A Wedding
Afortnight later, Sir Caedmon FitzRam walked proudly into the Old Cathedral in Köln with his beautiful daughter on his arm. She looked radiant and his heart was filled with joyful relief that she had found a worthy partner with whom she could share love and passion. It was a great pity Agneta could not be there.
Dieter had dispatched messengers to Saint Germain, and Robert would pass on the message by way of the regular relays the Montbryces used. Caedmon was confident it was the fastest and most secure way to get the happy news of Blythe’s betrothal and marriage to his family in England.
He chuckled when he thought of his precocious Ragna. She would be mortified not to be present at her sister’s wedding and would ask him thousands of questions. He studied his eldest daughter, trying to memorize the details of the occasion, recognizing Aidan would be useless in this regard.
The voluminous skirts of Blythe’s blue dress—silk if he wasn’t mistaken—edged along the hem with white fur, probably ermine, fell from a high waist. A wide sash of the same material emphasized the swell of her breasts. He noted with paternal satisfaction that she was indeed her mother’s daughter.
The bodice had long sleeves and a pinkish-red cowl plunged from her shoulders to the high waistline. As she walked, she lifted the edge, revealing an underskirt of the same color and dainty shoes tied around the ankles. Around her neck she wore a stunning amber necklace, a betrothal gift from Dieter. A gold circlet trimmed with pink ribbons and a see-through veil adorned her flowing tresses.
Blinking away tears, Caedmon closed his eyes as his thoughts drifted back to his own wedding in the fledgling abbey at Alnwick. Though not a wealthy man then, he had been just as consumed with love for Agneta as Dieter seemed to be for Blythe.
The broadly-smiling count—now his son-by-marriage—wore a long-sleeved black tunic of fine wool, black leggings and black boots. White ribbon adorned the black hilt of his ceremonial sword, and a long white cloak, worn off the shoulders, fell almost to his feet. It struck Caedmon he had never seen Dieter in anything other than black raiment.
Dressed in an outfit identical to his father’s, Johann fulfilled his role as Blythe’s page with great aplomb.
Caedmon smiled broadly as he passed Blythe’s hand into Dieter’s. He would be able to report to Ragna that it was indeed a magnificent wedding. He relished teasing her mercilessly about missing it. Aidan would be the perfect ally.
* * *
Archbishop Frederick conducted the lengthy marriage rites. As he settled into the second quarter hour of his homily, Blythe’s mind wandered over what Dieter had told her about the cathedral in which she sat. Christian buildings had existed on the site since the fourth century. Her thoughts flew back to the coronation ceremony in Mainz. It seemed long ago and far away. How unhappy she had been then, homesick and in the thrall of loneliness and despair.
The angelic voices of the choir soared into the vaulted ceiling, echoing the happiness and optimism swelling in her heart.
Despite the pomp and magnificence, she longed for the nuptial ceremony to be over, the banquet to be done. They’d endured a fortnight of restraint that had stretched both Dieter’s and her patience. She wanted to get on with discovering the passions her mother had hinted at. She thirsted to see Dieter naked again. He had confided he dreamed every night of running his hands through her auburn hair while she lay beneath him, their bodies joined.
She appreciated the red velvet chairs on which she and Dieter sat. Everyone else was obliged to stand. Aidan shifted his weight restlessly. He did not speak German, and was still cool towards Dieter. She understood it was difficult for him to accept his sister would be living far away. She, too, would miss her twin, but they’d always sensed what was in each other’s hearts even if great distances separated them.
Her father didn’t miss his cue when asked to place the coins symbolic of her dowry on the prayer book. Caedmon endowed her with one of his Sussex estates and a substantial sum of money. Dieter presented her with an estate he owned in Saxony.
It would soon be Yuletide and the cathedral was chilly. Incense hung in the air as if frozen in place. Her toes were freezing. Dieter noticed her shiver and tightened his grip on her hand, smiling his enigmatic smile. His warmth filled her with longing. Would anyone notice if she kissed his elegant fingers? She willed the cleric to cease speaking.
At long last, the rites were completed and Archbishop Frederick led the recessional out of the cathedral. Blythe’s happiness grew when her grinning father shook Dieter’s hand before turning to embrace her. “Love him well,” he whispered.
She nodded, blinking away tears.
Dieter and Aidan lifted her by the forearms and carried her so her feet would not touch the slippery path. “I’m flying,” she quipped, pleased to see her brother smile.
Anna draped a warm fur around her shoulders and Dieter shrugged into a wolfskin coat held out for him by Bernhardt. Laughing, they were bundled into a horse-drawn sleigh rendered necessary by an unusual December snowfall. Dieter tucked the blanket around her then kissed her deeply as the driver cajoled the horse into a trot and headed for home.
“Ich liebe dich, Blythe,” he whispered, caressing the side of her face and gazing into her eyes. “I love you, my wife. You’re so beautiful.”
The love and regard she saw in those blue depths humbled her. “I love you too, Schwarzer Ritter.”
He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her closer. She relished the warmth of his solid chest when he tucked her cold hands inside his coat.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop shivering. “My toes are like ice.”
“Not far now, liebling, and then I’ll warm your feet. In fact, I hope it won’t be long before I’m warming your whole tempting body.”
She shivered again, but not from the cold.