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Conquering Hero
After laying awake for hours worrying about Dieter, Blythe had finally succumbed to exhaustion. She startled awake, blinking against daylight flooding the chamber. Propped up on her elbows, she heard raised voices outside and the frantic barking of the dogs. Since the capture of Tuitium and the blockade, the streets were often more or less deserted, especially early in the morning, and she wondered what the hubbub was about.
She strained to hear what people were shouting.
“Sieg! Sieg!”
Struggling to don her bed robe, she tried to recall what the word meant.
She almost bumped into Anna when she opened the door to her chamber. “Anna, what’s happening?”
The faithful maid’s cheeks were always two shiny red apples, but now her entire face was beet red and she was breathless with excitement. “Victory for Köln,” she shouted in German. “Victory for Graf Dieter! We’ve beaten the emperor! The brave Köln boys and our courageous Saxons have sent him packing!”
Dancing around, she grabbed Blythe who had understood little, except that Dieter was apparently safe. She clasped Anna’s hands and joined in the dancing, elated by the news.
The entire household quickly threw itself into preparations for the triumphant return of its hero, their master, who, by all accounts filtering up from the streets, had played a large part in the victory. Berta, the cook, set off to purchase provisions in order to prepare all the count’s favorite dishes in time for his homecoming. Throughout her stay in his house, Blythe had become aware the servants respected their master, but now she saw how much they loved him, how proud they were.
She was conflicted. Her heart told her she was in love with him. Her head insisted he had kidnapped her and held her for no reason. His actions had dishonored her, and she would never be able to marry. No man would want her. Even he didn’t want her, except for his gain. His plan was to ransom her to her family. Her heart whispered that she should tell him she loved him. Her head scolded that he would laugh in her face, that he was not the kind of man to fall in love with a woman, especially a foreign woman. He was perhaps a rogue who might take improper advantage of her confession of love?
She ached for his return to assure herself he was safe, but longed to see her parents again and hoped her father would come to rescue her from this torment. It would be better to spend her days as a spinster at home with her loving family than here in a foreign land with a man she loved, but could not have.
On the morning of Dieter’s triumphant return a few days later, she watched from an upstairs window as he and his men rode into the street. She clenched her fists and pressed them to her mouth, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving that Count Dieter Von Wolfenberg had returned unharmed. Pride soared at the sight of the crowds hailing their champion. He sat tall in the saddle, smiling and acknowledging the accolades with a wave of his hand. The notion of being loved by such a man sent desire swirling. She arched her back, ran her hands over rigid nipples, then down her belly, bringing them to rest on the aching need at her mons.
Gooseflesh marched over her body when he unexpectedly glanced up at the window. She stepped back, hoping the thick glass had prevented him seeing her inappropriate behavior. After a few deep, calming breaths, she hastened down to greet him.
* * *
Dieter was elated by the tremendous welcome Köln had given the army, but he was tired. He had thought Blythe might come out to meet him, and was disappointed when she did not appear. He scanned the windows, wondering if she was watching? Did she care he had returned safely? He had thought of nothing else but her on the journey from Andernach.
The servants mobbed him when he entered the house, bowing and clapping and cheering. Tails wagged joyfully when he hunkered down to rub the whimpering dogs’ ears. Blythe came quietly into the hallway and his mouth fell open. He had never seen her hair unbraided. The auburn tresses fell about her shoulders like liquid amber. His rute swelled at the sight.
He rose and continued to graciously accept the accolades of his servants, hoping none of them would take note of his arousal. They would probably ascribe the heat in his face to the excitement of the homecoming. He wanted desperately to sift his fingers through Blythe’s hair, press her body to his, kiss her and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She stood motionless, hands clasped tightly in front of her. He sensed her nervousness and strode over to take her hands.
“Dieter,” she murmured shyly, “you’ve come home safely.”
She’d used his given name, and it heartened him to hear her refer to his house as her home. “Yes, Blythe. I’ve come home—to you.” He raised his hand to touch her tresses. “Your hair—” The words caught in his throat.
He was glad his servants were still milling around, watching curiously, otherwise he might have taken her into his arms and kissed her silly. He forced himself to move away. “I will excuse myself from your presence, Lady Blythe. It’s been a tiring journey, and I must bathe.”
She blushed beautifully, her eyes wide. Perhaps she was imagining him naked in the bathtub. It was tempting to invite her to scrub his back, or…
“Of course,” she replied huskily, jolting him back to reality. “Bernhardt has all in readiness, I believe. Later, at luncheon, you can tell me all about your heroic deeds.”
He kissed her hand and smiled. “Until then.”
