Loyal Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty #1) (4 page)

~~~

Upon reaching the stables, Sophia smoothed a hand over Mut’s shoulder. “He’s not himself,” she said to her father. “Near the end of the ride he seemed to falter.”

Tongues lolling, the family’s hovawarts watched their master as he passed the reins of his horse to the ostler and slapped Mut’s rear. “He looks fine to me, but you know him best. Out of sorts is he?”

Before she had a chance to reply, they were interrupted by Kon. After keeping her company on the long walk from the forest, he’d gone off to take care of his own mount once they’d arrived at the stables. “Papa,” her youngest brother announced, “another guest has arrived and seeks an introduction.”

She preferred they give their undivided attention to her horse, but decorum dictated they greet the newcomer. She turned impatiently, fully expecting yet another overweight count or baron. Instead, her father was shaking hands with a young man who was far from portly. The giant stood taller than any of her brothers, even Johann, though he was probably about the same age as her half-brother. Glossy hair, as inky black as hers was blonde, framed his face before falling to broad shoulders. He was too stunning to be true, the kind of knight troubadours sang of.

Even Armond and Amara, who usually barked at every stranger, sat meekly and stared.

Her eyes darted from the swarthy stubble on his chin to the intriguing depths of his sparkling almond-shaped eyes, and thence to the slightly hooked nose that only added to his allure. She raked her gaze over the corded neck, trim waist, and long, long legs. It was a brazen act she’d never been tempted to do before. Her heart did a peculiar somersault.

But something was amiss. Her father seemed to be greeting the new guest with less than his usual warmth. Kon’s nose twitched, a sure sign of his discomfort.

She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart when the stranger turned ice blue eyes on her.

“You’ve met my son, Konrad. Now may I introduce my daughter, Sophia Agneta,” her father said. “Sophia, may I present Brandt, eldest son of
Graf
Gunther Rödermark.”

She executed a polite bob, praying she didn’t fall over. Thank goodness a deep curtsey wasn’t required. He was the son of a count, her equal. She searched her memory. Where in heaven’s name was Rödermark?

“
Herr
Rödermark is Duke Conrad’s envoy,” her brother explained, his voice strained.

Her heart plummeted to her boots. He was
Franken
. The Franconian representative. She babbled something in reply, suddenly aware of how dishevelled she must look after the long ride.

“The emperor and the duke have retired to their pavilions,” the count explained. “I’ll introduce you later.”

The giant bowed politely, then walked to Mut and stroked his nose. “Your palfrey seems out of sorts,” he said softly.

Irritated she’d nigh on forgotten her beloved horse, she wondered if he’d eavesdropped. “
Ja
,” she replied, astonished by the effect his touch had on the animal. Or was it the deep timbre of his husky voice? “You’ve calmed Mut,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Aptly named. He is courageous. A magnificent specimen.”

Sophia feared the alchemy of his smile had brought on some kind of apoplectic fit. Apparently falling victim to the same charm, Armond and Amara flopped down at the newcomer’s feet. Words refused to form and if she didn’t close her mouth soon, drool would…

“I have a way with horses,” he said, as he examined Mut’s teeth.

Dogs too
, she thought to herself.

When he ran a hand lightly over one front leg, then the other, the animal didn’t flinch. If he were to press his long, elegant fingers into her shoulders, the nagging worry about her horse would disappear, she was sure.

Heat rushed up her spine and into her face. This had to stop. Brandt Rödermark was here to spy for the Staufens.

“Mut needs rest,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Not a miracle worker after all.

~~~

Brandt mumbled a request to be excused, bowed and left. Sophia von Wolfenberg might be a first-class horsewoman, but she’d made no attempt to hide her disdain for his claim to be an expert on horses. Her frown had betrayed the moment it dawned on her he was the Staufen envoy.

She’d raked her gaze over him as if he was…

Half way back to the campsite he stopped in the middle of the field, and unclenched his jaw, tempted to laugh.

Lust
.
 

That’s what he’d seen in those green eyes. He looked back to the stables. Perhaps the chit was a wanton. He shook his head. Sophia had an unmistakable innocence about her. It was as if their meeting had thrown her off balance.

He resumed his walk. There’d never been any shortage of women who’d lusted after him. Admittedly he’d dallied with a few, until his overbearing father sternly reminded him of his obligation to Dorothea. After that he’d steeled himself to ignore flirtatious females.

Sophia was impossible to ignore. The incredible hair, the perfect mouth, the sultry voice, the appealing breasts that looked about the right size to…

He cursed when his body reacted predictably, though it was the first time any woman had broken through his resolve to honor his parents’ commitment to Dorothea’s family.

He increased his pace. The count seemed in no hurry to present him to the emperor. Vidar probably had the camp set up and food preparations underway. The shadows were lengthening. A hunt was scheduled for early the next morning and he needed sleep. He would put Sophia out of his mind, though he sensed she was right that her horse was ailing for something.

THE HUNT

A food pavilion had been erected in the manor house grounds for distinguished guests. The next morning Sophia was irritated with her disappointment that Rödermark hadn’t appeared to break his fast. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to get him out of her thoughts for some reason.

She regretted her rudeness of the previous day. She’d dismissed his efforts to assist with Mut, yet there was no doubt he’d calmed the horse. Worry for her palfrey still tugged. Perhaps she should choose another mount for the hunt—or not participate at all.

The emperor, the duke, and her father were already speculating on the outcome of the day’s chase. Their boisterous bragging and the enthusiastic barking of the dogs drew her thoughts back to the pavilion. Lute and Kon, mouths full, hung on every word the emperor uttered. Johann and Kristina whispered together in a corner, lost in each other’s gaze.

Her mother monitored the servants who were toting away the remnants of the early morning feasting.

She looked out into the field where the sun was burning off the morning dew, but there seemed to be no sign of the handsome
Franken
near the Staufen pavilion.

Restless, she wandered off to the stables. The ostlers had readied the horses for the hunt. She was relieved Mut seemed in better spirits. She took hold of his reins and leaned her forehead against his nose. “Do you want to go hunting today?” she whispered.

Mut snorted.

“He seems improved,” a deep voice said, sending her heart careening around her ribcage.

She didn’t need to turn to know who it was, and in any case she couldn’t let the Staufen spy see he’d startled her. One look at her red face and he’d know. “
Ja
,” she replied, fidgeting with the horse’s mane.

She tried to steady her breathing when Rödermark went down on one knee and held his hand against Mut’s front leg. She stared in confusion at the broad shoulders clad in fine wool, seized by an insane urge to run her fingers through his black locks.

“He might be going lame in one leg,” he remarked as he straightened, dusting off his trousers.

Her hackles rose. This foreigner presumed to think he knew her horse better than she did. “He’ll be fine,” she retorted, unsure why she felt compelled to be rude. What was it about this man that made her uncomfortable?

He looked her in the eye, then shrugged. “You know best,” he said.

Pouting like a chastened child, she led Mut out of the stable. He followed to where a lad held the reins of his horse. Her heart resumed its erratic beating when he laced his fingers together and offered to help her mount, but just then her father appeared, his dogs hard on his heels. He looked uncharacteristically harried.
 

He shook Rödermark’s hand. “Forgive me, but the plan was to pair you with my eldest son since the terrain is unfamiliar. However, young love being what it is, he has begged off in order to ride with his fiancée.”

Brandt smiled, causing peculiar flutterings in her belly. “I understand,” he replied. Then he fixed his blue gaze on her—and she knew there was no escape.

“Perhaps your daughter would be willing to show me the lay of the land?”

Spend the day riding with a handsome man of the world who caused unsettling thoughts and feelings? A nobleman who probably had a hundred women at his beck and call.
 

Impossible
.

“I’d be honored,” she said before her frowning father could quash the notion.

“Then I can keep an eye on her horse,” Rödermark explained, once more bending the knee, fingers meshed.

Gritting her teeth, she forced a smile, put a booted foot in his hands and allowed him to assist her, smugly confident she had dry horse muck on the soles of her boots.

~~~

Shortly after dawn a messenger had relayed to Brandt and his men there was a food pavilion set up near the river for soldiers and servants to break their fast, and another, closer to the house for dignitaries.

He and Vidar deemed it safer for his men to keep to themselves. They’d eaten in their own camp from the plentiful supplies they’d brought.

When Brandt led Löwe to the stables the delicious aromas from the pavilion near the house had him wishing he’d not been so reluctant to join the dignitaries. After all he was the son of a count, envoy for two dukes.

His main concern was for Sophia’s palfrey. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. She had sensed it too. He acknowledged he looked forward to seeing the Saxon girl again. His body’s reaction when he stepped into the stable and saw her leaning against the horse mocked his insistence that it was the animal he was truly interested in.

He didn’t mean to startle her by blurting out some trite comment, but judging by her blush and the rigid set of her shoulders, he had.

He bent to examine Mut’s leg, sensing her annoyance as she watched him. Perhaps his impression that she was a spoiled noblewoman was correct. Yet there was something about her that drew him. It prompted him to suggest against his better judgment that they be paired for the hunt.
 

Hunting with enemies was a potentially perilous endeavor. Few had forgotten the
accident
that had claimed the life of no less a person than William Rufus, King of England, though the incident had taken place more than thirty years before. The day’s pursuit had loomed like the rapids on the Rhine.
 

It amused him that Sophia feigned indignation but readily accepted.

He’d have preferred to put his hands on her waist and lift her onto the horse, but doubted the count would approve. He boosted her into the saddle, brushed off his hands and mounted Löwe.

She led the way, cantering across the field towards the forest, back rigid, head held high. In the distance, the emperor, the duke and the other guests were just making their way to the stables. He ought to linger and pay his respects, though the emperor seemed determined to snub him. The intriguing golden-haired beauty was nearing the trees. He made a sound only Löwe understood and the faithful horse soon had him speeding towards a woman he should avoid.

She slowed Mut once he reached her and they rode side by side in silence through dark-leaved oaks, majestic chestnuts and shimmering copper beeches. Birds twittered in the still air. The trees provided welcome shade from the slanted rays of the summer sun that broke through the canopy where it could.

Sophia’s shoulders relaxed.

“You love this forest,” he said.

She glanced at him cautiously, but evidently decided he wasn’t teasing. “I do,” she replied with a smile. “I’ve been riding here since I was a child.”

He thought of the dense pine forests of Rödermark where he often went to soothe his troubled spirit. “It’s a magical place.”

The spell was broken when a dozen riders galloped past, among them
Graf
Dieter, the emperor and the duke. Evidently, he wasn’t a person of sufficient importance to cause them to stop. “Come on,” a youth yelled from the rear of the group.

“My brother, Luther,” she explained as they reined to a halt, watching the others disappear into the trees ahead. “We call him Lute.”

“I suppose we should follow,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care much for hunting.”

He laughed. “Nor do I.”

After some hesitation she said, “There’s a trail to a waterfall I sometimes visit. Would you like to see it?”

He should insist they stay with the main group. His heart got the better of him. “I’d love to.”

THE WATERFALL