Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) (9 page)

A hundred bees buzzed in Brandt’s head. It seemed to him he wasn’t the one who’d been avoiding an interview with the emperor and the only instructions he’d received were to pick up the ducal pavilion on the way to Wolfenberg. He considered reaching out for Löwe’s saddle again until he realized Vidar had led the horse away. Fighting off dizziness, he tried to summon a suitable response. “I will take this opportunity to extend my humble apologies, if you will do me the honor of making the introductions.”

Von Wolfenberg nodded, visibly relieved. He seemed ready to leave but then turned to face Brandt again. “Thank you for taking care of my daughter’s palfrey. She loves Mut. Now, come.”

The notion he’d done something to please Sophia was strangely comforting. He gripped the hilt of his sword, squared his shoulders and set off towards the Dom, keeping pace with the count though he feared he might crumple at the emperor’s feet once he arrived. Duke Conrad wouldn’t be pleased if he ignited another war.
 

~~~

Sophia tiptoed out of the vestry feeling very elegant in the red silk gown. The dress was somewhat heavy for the sweltering weather, but it wasn’t every day a girl served as attendant at her best friend’s wedding. However, she’d be glad when the pins came out of the elaborate arrangement that felt like a heavy confection balanced atop her head. She preferred to let her hair fall loose.

Word had come that her brother Johann and the bishop awaited Kristina at the door of the cathedral. Sophia had been dispatched by her mother to make sure the church was empty before the bride made her way to the entry.

She cringed when the heavy wooden door into the church creaked painfully, though she’d opened it only a crack. Apparently the noise was enough to draw the attention of Duke Heinrich who stood in a side chapel in conversation with the emperor and Brandt Rödermark. Sophia’s father was at Brandt’s side.
 

Judging by the ducal scowl Heinrich sent her way one would have thought the meeting was the prime reason for everyone being at the cathedral.

She smiled weakly. Heinrich always made her nervous. He couldn’t be more than thirty years old, but his white beard and bushy eyebrows made him look ancient. Anyone who hadn’t met the emperor might be forgiven for thinking that the man with the most ostentatious feathered hat was the person who occupied the throne of the Holy Roman Empire.
 

It was no secret the Duke of Saxony expected to succeed Lothair. He was, after all, the emperor’s son-by-marriage. As a member of the powerful Guelph family he was probably the most likely candidate, though Brandt’s Duke of Franconia and his brother the Duke of Swabia would likely contest his election.

Though he wasn’t a young man, the energetic Lothair wasn’t likely to die any time soon, and for the moment peace reigned.

Heinrich’s son, also named Heinrich, seemed to accompany the duke wherever he went. It was surprising he hadn’t joined the hunt. The seven-year-old, who wore a miniature version of his father’s outrageous hat, sat crosslegged on the stone floor of the chapel, picking his nose, while his imperial grandfather looked on benignly.

She closed the door a hair, just enough so she could still see Brandt and her father. Both had their backs to her, but she sensed something was wrong. Though she’d seen a vulnerable side of Brandt at the waterfall, he struck her as a man very sure of himself, almost too sure. Now his broad shoulders were rounded, as if standing erect was painful. Her father gripped the hilt of his sword and kept glancing at him. Perhaps the meeting wasn’t going well. Lothair’s jocular voice echoed off the stone pillars, so evidently an argument wasn’t in progress.

That was a relief. It wouldn’t be a good omen if a political dispute were to erupt at Johann’s wedding, and Brandt likely wouldn’t leave Wolfenberg alive if it did. The prospect made her belly roil.

She breathed more easily when the men headed for the entryway, little Heinrich holding his grandfather’s hand, but became alarmed when she finally saw Brandt’s face. The beads of sweat on Brandt’s forehead spoke of fever. His pallor and the stern set of his jaw betrayed pain. It wasn’t the handsome face she’d seen turned to the sun at the waterfall. Clearly something was very wrong.

Heart pounding, she closed the door and hurried back to the vestry.
 

CONFLICTING EMOTIONS

When Sophia regained the vestry where the women had been allowed to dress for the ceremony she tried hard to hide her upset. “All clear,” she announced breezily.

Her mother frowned at her, then led the way down the short flight of steps to the door into the church. Eugenia Halden followed.

Kristina took a deep breath and smiled. “This is it,” she said.

“My brother is a lucky man,” Sophia replied.

“But something is bothering you,” her perceptive friend whispered, one eye on the door through which the older women had exited.

Sophia took her hand. “It has nothing to do with you and Johann.” She ought not to say anything to mar the day, but fear for Brandt got the better of her. “It’s just…I think the
Franken
envoy is ill.”

Kristina seemed not to grasp the depth of her concerns. “You care for him. I told you there’d be someone for you at the wedding.”

Sophia was about to reply that she was worried for the man, but that nothing could ever come of a relationship between them. However, Frau Halden poked her face in the door. “Hurry, everyone is waiting.”

Kristina linked arms with Sophia. “I will pray for both of you during the mass,” she whispered.

The two girls joined their mothers and the four proceeded to the vestibule entryway where Johann waited with his father, brothers and the emperor and duke. Judging by the broad grin on the face of the Bishop of Naumburg, Sophia would guess this was likely the most important event he’d ever presided over.

It was a mark of her family’s standing they’d been allowed to stand inside the doors for the exchange of vows. The remaining guests stood outside in the blazing sun.

The passion smoldering in Johann’s gaze when he greeted his bride tugged at Sophia’s heartstrings. Would Brandt ever look at her that way?
 

It was a foolish notion.

But where was he?

Lost in her thoughts of the dark stranger, she was only half listening to Johann and Kristina’s pledges when she became aware her father had stepped back to stand beside her. “He’s outside,” he whispered. “But I believe he has been injured.”

“Injured?” she repeated, suddenly chilled to the bone.

Her father clenched his jaw. “If some ill befell him on my estate…”

She stared at him, not understanding, until the truth dawned. “You think he was attacked?”

He put a finger to his lips. “Let’s concentrate on Johann’s wedding then we’ll seek out your
Franken
.”

Conflicting emotions swirled in Sophia’s heart. She loved Johann, loved Kristina, wanted to share every moment of their happiness with them, but somewhere outside, possibly only a few feet away, Brandt was in dire need. She’d seen it on his face, despite his efforts to hide it.

Then her father’s words echoed in her mind. He had again sensed her attraction to Duke Conrad’s envoy, but there’d been no censure in his voice.

Genuinely elated for her half-brother, she smiled and applauded with everyone else when the bishop pronounced Johann and Kristina man and wife. The emperor offered his congratulations, as did Duke Heinrich. Citing pressing affairs of state, the pair soon excused themselves and left.

The bishop led the long procession into the cathedral for the nuptial mass. When everyone had traipsed in, Sophia risked a backward glance, seeking Brandt in the happy throng. But there was no sign of him. She wondered if he’d left with the dignitaries, but that didn’t make sense.
 

~~~

Brandt leaned back against one of the pillars at the rear of the crowded Dom, welcoming the relief the cold stone brought to his fevered body.

He narrowed his eyes to watch the tableau playing out at the front of the church. Happy bride and handsome groom…jubilant family…Sophia, a vision in red with a golden crown.

He clenched his fists. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a wife on the rare occasions when he’d allowed himself to imagine a future that didn’t include Dorothea, her holier-than-thou parents and his stern father.

He was glad the emperor and the duke had left after the exchange of vows. Keeping his wits about him during the audience had been a struggle, though he hadn’t been included in the conversation. It was as if they were politely ignoring him after the emperor’s initial affable greeting. Lothair reminded him of engravings he’d seen of the Magi—a benevolent king with a kindly face and a luxuriant beard.

Duke Heinrich the Proud on the other hand was pompous and arrogant. His pronounced Cupid’s bow mouth was startlingly feminine for a man with a reputation as a fierce warrior. He looked too old to be the father of a little boy who didn’t know enough about good manners not to pick his nose in public.

Dieter von Wolfenberg was also a surprise. Brandt had expected another arrogant Saxon, puffed up by his heroic reputation, but his host struck him as down-to-earth and intensely committed to his family. He was a peacemaker who had treated Brandt cordially, with no hint of enmity. He’d wager the count would be furious if he learned of the treachery perpetrated by Heinrich’s men.

He envied Sophia and wondered if she knew how lucky she was to have grown up in the bosom of a loving family. She was right. Her parents were soul mates. It was evident they shared a deep passion and seemed comfortable clinging to each other as the ritual progressed. Most noblemen of Brandt’s acquaintance wouldn’t expose themselves to the ridicule such a display of affection might engender.

Sophia knew what love was. His beleaguered body and parched throat thirsted for a taste of that love.

His knees trembled. His head throbbed. The walls of the Dom were closing in. Not wishing to cause a scene, he staggered out of the church and into Vidar’s arms. In a moment of blinding clarity he knew that whatever ailed him was more serious than a broken rib. It was his last thought before he surrendered to the darkness.
 

HE CAN'T BE DEAD

Sophia was swept along out of the Dom with the throng of well-wishers. Kristina glowed with happiness; Johann looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Sophia was elated for them and for her parents who were obviously delighted by the marriage. Kristina would be a good
gräfin
. She’d lived all her life on the estate and was well known and liked by the tenant farmers and local gentry, despite her peculiar parents.

As Sophia scoured the crowd for any sign of Brandt, the happy scene conjured apprehension about what the future held in store. If she ever did marry, it was unlikely she’d be able to remain at Wolfenberg.

And Brandt was heir to lands far away—in enemy territory. Daydreams of a union with him would lead only to heartbreak. Defection to the Staufen cause would be a betrayal of all her family held dear, a dagger in her father’s heart.

Alarm skittered up her spine when she espied one of Brandt’s men pushing his way through the crowd. He seemed to be heading towards her father, his face grim. Surely Brandt’s arrival hadn’t been a ruse to cover up an assassination plot. But why would the Staufens want her father dead?

The reasons didn’t matter. Frantic for her father’s safety, she elbowed and shoved her way through the melee, garnering frowning curiosity from many, until she reached his side. But Brandt’s man was only inches away.

“Papa,” she shrieked, though the word came out of her dry throat as a hoarse cough.

He turned.

“My lord
graf
,” Brandt’s man rasped.

She had a momentary notion to throw herself at the attacker, but then it occurred to her that an assassin wouldn’t address his victim. She clung to her father’s sleeve, completely out of breath, and feeling foolish.

“What is it,
liebling
?” her father asked. “You seem distraught.”

She nodded towards the soldier. “He’s trying to get your attention. There must be something amiss with his master.”

The grim-faced foreigner bowed as her father turned. “I am Vidar, Second-in-Command of the
Franken
contingent. Your daughter is correct, your honor.” He pointed to a small shrine at the edge of the cathedral precinct. “My lord lies yonder, in a stupor.”

Sophia’s heart broke. Brandt was a strong man, yet his injuries were so severe he’d been unable to remain on his feet.

Her father didn’t hesitate. He grasped Sophia’s hand and pulled her along as he led the way through the crowd. “Is he alone?”

“
Nein
, my men are with him.”

Her heart filled with misgivings. They should be with the new bride and groom. Her mother would be worried, the Haldens annoyed. Yet Dieter von Wolfenberg was rushing to the aid of a stricken man. But why drag her along? Had he sensed her overwhelming need to help Brandt in any way she could?

In the heat and confusion it again flitted into her mind that perhaps this was part of the plot. Isolate her father, draw him away…

Vidar waved a passage through the ring of soldiers guarding the shrine dedicated to Saint Altfrid. Her fears for her father melted away. These men’s grim faces betrayed their concern for their master, a man they were sworn to protect.