  “Open it then.”

  She obeyed and smiled with relief when she read her father’s elegant script. “All is well. My parents are coming, my sisters are not.”

  “I’m glad and look forward to meeting them. I never had a sister, although Johann’s wife and I have been close friends since childhood.”

  “Kristina?”

  Sophia hoisted Axel over her shoulder and patted his back. “Ja, and my mother always treated her like a daughter. Frau Halden is sadly lacking in maternal skills.”

  Francesca wasn’t surprised when a tear trickled down Sophia’s cheek. “You are lucky to have had the benefit of your mother’s guidance all your life. It’s understandable her passing will leave you bereft. I will grieve when my mother dies, but I barely know her.”

  Her soon-to-be sister-by-marriage wiped away tears with her free hand. “You’re right. I didn’t always agree with Mama, but looking back I am grateful.” She cast a strange sideways glance. “Especially for the advice she passed on about, er, well, men.”

  Francesca recalled an earlier remark about wedding nights, and wondered where the conversation was going. “Men?”

  Sophia blushed a deep red as she stood with the fretting babe. “In bed. What they like. Perhaps I’ve overstepped and you’re already knowledgeable…”

  Francesca’s heart filled with joy. Sophia wanted to be the kind of sister she’d never had. She held out her hands to take the babe. “Nein, I would be grateful for your advice.”

  YOU'RE A VIRGIN

  On the day before the wedding, Brandt and Lute worked together in the undercroft of the manor house to lash two stout poles to a sturdy chair.

  Once they were finished, they stepped back to survey their handiwork.

  Lute dusted off his hands. “Should do the job.”

  Brandt sat in the chair. “I agree. Your mother isn’t heavy.”

  Lute pulled on one of the poles to test the strain on the ropes, but the prospect of his resilient mother having to be carried in a litter tightened his throat.

  Brandt stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard to watch someone you love die, but at least this contraption will ensure your mother is at the ceremony. I can barely remember my mother. She died when I was a child.”

  Lute inhaled deeply. “You’re right. Looking forward to my wedding has kept Mama alive; she is more excited than anyone.”

  Brandt winked. “I doubt Francesca would a
gree.”

  Lute chuckled. “Probably not. I just hope I don’t turn out to be a disappointment as a husband.”

  Why he’d set the conversation in that direction he wasn’t sure.

  Brandt made a show of brushing invisible lint off the chair. “I have to be honest. When I first met Francesca I didn’t like her at all.”

  Lute shrugged. “I wasn’t sure I did either after the scorpion incident. Good thing you were there to finish them off with your boot.”

  Brandt grinned. “I’ve had practice. Anyway, I’ve come to recognise her for the brave woman she is and it’s obvious to everyone the two of you belong together. Being a husband is something you learn as you go along.”

  Lute thought that notion rather comical coming from a man who’d spent a fortnight with his bride before marching off to war.

  “My opinion is,” Brandt continued, evidently warming to the subject, “if all is well in the…er…bedchamber, then all will be well…er…generally.”

  In the months they’d spent together at close quarters and in often difficult circumstances, Lute couldn’t recall Brandt ever speaking of anything remotely related to sexual congress. He was a private person in that regard, yet he’d overcome his reluctance and for the second time taken on the role of concerned brother. Had he sensed Lute’s nervousness?

  “Well, Papa has passed on a few…er…notions, but to be frank he’s shy when it comes to that sort of thing, and I really didn’t want to hear about matters that were private between my parents.”

  Brandt laughed. “Fortunately for me, Sophia had no such compunction. She lapped up everything your mother told her.”

  They were getting into dangerous territory. It wasn’t news to Lute that Blythe von Wolfenberg was a liberal-minded woman who’d passed on intimate knowledge in order to prepare her daughter for the joys of the marriage bed. He suspected she’d also taken Kristina under her wing.

  He wanted to be an accomplished lover, but certainly didn’t wish to hear about his sister’s antics in the bedchamber. He decided to be blunt. “You’re a lucky man to have found a woman like Sophia, but my question is, how did you learn to please her?”

  Brandt gaped at him for a moment then smiled. “You’re a virgin!”

  Several options whirled around Lute’s head as his hackles rose. He could simply storm out, or kick Brandt in the shins, or deny the truth.

  However, he realized his brother-by-marriage wasn’t making fun of him, and why deny something of which he was proud? “I am,” he admitted.

  Brandt put an arm around his shoulder. “Francesca’s a lucky woman, but I can let you in on a few secrets to make her even happier.”

  Lute could only nod like an imbecile.

  ~~~

  On the eve of her wedding, Francesca fidgeted as the food was served at the informal Maiden’s Banquet in the dining room. It was a subdued affair, given the countess’s illness, but Count Dieter was doing his best to make sure it was a memorable occasion.

  Lute loosened the fastenings of his doublet, complaining of being too hot. Every time he looked at her across the table, he licked his lips, which only increased her conviction they’d both been afflicted with some noxious fever.

  He’d fascinated her since the moment they met, arousing emotions and bodily sensations that were new and delicious, though sometimes overwhelming.

  When she’d been uncertain about marrying him, she’d tried unsuccessfully to suppress her frustrated desires.

  Once they were betrothed, the notion of their bodies joining had worried her. She craved him, but had never lain with a man and hoped Lute would teach her how to be a good wife.

  After the conversation with Sophia, her mind seethed with wanton images of the intimacies they might share on the wedding night.

  “Are you unwell, Francesca?” her sister-by-marriage asked with a wink and a naughty grin. “You seem overheated.”

  She had an urge to stick out her tongue, but a future countess didn’t resort to such behavior. Instead she returned Sophia’s sly grin.

  The roasted goose was delicious and the vegetables plentiful but she was too nervous to eat much.

  When the sweet was served, Brandt cleared his throat and rose, tumbler in hand. Sophia gazed at her husband as though Thor had come down to earth to grace mere mortals with his presence.

  It heartened Francesca that Brandt was so thoroughly loved and cherished. She hadn’t liked him at first, but he’d proven himself a worthy warrior and a compassionate man.

  “A toast! To Lute and Francesca,” Brandt declared.

  Everyone raised a tumbler and echoed the toast.

  He grinned at his wife. “And to wedded bliss.”

  Count Dieter’s tumbler remained in mid air as he stared into nothingness.

  A fire smoldered in Sophia’s eyes.

  An insistent pulse throbbed in a very intimate part of Francesca’s body and spiralled into her womb.

  When Brandt winked at her red-faced groom, she knew for certain the two men had discussed matters of sexual congress.

  She met Lute’s nervous eyes across the table and smiled.

  A WEDDING

  Francesca’s parents arrived mid morning of the wedding day. Her father was apologetic. “Hoped to be here last evening.”

  “Wasn’t to be,” her mother added. “But we’re here now.”

  Tears welled when Francesca informed her of the countess’s illness. She cried when reintroduced to Lute, and again when she met Sophia and Brandt, and her sorrow knew no bounds when she was presented to Count Dieter.

  “Women always weep at weddings,” Franz remarked.

  The joy finally returned to her face when Sophia put Axel into her arms.

  The tears flowed again later in the day when Francesca appeared in the hall, dressed and ready in the red gown. “My beautiful daughter,” she sobbed.

  “I am overjoyed you are here, Mama, but now you must accompany the count and countess to the church.”

  A few moments later, two footmen carried in the litter. Despite her illness, Lute’s smiling mother sat erect, looking more like an empress than a woman nearing the end of her life. She reached for Francesca’s hand. “Thank you for loving my son,” she whispered. “I love all my children, but Lute has a special place in my heart.”

  “I promise to take good care of him,” she replied.

  Count Dieter, resplendent in a long black tunic with red slashings in the sleeves, kissed her on each cheek. “Cherish every moment of your lives together. The years will go by quickly and before you know it…”

  She clasped his hands, filled with admiration for this strong, celebrated hero whose voice choked with emotion at the prospect of losing the woman he loved. There was much she wanted to say, but could only nod in response.

  The count proffered an arm to her mother and the group set off on the short walk to the village church.

  Zitella fussed with the skirts of the red dress, then grasped Francesca’s hand and kissed it. “I wish you happiness, my lady. You have been very good to me.”

  She put a hand on the girl’s head. “I know of your hopes. I will speak to Graf Rödermark about you and Drogo.”

  Her maid blushed. “He has already given his blessing to our union. All that remains is for you to grant permission for me to stay here when you journey on to Wolfenberg.”

  She kissed Zitella’s cheek. “I will miss you terribly, but of course you must stay. I would never stand in the way of true love!”

  As the girl poured out her effusive thanks, she marvelled at how gratifying it was to bring happiness to others. Francesca of Palermo would have denied such a request without thinking twice, but now she knew what love was.

  Her father linked his arm in hers. “It’s time. I had almost given up hope of ever seeing my daughter again, never mind escorting her to the church to be wed. Happiest day of my life.”

  “Mine too,” she echoed.

  ~~~

  Fiddling nervously with t
he ends of his sleeves, Lute looked up to the heavens, hoping the dark cloud would pass quickly. He didn’t mind getting wet during the exchange of vows outside the church. A rain-shower was considered good luck, but he fretted they’d made no provision to protect his mother from the elements.

  He wasn’t apprehensive about marrying. Francesca was his soul mate, of that he was certain. However, his craving for their physical union had soared beyond the constant longing he’d borne before. Thanks to Brandt’s tutelage, he was a man possessed.

  When his winking brother-by-marriage poked an elbow in his ribs and declared, “Here she comes,” his already stirring rute turned to granite.

  She was a vision of beauty in a red gown that somehow looked familiar, her golden hair shining through the modesty veil. He hadn’t understood his father’s insistence he wear a long tunic, but thank goodness he’d followed the advice.

  One afternoon as he sat with his mother, she’d reminisced about her own wedding. “I used to call your father my Schwarze Ritter because he always wore black. However, he surprised me. Over his black woollen tunic he wore a long white cloak, an off-the-shoulder affair that fell to his feet. Very handsome. A white ribbon adorned the hilt of his sword.”

  Her wistful smile turned to a grin when he suggested he wear the same combination. “But we married in winter,” she protested half-heartedly.

  He kissed her forehead. “Nevertheless, I shall be Francesca’s Black Knight.”

  His bride licked her lips as she came to stand by his side. She evidently approved of his attire if the need smoldering in her eyes was any indication.

  “You wore red the first time I saw you,” he whispered, taking hold of her warm hand as they stood before the local priest.

  She twirled her thumb in his palm.

  The promises they made to each other as they looked into each other’s eyes and repeated their vows filled him with a sense of optimism for the future. However, when he looked back on this memorable occasion it would be the touch of her thumb he would cherish as the most intimate moment.