Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) (16 page)

The unsmiling count gestured to a chair. “Please sit, Brandt.”

He eyed the chair, encouraged that von Wolfenberg had used his given name. However, everyone else was standing. Being the only person seated would put him at a disadvantage, but he didn’t think he could remain on his feet for long. He nodded, and sat.

The brothers filed to stand behind the chair. Sweat trickled down his spine, but he didn’t fear what might happen to him. They’d had plenty of opportunity to do away with him. The sword that hung over his head, the fate that churned his gut, was a pronouncement that he was never to see Sophia again.

Another chair faced the one in which he sat, but the count paced, four steps this way, turn, four back. Then he stopped abruptly and looked Brandt in the eye. “The emperor and Duke Heinrich will arrive here in three days,” he announced.

It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he supposed it meant he’d have to be gone before then.

“As will the Staufen brothers.”

A shiver caressed his nape. “Dukes Friedrich and Conrad?” he asked. “Here?”

“They are coming for a meeting,” the count explained.

Cocooned in his sick bed for days, Brandt had been isolated from what was going on in the outside world, but now reality struck like lightning. He met the count’s gaze. “The campaign against Ruggero of Sicily.”

“I don’t need to explain to you the importance of Staufen support for the emperor’s efforts to keep the Vatican out of Ruggero’s greedy hands.”

“Indeed,” Brandt replied, wondering when his host was going to get to the reason for this interview.

“I speak to you as a fellow German vitally concerned with keeping control of the Holy Roman Empire in German hands,” the count said. “And as the man who wishes to marry my daughter.”

Brandt heard movement behind him. One of the brothers coughed. He wasn’t going to remain seated and accept the thinly veiled insinuation he betray his duke; he had to get to his feet. Jaw clenched, he gripped the arms of the chair, ready to lever himself up. But the count sat down in the chair across from him. “Hear me out,” he insisted, glancing at the silent trio. “My sons are here only because they care about their sister.”

“As do I,” he replied, hoping his sincerity rang true. “I assure you, all of you, I would never willingly hurt Sophia. I love her. I have explained about Dorothea Rittenhuis. If anything can be done about that situation I will do it.”

“What about the Staufens?” Johann asked.

He wished he could turn round and address the man directly, but that was more than his ribs would handle. He clamped his hands on his knees and replied to the count, aware his next words might cost him the woman he loved. “I am a vassal of Conrad Staufen. Whatever he decides to do with regard to Ruggero of Sicily, I owe him my loyalty and will follow his lead.”

A pulse thudded in his throat when a smile tugged at the corners of the count’s mouth. “My daughter has chosen well. I am glad to hear you are a man of honor. Now we must hope the emperor will persuade the Staufens to his side—with our help of course.”

Brandt doubted Duke Conrad would pay much heed to anything he had to say, but when the count rose and proffered his hand, he pushed himself out of the chair and accepted the gesture, trying not to sway too alarmingly.

The three Wolfenberg sons had moved to his side to shake his hand when Sophia burst into the solar. She grasped his arm and glared at her brothers. “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted.
 

He patted her hand. “Sophia…”

She tightened her grip. “I am ashamed of you. Jackals surrounding a wounded man who cannot fight for himself.”

The count grinned.

Sophia was red-faced and shaking. “Why are you laughing, Papa? This is cruel. I love Brandt…”

By now every male in the solar was laughing, though Brandt was content to chuckle, lest he damage his healing ribs.

“What?” Sophia exclaimed as he put an arm around her shoulders.

“We know you love him,” her father said. “And he loves you. We will work together to overcome the obstacle of the Staufens.”

Still panting, she grinned like an imbecile.

“However, Brandt will have to tackle the problem of Dorothea alone.”

The smile left her face, but she put her head on his chest and snaked her arms around his waist. “All shall be well,” she murmured.

It was the first time he’d been able to stand upright and hold her body against his. She was still trembling but her fear for him warmed his heart. A premonition that she was right filled his heart.

LATE ARRIVAL

To his surprise, Brandt was invited to join the Wolfenbergs for meals. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he told his hostess as he took his place at table.

Despite traces of grey in the
gräfin’s
hair, it was obvious to him where Sophia had inherited her blonde tresses and happy smile. “You are welcome,” she replied. “But you and Sophia are not permitted to sit together, and you cannot consider yourselves a betrothed couple.”

Sophia blushed and cast him a wide-eyed glance across the table that caused pleasant stirrings.
 

“Of course,” he replied with a wink he hoped no one noticed.

For two days he enjoyed the easy banter that went on despite the meeting of monumental importance that was to take place in their home. He enjoyed Sophia’s sense of humor, her blush, the easy rapport with her brothers.

It was a far cry from his own family circumstances and he relished every moment of it. Breathing became easier. Laughing didn’t hurt as much. His strength was returning.

When Wendelin pronounced him fit enough to ride for short periods, he and Sophia rode out in the meadow. Riding Löwe again was like spending time with an old friend after a long absence. The horse picked its way carefully without guidance from Brandt. Sophia was delighted with Mut’s progress.

As they rode a slow path to the river and back they talked of many things. He told her about his home, about Rödermark and the Main valley.

She shared the story of her parents’ unusual meeting, of her father’s role in the victories at Andernach and Welfesholz. Her eyes welled with tears when she told of his catastrophic first marriage. A shiver rushed up his spine. Though there’d never been any hint that Dorothea was mad, she was certainly difficult. Neither he nor Sophia ever spoke her name, but she was a constant presence.

He spent many hours in discussion with the count and his eldest son, relieved that they all sat while they talked. They’d never met the Staufens and were interested in Brandt’s opinions. “I barely know Friedrich,” he told them, “but if he’s like Conrad, he is ruled first and foremost by pride in his family ancestry.”

“Will they agree to honor their pledge to Lothair?” Johann asked.

Brandt had a momentary vision of his father’s explosive reaction to such a question. He considered his response, taking a measure of satisfaction from the sudden awareness that he wasn’t the stubborn and unreasonable man his father had tried to turn him into. “There is little doubt in my mind,” he replied, “that the Staufens have not abandoned hope of Conrad one day sitting on the imperial throne. They believe it was their birthright as nephews of Heinrich the Fifth to succeed him. It was he endowed them with Swabia and Franconia in the first place. They have never accepted Lothair’s election.”

The count tapped his chin.
 

Johann frowned.

“Losing the war against Lothair stung, and forced them to abandon their claims,” Brandt continued. “However, I personally do not believe they want history to remember them as men who broke a solemn oath.”

~~~

The family gathered as usual for the evening meal on the day the emperor and duke were scheduled to arrive. Their failure to appear had everyone on edge. It was apparent to Sophia no one had an appetite. Her mother looked uncharacteristically tired after hours spent with the cooks trying to preserve the copious amounts of extra food that had been prepared.

She and Kristina had helped, and it had been exhausting to keep up with the whirlwind that was Blythe von Wolfenberg once she got the bit between her teeth.

Johann seemed to have acquired the habit of drumming his fingers on the table. Kristina tensed every time he did it, but said nothing. Sophia supposed it was inevitable there were some things loving couples found irritating about each other, though she had yet to discover anything she didn’t like about Brandt.

Lute and Kon toyed with their food.

She looked across at her beloved. She’d thought his ribs were healing but now he sat ramrod straight as though every movement was agony. He didn’t return her tentative smile.

Only her father seemed relaxed. He tucked into his venison with relish. “
Gut
,” he exclaimed. “Enjoy! This is the buck the emperor brought down with his first arrow. A good omen.

“Too bad Lothair isn’t here to enjoy the feast,” he quipped, sipping his wine. “He’ll arrive on the morrow, I’m sure.”

Brandt fixed his gaze on her. “I well remember the day of the hunt,” he said softly, his eyes betraying that he too was thinking of the waterfall. It seemed a lifetime ago, but the memory gave her hope.

It was the family’s practice to linger at table after the meal, enjoying conversation about the day’s events, plans for the morrow. On this night the
gräfin
suggested they all retire early and get a good night’s sleep.

“I doubt that will happen,” Sophia said to Brandt when they were the only two left in the dining room. She rose and walked to stand behind him. Leaning against his back, she put her hands on his shoulders, pressing her thumbs into the tense muscles.

He let his head fall forward. “That feels good,” he rasped.

“I hope I’m not hurting you leaning against you like this.”

He shook his head and inhaled deeply. “I wish I could say I’ll always be there for you to lean on, Sophia, but until we resolve…”

“I know,” she interrupted. “Dorothea.”

He got to his feet, took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “We mustn’t linger here together. It isn’t respectful of your parents’ wishes, and if you continue your ministrations I’ll be tempted to kiss more than your hand.”

She nodded, seeing the same intense need in his eyes that coursed though her veins. “I long for you, Brandt, but you are right. Sleep well knowing that no matter what happens over the next few days I will always love you. I bid you
gute nacht
.”

~~~

Lying abed, Brandt stared up into the dark rafters. Sophia had wished him a good night’s rest, but he doubted he would sleep. Drogo snored by the hearth, probably the only person in the entire household who’d managed to fall asleep.

He guessed it was near midnight when a hubbub broke out in the hallway, loud enough to wake his sleeping squire. He rose and donned the bedrobe brought with the rest of his clothing from the pavilion. When he opened the door, Johann was about to knock. Servants scurried by, some still shrugging on tunics. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“They’ve arrived,” Johann replied breathlessly.

“In the middle of the night?”

“A delay of some sort. Get your boots. We must greet them.”

A bedrobe hardly seemed like suitable attire for greeting an emperor and a duke, but since Johann was similarly clad, he pulled on his boots with Drogo’s help and they followed Sophia’s brother.

The women of the household were gathered in the entryway. Sophia was clad in frilly white night attire that concealed every part of her body from chin to toe. Even her hair was tucked into a nightcap, yet the sight of her aroused him. When the
gräfin
noticed Johann and Brandt emerge from the house she quickly shooed Sophia and Kristina indoors. “They’ll need food,” she exclaimed.

Sophia pouted, but wiggled her fingers in a little wave he doubted her mother noticed.

Smiling inwardly, he turned his attention to the bucolic field he and Sophia had ridden across. It was a scene of chaos. Men were erecting pavilions and tents, corralling nervous horses and stubborn donkeys, relighting reluctant torches extinguished days before.

He caught sight of the emperor and
Graf
Dieter striding towards the house. Lothair looked agitated, but Brandt supposed that was understandable given the situation. There was no time to return to his chamber and dress, so he gritted his teeth, went down on one knee and bowed his head. “Your Highness,” he said, ignoring the twinges in his ribs.

“Get up, Rödermark,” the emperor replied. “Dieter tells me you’ve been injured.”

Brandt stood slowly, astonished that of all the important matters to be discussed Sophia’s father had mentioned his beating. “The Wolfenbergs have provided excellent care,” he replied. “I am on the mend.”

“
Gut
! I cannot allow important envoys to be attacked. Duke Heinrich will be informed, the culprits found and punished.”

Brandt nodded, taken aback by the notion the emperor considered him a person of importance. When Lothair turned his attention to Johann, Brandt scanned the hellish scene in the field, wondering where the duke was.

In the middle of the chaos Heinrich the Proud—fierce warrior, heir apparent to the imperial throne, one of the most powerful men in all Germany—stood with legs braced, holding his sleeping son close to his chest.