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  Despite her misgivings that she was thwarting God’s plan, the answer came readily. “I will wed with you, Kon Wolf.”

  He kissed her gently then, but the brush of his thumb over her nipple sparked a fire in her loins. She lifted the blanket. “Stay with me,” she murmured in a sultry voice she barely recognized.

  He lay down and gathered her into his arms. “I want you, but I frightened you the last time I…”

  “I’m not afraid now,” she replied, pressing her hand to his hard maleness.

  “You should be.”

  Kon had never burned with desire for a woman. The lustful episode with the slave girl was nothing compared to the fire consuming him for Zara. But he also craved her trust, her love. “I hope you can see my grin in the darkness,” he teased, fearing he had alarmed her.

  She traced a fingertip along his lip. “You make me feel things I have never felt before.”

  He nibbled her finger. “It’s the same for me, but joining our bodies now isn’t what I want. Well, I want it, but it’s not the right time or place. Our first union will be in a sweet smelling bed, and you will be my sweet smelling wife!”

  She nuzzled her nose into his neck and lay one leg across his thigh. “But I ache.”

  “You are a temptress.”

  She thrust her breasts against him. “Touch my nipple again.”

  He lay her down and suckled one nipple then the other through the fabric of her shirt, thrilled when they pebbled readily beneath his tongue. She clamped her hand over her mouth and writhed, lifting her hips.

  “I can relieve the ache,” he rasped, suspecting she didn’t understand what he had in mind, or how apprehensive he was. It was impossible to serve in an army without overhearing other men boast of where women loved to be touched, but he also had his father’s advice to fall back on. The von Wolfenberg children had benefitted from their liberal parents’ insistence they be prepared to give pleasure in the marriage bed. Assuming as a priest he wouldn’t need the knowledge, he wished now he’d paid more attention.

  He moved his hand between her legs, grateful for the male leggings she wore. He pressed against the warmth of her most intimate part and her hips quickly matched the rhythm of his touch. Sensing she was close to release, he covered her mouth with his. His heart rejoiced when she growled her ecstasy into his throat.

  Minutes later, her body went limp, then she curled into him. “I never knew,” she whispered.

  His need was great, but his resolve greater. He thanked God for this woman who was his future, his Holy Grail, the meaning he had been seeking. “Some day I will touch you without leggings between us.”

  She purred her contentment and he suspected she would soon be asleep. “Although,” he quipped, “I foresee a day when more women will wear such attire.”

  There was no response.

  It was still dark when Kon shook her awake. “I’ll go before dawn breaks.”

  She raised up on her elbows, still half asleep. “Why?”

  “Well…”

  “Kon, my beloved, we are on a ship. The Nunziata may be a large cog, but I can guarantee there isn’t a man aboard who isn’t aware you spent the night here with me.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  She yawned. “They know better than to censure Zara Polani. I pay their wages, and besides, we are betrothed, aren’t we?”

  He kissed her lovingly. “And I want to shout it to the world.”

  “Not here, but perhaps you should relieve Rospo.”

  He stood and stretched his arms wide, making her wish she was still safe in his embrace.

  She purred like a cat after he left. Now she’d known ecstasy she wanted more of it. But then the memory of her dream gave her pause.

  You’re a temptress!

  Mayhap without meaning to, Kon had given voice to her sin. His kiss and his touch had turned her into a wanton who’d encouraged him to break his resolve.

  She’d been born with a strong will. It had made the difference in the survival of her family business, but perhaps her strength would prove to be her weakness.

  LUST

  Now he’d found what he believed to be the key to his happiness, Kon couldn’t get enough of Zara. He watched her every move during the day. Rospo took him to task several times for not having his mind on the tiller when the wind shifted abeam. The man was never outwardly friendly, but Kon sensed a new edge to his abrupt nature.

  Despite a determination not to spend the second night at sea in Zara’s makeshift shelter, he was soon cuddling with her. “We must be more circumspect,” he whispered, even as his mouth latched onto a nipple and suckled.

  She pulled open her shirt and held her breast to his lips, sifting her fingers through his hair. “But I crave your touch.”

  Urged on by her throaty moans, he pulled the garment down to reveal both breasts. He gathered their bounty in his hands and feasted hungrily on each nipple in turn.

  Caught in the grip of desire he became vaguely aware she had lifted her bottom and was pushing the leggings off her hips.

  “Touch me,” she breathed.

  The aroma of female need assailed his nostrils, robbing him of willpower. He touched his fingertips to her woman’s place. His rute rejoiced as her wet heat inflamed him further.

  He savored her scent on his fingers and salivated for her juices. He came to his knees, clamped his arms around her thighs and lifted her to his mouth.

  He couldn’t name the taste—newly-baked bread, salty and sweet at the same time—but it sent his desire spiralling out of control.

  She moaned and writhed and arched her back when her release came.

  “Take me,” she urged hoarsely.

  He freed his rute from his leggings. She reached for him, gasping as she took hold of his rigid manhood.

  He didn’t want the first time to be like this, but…

  “Rabbits!” Rospo snarled from not far above them.

  Zara lay absolutely still. Lust had rendered her witless. The strong-willed mistress of the fleet had become a wanton who had been willing to give away her maidenhead to a man she barely knew.

  It was too dark to see Kon’s face, but she sensed his frustration when he withdrew abruptly and staggered away from the siren who had come close to luring him to perdition.

  She pulled up her leggings, covered her breasts and curled up, listening for other sounds of censure. Only the wind mocked the insistent throb of need.

  She’d probably kept the men amused with her moaning. How was she to face them on the morrow?

  Her father had drummed it into her that a mercante who lost the respect of his crew was destined to fail.

  Had she affronted God and thereby doomed the expedition to rescue the slaves with her scandalous behavior?

  Having no wish to face Rospo on the stern-castle, Kon sought refuge beneath one of the rowing thwarts, but still heard the sniggers.

  His need of Zara had almost driven him to an act they would both regret. He cursed his rute that even now in the face of shame and self-loathing refused to be tamed.

  He inadvertently touched his fingers to his nose. The lingering aroma of Zara further enraged the fiery dragon at his groin.

  The bitter irony that he’d once aspired to be a celibate only increased his turmoil.

  He spent the rest of the night curled up under the bench, praying for divine forgiveness. He had come close to despoiling the virgin he was in love with.

  He was a disgrace to the Wolfenberg name.

  GIANLUCA

  The Nunziata spent another day and night at sea before the square tower of Termoli castle came in sight. The squat, unimposing edifice evoked unpleasant memories for Kon. Lute had come close to being murdered atop those battlements. Emperor Lothair had suffered a seemingly minor flesh wound which subsequently putrified and led to his death.

  Above all, Kon recalled the stifling heat of the town in high summer, which mercifully hadn’t affected them yet out on the water.

 
The last hours aboard had been oppressive in a different way. Zara avoided him, clearly dismayed by the position he’d placed her in. Lupomari treated them both with cool disdain. Rospo croaked constant warnings about on-shore winds that might drive them aground.

  Many of the crew barely concealed sly grins.

  As dawn broke Lupomari guided the cog into Termoli’s port.

  “No sign of the Ragusa,” Kon muttered to Rospo as the Nunziata nudged the dock. “Only fishing boats.”

  “Sì,” the steersman answered with a nod.

  The captain summoned him to the forecastle. He was disappointed when Zara descended the steps and went in the opposite direction while he was still amidships.

  “Do you see the man we seek, the girl’s father?” Lupomari asked when he arrived.

  Kon scanned the scores of fishing vessels and the several dozen men who swarmed all over the docks, preparing to set out for the day’s work. He’d only set eyes on Zitella’s father once and feared he might not recognise him. “No, not yet.”

  “If we don’t find him here, can you locate his dwelling?”

  Kon had to rely on what Lute had told him of Zitella’s family. “Yes, though I may have to ask for precise directions.”

  “Best you take Rospo with you. Your manner of speech will mark you as a foreigner.”

  “I will go with them.”

  Kon turned quickly, his spirits lifting when he saw Zara climbing the steps.

  Lupomari bristled. “Not a good idea. This isn’t Venezia.”

  “Who rules Termoli now?” Kon wondered aloud in an effort to fill the silence caused by Zara’s glare.

  “William,” the captain replied. “But he is no longer Count of Loritello. Ruggero stripped him of the title when he retook the town.”

  “William will remember me,” Kon said.

  “Fondly?”

  Kon shrugged. “He sided with the Emperor.”

  “We will take a contingent and explore,” Zara declared.

  Kon smiled, glad she seemed to have regained some of her aplomb.

  “As you wish,” Lupomari conceded.

  When the cog was securely moored, Kon and Zara set out into the streets of Termoli with Rospo and two crewmen.

  Zara wasn’t hopeful they would locate the man they sought. Kon didn’t know his name, only that his daughter was Zitella who had left with her mistress. There was no guarantee the fellow would help them. He might be resentful that his daughter had fallen in love with a squire in the imperial army, apparently the real reason she had followed Francesca.

  The intention had been not to draw attention to Kon, but several curious youths soon gathered around. He must have recognised one and when he tapped his chest and said his name, they cheered. “Commandante Wolfenberg,” they shouted. “Games on the beach.”

  Zara frowned in puzzlement.

  Kon grinned. “My brother, Lute,” he explained. “They remember him well. He organised games of ninepins for children during the siege. He wanted to keep them occupied and take their minds off the war.”

  “I wish I had met him,” she replied, reminded once again of the nobility of Kon’s bloodline.

  The youths pushed and shoved to be the first to lead them to Gianluca Merluzzo’s dwelling, buzzing with excitement over the good news of Zitella’s marriage to Drogo.

  It warmed her heart to see how readily Kon made friends with these young men. He had an openness that put them at ease. She understood. He’d quickly won her affection, yet the intense feelings that resurfaced every time she laid eyes on him had caused her to censure him.

  As they approached, Gianluca staggered out of his modest dwelling. Zara suspected the hubbub had woken him and wondered why he wasn’t out fishing.

  The youths chattered at once, anxious to pass on the good news concerning his daughter. He quickly joined in the celebratory mood, ushering the visitors into his home. He bowed repeatedly when Kon informed him she was the niece of the Doge of Venezia and apologized over and again for the hovel in which he lived. She politely declined an invitation to sit on the only chair, fearing she might end up with splinters in her bottom.

  The conversation eventually came around to the reason for their sojourn in Termoli. Gianluca listened wide-eyed, hacking up phlegm and spitting with disgust when told of the slave child’s drowning. The spittle settled atop a damp mound on the dirt floor. He’d evidently perfected his aim over the years.

  “We surmise Drosik will come here to sell or trade some of the goods before he heads for the slave market in Bari,” Kon explained.

  Gianluca hit the spittle mound again, without taking aim. “The pirate captain of the Ragusa is well known here as a cheat. It won’t be hard to find folk to aid us.”

  The youths echoed his sentiments, all seemingly willing to participate and offering suggestions at once.

  Gianluca silenced the cacophony with an impatient growl and another well-aimed glob of spittle. “First step is to make him believe we are agents for William who want to buy salt. Once aboard, we inspect, we argue, we decline, we leave, but we have discovered mayhap the best way to free the captives, how many men remain with him, where he has chained the slaves.”

  The youths accepted the plan enthusiastically, but Kon was sceptical. “He’ll get suspicious.”

  Gianluca shrugged. “He is always suspicious. It’s in his nature. You have a better idea?”

  Kon had grave misgivings. “But as soon as Drosik sees the Nunziata, he will flee to a different port.”

  “We can cover the name,” Zara suggested.

  “You’ve seen the docks,” Gianluca said. “There are at least a dozen large cogs. It’s the reason I no longer fish. More to be earned by means of trade and barter, and less risky.” He winked at Zara. “One day Termoli will rival Venezia.”

  She smiled indulgently. “I doubt it, but you make a good point, and if Drosik knows you as a trader, he’ll be less suspicious.”

  Kon still wasn’t convinced, but had no other plan to offer. “We don’t have much time to prepare. Thank you, Gianluca.”

  To his surprise the fellow clamped meaty hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I thank God you and your army came to Termoli. My daughter has a better life with a good husband. I can never do enough to thank you.”

  It was a surprising revelation that Termolians might consider the Saxons who’d invaded as benevolent, though the young lads certainly had an enduring fondness for Lute. His brother would be pleased when Kon told him. The realization that this was the first time he’d considered returning home to Saxony hit him like a blow to the belly.

  He embraced Zitella’s father, slapping him on the back, but had no words to offer in reply.

  Zara too seemed moved by the simple man’s gratitude and he was elated when she linked her arm in his as they made their way back to the port.

  GREEN HAT

  “My father must be turning over in his tomb,” Zara lamented as she watched sweating crewmen daub black pitch over the Nunziata’s name and the gold filigree along the wales and railings of the stern and forecastles.

  Rospo and another seaman were busy removing the heavy spar over the bow, so the cog would appear not to be equipped with a headsail. “He assures me he can keep a steady course without it,” she told Kon nervously. “Hopefully we’ll have time to make repairs before we set sail again.”

  The men were putting the finishing touches to the changes when the lookout clinging to the top of the center mast called out a warning of Drosik’s appearance at the entrance to the port.

  Zara made the sign of her Savior. “Watch over us, Lord,” she prayed as they took up their posts, “and forgive me, Papa.”

  Kon hunkered down next to where she sat in the forecastle. His closeness gave her courage. “I am sorry for the other night. My need of you is so great, I lost control. However, I meant what I said. When this is over, you and I…”

  She gently pressed a fingertip to his lips. “I am sorry too. I’
ve tried hard to be an equal among men; I’m not used to being treated like a woman.”

  “You’ve had to be strong for the sake of your family,” he reassured her, “but when you are my woman…”

  His promise sent warmth flowing into private places.

  “Hush,” Lupomari hissed. “The thief is securing his cog, and here come your salt buyers.”

  Zara looked back to the town. True to his word, Gianluca was approaching the port with a small retinue of young men. He’d evidently bathed and changed into cleaner clothing. A tall green hat sat atop his head like an upside-down acorn. “He’s enjoying this,” she hissed.

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t scare Drosik off by appearing too eager,” Kon said.

  “I have confidence in him,” she confessed. “He’s dealt with the pirate before. He’ll know how to handle him.”

  Peering through the struts of the forecastle railing, Kon watched Zitella’s father stroll onto the dock. He growled when the fool strutted past the Ragusa as if he hadn’t noticed the ship.

  “What’s amiss?” Zara hissed impatiently from her hiding place. “Drosik won’t see me if…”

  “No,” Lupomari insisted. “You must remain hidden. It’s too risky. If he spots you, all is lost.”

  Kon was exasperated. “Gianluca has walked right past the cog.”

  She chuckled. “Good. I told you he knows what he’s doing. Drosik will come to him now.”

  Kon sneered when the red-shirted pirate strode onto the gangplank, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “You’re right.”

  Few on the dock paid any attention.