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Interview
Dieter watched to see if Blythe caught his double meaning, and her blush as she glanced at his groin told him she did. How to tell her where he had procured the dresses? The lighter gown showed off her figure more than her own unattractive garb. Her hips promised fertility. Her breasts were fuller than his dead wife’s, and the fabric strained to contain them, but it would be wiser not to allow his thoughts to wander in that direction.
His attraction to her puzzled and fascinated him. He should return her to the imperial court, but had wanted to get to know her from the moment he first saw her. He could not afford to mire himself in domesticity, nor even in a meaningful relationship. His ambition to serve Duke Lothair left no room for that. He had endured a hellish marriage to a mad shrew and had no intention of reliving such a nightmare again. Besides, he had a son. A young noblewoman would not want to take on the mothering of a child not her own.
He still seethed over the failure of the kidnapping plot, and fervently hoped the duke would never find out he was involved in the debacle. He did not look forward to meeting with his co-conspirators who would demand explanations he could not give.
Failure did not sit well with Count Dieter von Wolfenberg, and he had lost good men in the fiasco. It was doubtful Blythe would agree to stay with him as his mistress, but the prospect of returning her to the imperial court stuck in his craw. He had a feeling she would prefer to return to England. He resolved to at least put her at ease and garner some useful information at the same time. “Tell me about your family, Lady Blythe.”
She looked away, worrying her bottom lip. “My father is Sir Caedmon FitzRam. My mother is Lady Agneta, daughter of Eidwyn Kirkthwaite, my grandfather who was murdered by Scots and their Saxon allies two years before the battle of Alnwick.”
“Alnwick?”
She related the details of the historic battle between the Scots and the Normans in the year of our Lord One Thousand and Ninety-three that had left the King of Scotland, Malcolm Canmore, dead on the bloodied field. “It’s where my parents met. My mother rescued my father from the battlefield. He had been severely wounded.”
He sensed hesitation in her voice. She was guarding her tongue.
He offered her a succulent piece of roasted chicken.
“You like dogs,” she said, looking down at the three hounds draped across his feet. “We have dogs at home in England, but ours are mastiffs.”
All three animals abruptly got up, as if they knew they were the subject of current conversation. Dieter stroked the rottweiler’s head then pummeled the dog’s haunches. “This is Löwe, so called because he has the heart of a lion.”
The greyhound nuzzled his master’s hand. “And this is Schnell, because he is as swift as the wind when he chases hares.”
“Will they let me pet them?”
“Once they get used to you. You told me your father is part Norman, part Saxon?”
She finally sank her teeth into the meat.
Dieter had an unwelcome urge to jump up and lick the juices from her lips.
“Yes,” she replied noncommittally.
His eyes fixed on her fingers as she licked the chicken grease from them. He raked his own fingers through his hair, trying to recall what she had just said. “Is he titled? What lands does he hold?”
“He’s the Lord of Shelfhoc Hall in the Welsh Marches.”
“But you mentioned a home in the north.”
“Yes, Kirkthwaite Hall. It was destroyed as I mentioned, but rebuilt by my—”
She glanced up at him sharply, the danger of giving away too much evident in her narrowed eyes.
He decided not to push her. “More chicken?”
She nodded and accepted with a smile. “I am very hungry.”
It was the first time he had seen her do anything but sulk. Her beauty stunned him. Why did she insist on pouting and frowning? Why didn’t she want him to see her loveliness? “How old are you, liebling?”
Her face reddened as she stiffened her shoulders, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “A gentleman doesn’t ask such questions.”
His assumption was correct. She did not understand the endearment he had used. “But I am no gentleman.”
She squirmed in her seat. “No, you’re a kidnapper.”
His mouth fell open, but before he could speak, she rushed on. “You’re wondering why I am not married. I know most young ladies are married by my age, but I wasn’t allowed to marry.”
