Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) (20 page)

“Your determination to do your duty and ride to Naumburg if it killed you also impressed me,” he added with a laconic smile. “Though it was somewhat foolhardy.”

His words rendered Brandt speechless and hammered home how much growing up with a cantankerous and selfish father had cost him.

A servant entered bearing a tray with two tankards of ale. The count took one tankard and offered the other to Brandt. “We’ll drink a toast.”

He stood quickly and accepted the ale, wondering when they were going to get around to discussing the dukes’ intransigence. He stared into the amber liquid, nervous about staggering drunkenly through the mud to the Staufen pavilion.

“I propose a toast,” the count declared, raising his tankard. “To a happy marriage between you and my daughter and many, many grandchildren for me to enjoy in my old age.” He paused and looked askance at Brandt. “I suppose you’ve already gathered that Agneta FitzRam’s female descendants are…” he tapped his chin. “…shall we say
well informed
on the topic of sexual congress?”

Brandt swallowed hard. How to respond. Indicating he and Sophia had shared intimate moments might get him killed.

The count laughed. “No need to reply. Your red face says it all. Believe me, there is nothing more satisfying than being married to a passionate woman, and unless I am mistaken, Sophia is her mother’s daughter.”

Rattled yet strangely elated, Brandt raised his tankard and watched the count almost drain his. “I appreciate the toast, but we have to consider that if the Staufens refuse…”

“They won’t refuse,” von Wolfenberg replied with a satisfied belch. “They never had any intention of rebelling.”

Brandt frowned. “Then why…?”

“Posturing. Face saving. Call it what you will. They are strutting peacocks, but in the end it’s all show. They depleted their resources fighting Lothair the first time. That’s the reason they lost the war. You know that. You fought on their side. They don’t have the manpower or money to mount another campaign against him. The Italian offensive offers a chance to acquire land, replenish coffers, bring home booty.”

Brandt gaped at his future father-by-marriage. “You knew this all along.”

Graf
Dieter smiled. “Of course, and so did the emperor. Heinrich was the naysayer, naturally, but his antagonism made it easier for the Staufens to play their role.” He raised his tankard again. “Now, drink.”

Brandt smiled and touched his tankard to the count’s. “You’re known as the Wolf of Saxony,
Graf
von Wolfenberg, but I think you’re more of a fox.”

The count laughed. “And I think it’s time you called me
Graf
Dieter. At least until you and Sophia wed. Then you can start calling me Papa, if your father has no objections.”

Brandt felt the color drain from his face. He’d always addressed Gunther Rödermark as
my lord
, or
vater
, never Papa. “He’ll have no objections,” he rasped. “It will be my honor.”

He lifted his tankard and drank every last drop of the ale.

“
Gut?”
the count asked.

“Very good,” he replied, gasping for breath before belching loudly.

Graf
Dieter laughed.
“
Now, please inform the Staufens the negotiations are at an end. If they aren’t going to join the campaign they may as well go home.”

~~~

“The rain has stopped,” Blythe von Wolfenberg declared as she bustled into the solar.

Since watching Brandt make his unsteady way to the Staufen pavilion an hour before, Sophia had been determined to keep her attention off what was going on in the field. It broke her heart every time he walked by looking less and less hopeful. “Mayhap it’s a good omen,” she replied, poking her needle into the quilt depicting scenes from the legend of Tristan that she and Kristina had embarked on.

“We’ll be able to entertain outside in the pavilion this evening,” her mother remarked.

Sophia glanced up sharply. The emperor and dukes hadn’t dined together since negotiations began. “What makes you think…?”

Her mother nodded to the window. “Take a look.”

In the distance, Duke Heinrich was heading for the river amid an eerie mist rising from the field as the sun dried up the mud. His son rode on his shoulders. She crumpled the square of Egyptian cotton in her hand. “Why isn’t he…?”

She swallowed her words when Brandt hurried by outside. He brandished a rolled parchment at her. And smiled.

Together tree and vine will last.

“He’s smiling,” she murmured, afraid to fan to life the spark of hope in her breast. She turned quickly. “How did you know? Did Papa say something?”

“Your father was confident from the beginning that an agreement would be reached.”

It occurred to her then how little she knew of Dieter von Wolfenberg’s role in the complicated and sometimes dangerous world of political manoeuvring among the duchies. She hadn’t told him often enough how much she admired him. Then a worrying notion nagged. “Did Brandt know the dukes would eventually agree?”

“
Nein
. Your father wanted to see how he fared in the role of diplomat. He’s very pleased with your husband-to-be.”

Sophia wanted to take wing like a bird freed from its cage. “I must go to him.”

“Not yet. He and your father still have work to do.” She pointed back to the field. “See, they’re off to the emperor’s pavilion. The self-congratulatory celebration there will go on well into the afternoon, then they’ll invite the Staufens to join them. I’ll be surprised if any of them are still able to stand by the time dinner is served.”

Tears trickled down her cheek as she watched her father make his jaunty way across the field, one hand on Brandt’s shoulder. Armond loped along beside his master. Amara flanked Brandt.

HERCULES AND APHRODITE

Three sennights later

Sophia’s father proffered his arm. “Well, daughter, the afternoon sun has decided to come out after the morning’s brief shower.”

She accepted and squeezed his arm, grateful for the presence of two loving parents on her wedding day. “Rain is a good omen, but I’m glad it has stopped.”

Kristina fussed with the ermine trim around the neckline of Sophia’s red dress. “After all, a bride doesn’t want to arrive at the church with muddy shoes.”

“Ready?” her father asked.

She nodded. “Thank you, Papa, for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “I’m only sorry your wedding isn’t taking place in the cathedral.”

They exited the front door of the manor house where she’d lived all her life. Wendelin stood with a few of the household servants. “God bless you,
Fräulein
Sophia,” the healer croaked, bobbing a curtsey.

Sophia offered the little leather purse she’d prepared for this occasion. “Nothing I can give you will ever repay what you have done for me, Wendelin.”

“It was foretold he would recover,” the old crone insisted, shaking her head. “I was just the instrument.”

“Nevertheless, please accept this small token.”

Wendelin took the purse and tucked it into her shawl. Sophia was confident the funds would sustain the old woman for years to come.

She was about to resume her walk when Wendelin whispered. “Did you dream last night?”

She stopped abruptly. She’d expected to dream of weddings, of bearing children. Instead…But Wendelin would know if she lied. “I dreamt of lying in clover.”

The old woman laughed gleefully. “A good sign. Clover means a happy and prosperous marriage.”
 

Heartened, she turned back to her father, trying to recall what they had been speaking of. “I prefer the village church with just my family in attendance. Your wedding was wonderful, Kristina, but Brandt was understandably reluctant to undertake that journey again.”

Her father chuckled as they set off. “And when I think of how close to death he was in Naumburger Dom, no wonder he’d rather not set foot in the place again.”

A shiver stole over her nape. She’d nearly lost the one man essential to her happiness. Best not to think on it. “This setting will be more intimate.”

“And in any case the emperor and the Staufens have sent lavish gifts, even though they aren’t attending,” Kristina said gleefully.

Sophia exchanged a knowing glance with her father, but neither mentioned the lack of a gift from Duke Heinrich.

She paused and looked at her sister-by-marriage. “Your friendship is the most important gift, Kristina.”

Her friend blushed. “We’ll always be friends, Sophia.”

Her father patted her arm as they resumed their steady progress. “Now try to be patient with Father Gebbert.”

She rolled her eyes. The old priest had been adamant the wedding couldn’t proceed without the consent of
Graf
Gunther Rödermark, but her father’s persistence had eventually paid off and he’d capitulated.

They turned a corner and the little stone church came into view. A large crowd of villagers gathered near the entryway cheered when they saw her, warming her heart.
 

Brandt stood at the door, resplendent in a blue tunic. Vidar was at his side, her brothers behind him, Johann arm in arm with her smiling mother.

She was at peace, confident she’d made the right choice. The path of her life had led to this moment. “He completes me,” she whispered to her father.

He squeezed her hand as he passed it into Brandt’s. “Be happy,” he rasped, stepping back to stand with his wife.

The man she craved stared at her with a love so intense she feared she might melt. His need of her was balm to her soul. He was a man who could have any woman of his choosing, yet he’d chosen her. The warmth of his skin chased away the slight autumn chill in the air.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “Thank you for wearing the red gown.”

She was about to reply when Father Gebbert cleared his throat. He eyed her up and down, evidently not as pleased with the gown as Brandt. Recalling her father’s advice, she smiled sweetly.

“Are you both of age?” the cleric asked.

His question took her unawares. Surely her father had solved this problem.

“I am of age and Sophia’s father is here to give his consent,” Brandt replied.

“Therefore there is parental consent?”

Her heart skittered.

“
Ja
,” Brandt replied decisively.

The priest apparently decided not to challenge him and she relaxed.

“Are you related in any way that would prevent you from wedding in accordance with God’s holy law, that is to say, do you have a common great, great grandparent?”

The question was so absurd she was tempted to laugh out loud, but she supposed the cleric was simply following the rules. She murmured, “
Nein
.”

Brandt’s response was the same.

The cleric took a silver salver from the lad standing at his elbow and thrust it at Brandt. “Dowry?”

Vidar passed a small purse to Brandt who placed it on the salver.

“By dowering your betrothed you are confirming your willingness to give her financial management of your affairs,” the priest explained.

“I so confirm,” Brandt replied.

Aware of the substantial amount of money her parents had provided for the dowry, Sophia risked a naughty grin at her beloved as she took the purse from the salver and passed it to Kristina.
 

“You have the wreaths?”
 

Vidar stepped forward, a laurel circlet held firmly in both hands.

Kristina gave the one she held a little shake.

“
Gut
!” the old priest declared, finally smiling. “We can proceed.”

He put a hand on each of their shoulders and shuffled them closer together. “As it should be,” he pronounced. “The groom on the right, the bride on the left facing the doors, since Eve was formed from Adam’s left rib.” Apparently satisfied he made the sign of the savior in the air, raised his arms and began the Latin rite.

Grateful as she was for the sun, Sophia began to feel overheated. Perhaps refurbishing the red dress with ermine trim hadn’t been a good idea, and Brandt had requested she not pin up her hair. It felt like a heavy cloak.

When the time came for them to profess their vows, Brandt placed the wreath on her head. Following the priest’s lead he pledged himself to her. “Sophia Agneta von Wolfenberg, I take you to be my wife and I espouse you. I commit to you the fidelity and loyalty of my body and my possessions. I will keep you in health and sickness and in any condition it please our Lord that you should have, nor for worse or for better will I change towards you until the end.”

Smiling broadly, Kristina passed the other wreath into her trembling hands. Her heart was beating too fast as Brandt bent his head. She placed the garland, itching to sift her fingers through the glossy curls. He straightened and she had difficulty swallowing when it flitted through her mind that she was marrying Hercules. This daunting notion was followed by a wicked thought that she couldn’t wait to see him naked. She gaped then realized the scowling priest was waiting for her to repeat her vows.