Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) (11 page)

She sagged against him. “But he’s an enemy. Possibly a spy. Perhaps that’s why he was assaulted.”

Both men put an arm around her shoulders. Now she could definitely smell the wine on their breath. “What in the name of all the saints could a spy discover at Wolfenberg?” Lute asked.

“And I definitely don’t believe he is an assassin on a mission to do away with the emperor,” Kon added. “The Staufens aren’t fools.”

Sophia studied her hands, comforted by the love and common sense of her brothers. She supposed they could be forgiven for imbibing at their brother’s wedding. “I agree. I think Conrad’s aim was to subtly offend the emperor by sending the son of an obscure
graf
.”

“Indeed, Rödermark is the victim here, dispatched into the lion’s den by his own duke,” Lute quipped. “Or the wolf’s lair.”

Kon got to his feet abruptly. “Look! Johann and Kristina are leaving. We’re needed, brother.”

The glint in Lute’s eyes indicated the pair had mischief in mind as they hurried away. She joined in the cheers and laughter as they hoisted Johann onto their shoulders and staggered away. A blushing Kristina was invited to sit in a chair which four of Johann’s friends lifted and carried out of the main hall.

The bawdy crowd followed, leaving behind only the unmarried maidens—and the Haldens who seemed unsure whether to follow or not.

In the sudden silence, it struck Sophia like a blow to the belly how vital love was to the success of a marriage. If she married a man she didn’t love, she might end up sour and withered, like Eugenia Halden.

A shiver rushed up her spine. Making small talk with the woeful pair was the last thing she wanted to do. When she caught sight of Wendelin hurrying into the kitchens, she seized the opportunity and followed.

A few scullery lads were still scrubbing pots and pans, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the healer who was pouring steaming hot water from a
ketel
into a wooden bowl, her back to Sophia.

Sophia pressed her hands to her belly to still the creatures fluttering there and asked, “How fares your patient?”

Wendelin startled. A mouse-like squeak emerged from her throat as hot water splashed onto the stone floor. The boys looked up from their tasks. Sophia held her breath. Surely she hadn’t caused injury to the one person who might heal Brandt. She rushed to take the bowl from Wendelin’s trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean…”

The ancient woman narrowed her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure who’d startled her, but then, “
Fräulein
Sophia. You took me by surprise. He’s as well as can be expected. I am brewing tea for him.”

It wasn’t much, but at least Brandt was still alive. “Tea?” she parroted, peering at the bits of green and white floating in the bowl. It didn’t look like any tea she’d ever seen.

“Root of Solomon’s Seal,” Wendelin explained, as if she’d sensed the question in Sophia’s mind. “Gave him the tincture a while ago. Looks better already. The tea will help him pass the night.”

Sophia had an urge to shout out the relief surging in her throat, but could only nod as she gripped the bowl of life-giving tea.

Wendelin eyed her. “I’ll need help,” she said, “and I sent his man off to get some sleep before he fell over.”
 

She prized the bowl from Sophia’s hands then glared at the gaping scullery lads. “Trencher of parsnips, carrots, mashed. And a spoon. Now!” she hissed.

They bolted into action as if the emperor himself had given the command. Wendelin was evidently well respected by the local peasantry—or feared.

Within minutes Sophia was trailing after the healer, a trencher of mashed vegetables in hand, her heart in knots. Entering a chamber where a man lay abed might be considered highly inappropriate by some. Eugenia Halden’s face loomed.

Sophia dismissed her fears. Wendelin would be there to act as chaperone. It wasn’t as if she was going to touch Brandt, no matter how much she wanted to.

ICE MAIDEN

Reluctant to raise his head, Brandt risked shifting his weight slightly in order to get a better look at the chamber. A lone candle flickered in the gloom, illuminating Drogo curled up asleep on what looked like a pile of cushions near the cold hearth. The ruckus going on nearby evidently hadn’t woken the lad, but it had pulled Brandt from the first sleep he’d had since the beating.

The chamber seemed tidier. Someone had removed the clutter of clothing, boots and parchments. Whoever occupied the room must be a studious individual and he doubted it was Lute.

He breathed more easily, relieved the pain and fever had lessened considerably. It seemed the
hexe
knew a thing or two after all. She had apparently left, as had Vidar.

He didn’t mind being wakened. It proved he was still alive and, after all, a wedding had taken place in this household and by the sounds of the bawdy shouting and laughter the bedding was underway.

Lute’s voice dominated. Sophia’s brother seemed to be the life and soul of any party. He recalled the conversation at the waterfall about siblings. When he married, there would be no brother to lead the ribbing and the fun, no uncles to spoil his children.

His throat constricted
. Fun
suddenly seemed like a word that didn’t fit with the prospect of bedding Dorothea. Had he ever desired her? He closed his eyes trying desperately to recall if her breasts were large, small, what?

His troubled heart calmed when Sophia’s perfect breasts floated into his recollection. He mused on the color of her nipples. Pink, he’d wager, with paler haloes. His shaft stirred pleasantly, but he felt ashamed of his lusty thoughts when the
graf’s
voice drifted down the hallway. Without shouting, von Wolfenberg calmed the noisy crowd and urged them to leave the newlyweds in peace.

As the hubbub receded, Brandt’s thoughts went to his own father who probably wouldn’t stay awake long enough to participate in any bedding rituals. He’d take to his bed early on in the proceedings, complaining of the cold.

He clenched his jaw. His injuries were making him maudlin. He resolved to get well, return to Rödermark and marry Dorothea.
 

He would put Sophia von Wolfenberg and her happy home and family out of his mind.
 

He groaned when Wendelin reappeared, the golden haired beauty at her side. The arousal that had been subsiding stirred anew.

~~~

Sophia gripped the trencher. She’d expected Brandt to be asleep. Even in the dim light, it was evident he was less than pleased to see her.

Wendelin poked the boy sleeping near the hearth with her toe. “Get up lad,” she muttered. “Light more candles.”

He startled awake, peering at them as if trying to recollect where he was. Sophia recognised him as the youth who’d brought Mut back. Perhaps Brandt’s valet. She smiled, hoping to put him at ease. He probably feared for his master, injured and far from home.

“His name is Drogo,” Brandt rasped unexpectedly, causing her to almost drop the trencher. His husky voice echoed in her bones. She dithered near the door, tempted to thrust the food into Drogo’s hands and flee.

The lad seemed to recover his wits and soon had more candles lit. Sophia wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. She had three older brothers and was aware men and women were made differently, but she’d never seen a well-muscled adult male in bed with naught to cover him but a linen sheet molded to his body.

She suspected he’d pulled the sheet over his chest, but his feet lay uncovered as a result. She fixed her gaze on his elegant toes, resolved to keep her eyes off his long legs.

Balancing the bowl of tea in one hand, Wendelin yanked the sheet over Brandt’s bare feet. “I know you’re hot, my lord, but you must keep covered,” she chided.

He bent his knees slightly, his jaw clenched.
 

She definitely shouldn’t have come. However, fleeing wasn’t an option. She was a von Wolfenberg who didn’t intend to make a fool of herself in front of two peasants and a foreign spy.

She was about to offer the food when Wendelin thrust the bowl at Drogo and barked another order, this time at her. “Give the trencher to the lad and help me get our invalid into a sitting position.”

Sophia froze like one of the snow sculptures the servants fashioned on the icebound Elbe each winter. If she spoke it was doubtful coherent words would emerge, but she couldn’t touch him. “I…”

“Hurry,” Wendelin said, one arm already hooked around Brandt’s. “The tea’s getting cold.”

Sophia passed the plate into Drogo’s outstretched hand and walked with as much dignity as she could muster to the bed. To her surprise Brandt’s scowl had softened into a wry smile and she was relieved he looked better than the last time she’d seen him.

“We must be careful,” Wendelin warned. “Take hold of his arm and we’ll ease him up slowly so I can bolster him with the pillows. You’ll have to help, my lord.”

He nodded. “I understand.” Then he glanced up at Sophia, his blue eyes full of longing. “Be gentle with me.”

The ice maiden melted as fire rushed through every vein, every pore. She’d never been looked at that way. Her heart raced as she grasped his bicep, awed by the strength in his arm, the heat of his skin.

“Put the other hand on his shoulder,” Wendelin advised softly.

 
She obeyed.

Brandt sucked in a breath as they eased him up then back onto the pillows the healer pummelled into place.

 
“Thank you,” he rasped with a wink that sent a thousand winged creatures fluttering in her belly.

She couldn’t take her hands off his body. She longed to confess he drew her like a lodestone. Instead she whispered, “I was glad to help.”

He glanced down at her hand, still gripping his arm.

She withdrew quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you discomfort.”

“You didn’t,” he replied.

The sheet had pooled around his waist when they’d sat him up. She gazed at his chiseled chest, fascinated by the dusting of dark hair, but appalled at the swollen red bruises across most of his torso.

Wendelin made a tsking sound and drew the sheet over his nakedness.

Brandt smiled at Sophia, as if he knew his body had affected her.
 

She felt her face redden when Drogo coughed. Wendelin took the tea from him and gave the bowl to Sophia. “Help him sip this,” she said. “Then he can eat the vegetables. I’ll be back.”

Panic surged. “Where are you going?”

“Just to the kitchens for more hot compresses. Don’t worry, Drogo is here.”

She scurried away before Sophia could protest.

WOVEN ENCHANTMENT

Brandt was afraid Sophia might scald him with the tea. “I can manage,” he said, tempted to laugh out loud at the relief obvious on her lovely face when she handed him the bowl with trembling hands. But laughing might have painful consequences.

She clasped her hands together, twirling her thumbs as she watched him sip the tea.

He should insist she leave. Drogo could take care of his needs, though admittedly there was one need his squire couldn’t fulfill. Everything about Sophia aroused him. He craved her. It was as if her presence was helping his body heal.
 

Perhaps the Saxons had kicked him in the head.

The tea had the same nutty taste as the tincture Wendelin had administered earlier. He sipped it willingly, almost enjoying Sophia’s obvious discomfort. It came as a relief that he hadn’t imagined the spark ignited between them at the waterfall. She was blushing prettily, swaying from side to side, fidgeting with the lace at her cuffs then the crucifix at her neck. Her green eyes betrayed her excitement, and he knew she’d be mortified if she was aware her nipples were straining at the fabric of her satin gown.

He pictured her dancing at the banquet. The enticing aroma of a healthy female tickled his nostrils and sent more blood rushing to his groin.

She’d kept her gaze averted, but he worried she might look up and notice the linen tenting. Though he was certain of her innocence, she had three older brothers.
 

Painful as it was, he slowly drew up his knees and held out the bowl to Drogo. “Give
Fräulein
von Wolfenberg the trencher, then you can go back to sleep. She’ll take care of me.”

Drogo narrowed his eyes, and it occurred to Brandt too late that he’d offered an insult to Sophia. “I apologise,” he said. “I didn’t mean to infer you’re a servant.”

It was a relief to see her smile when she took the trencher from Drogo. “I’m not offended,” she assured him. “I want to take care of you.”

~~~

Sophia kept her eyes averted, unsure whether to tell Brandt she understood the significance of the bulge at the apex of his thighs. There was no need for him to bend his knees. She longed to touch him there, to reassure him all was well, that she was falling in love with him and was elated he found her attractive.

However, she was aware most girls her age didn’t have mothers who had explained natural sexual desires in detail.

Brandt would deem her a wanton. She’d likely already given the wrong impression by telling him she wanted to take care of him in a sultry voice even she didn’t recognise.