Carried Away (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) by Anna Markland

Author:Anna Markland [Markland, Anna]
Language: en-us
Format: mobi
Publisher: BleuBelle Press
Published: 2012-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

The journey to Köln took six days. As they passed through Caen, Caedmon pointed out to Aidan the Abbaye aux Dames, where he and Baudoin had found Dorianne and her newborn, Alexandre, and spirited them to safety at Montbryce. When they passed the great hulk of the castle, Caedmon could barely speak of finding Robert beaten and almost broken in the cells. It seemed like only yesterday, yet ten years had flown since that wretched day.

From Caen they travelled overland without incident to Amiens, through Mons and Maastricht and finally to Köln, where they found a city still in the grip of euphoria over the victory at Andernach. News of Heinrich’s humiliation had reached their ears well before they’d neared the city.

Caedmon recalled a little of the Germanic languages he’d picked up during the Crusade, though it had been twenty years since he’d spoken them. They didn’t know exactly where to find Count Dieter von Wolfenberg, the writer of the letter. To Caedmon’s surprise when he enquired, everyone knew where the hero of Andernach lived.

Aidan displayed his impatience with his inability to understand. “What did they say, Father?”

“They speak of this Count as if he’s some kind of hero.”

They found a field near the Rhine suitable for their camp. Caedmon and Aidan left most of their men there, taking a handful of their escort to ride to the home of the Count. As they trotted into the courtyard boys appeared to take their horses. They dismounted and strode to the door. Caedmon rapped loudly with his fist, mouth drawn in a tight line, hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am Sir Caedmon FitzRam. I am here with my son Aidan,” he shouted in his halting German.

A servant opened the door and bade them enter. It was evident they were expected.

Suddenly Blythe appeared out of nowhere and flung herself into her father’s arms, sobbing loudly. Aidan enfolded her from behind in a protective circle and rubbed her back.

“Father—Aidan—I—”

It was Aidan who spoke first. “Blythe, my dear sister, I’ve worried about you. I’ve ached with your aches, wept with your sorrows. I’m overjoyed to see you whole. I never doubted you were still alive.”

They embraced for many long minutes in silence, simply holding each other, reconnecting, while Caedmon gazed at them, relief sweeping over him. Gradually he became aware of a tall, well-muscled man dressed in black standing at the foot of a staircase. This black-haired devil was the Count, the man responsible for his daughter being in Köln. His first instinct was to walk over and pound him into the ground.

“You are Dieter von Wolfenberg?” he asked abruptly in English.

The man bowed. “I’m he, Sir Caedmon FitzRam. I welcome you and your son to my home. I trust you had a safe journey from England?”

Caedmon noted Dieter’s English was flawless. “We’ve come for my daughter.”

“She’s here, as you see,” Dieter replied, “but I would offer you my hospitality for a few days so Blythe has a chance to

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