Love Wild and Fair (53 page)

“Please, Francis,” she begged him. “Please, now!”

He wanted to prolong the delight, but as hungry as she was for him, his own desire was even greater. His hand caressed the heart-shaped face. “All right, love,” he murmured into her ear, and thrust deep within her, gaining an almost equal pleasure from both his possession of her and the long shuddering sigh that tore through her.

She was whole again for the first time in three years! Lost in that lovely silvery-gold world between consciousness and unconsciousness, she murmured contentedly as his hardness sent wave after wave of pleasure pouring over her. And it didn’t stop even when the hardness broke, flooding her with his seed. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

She said nothing, her beautiful eyes saying it for her, and he smiled happily. “Sweet Cat,” he whispered. “My beloved adversary, my dearest love. ’Tis all right now, my darling. ’Tis all right. We hae come home at last.”

T
HE little Church of Santa Maria del Mare was the fashionable house of worship for the noble and wealthy who lived near Amalfi. On the fourth Sunday in April of the year 1598, the Earl and Countess of Bothwell attended midday mass. As they walked together afterwards from the church, Cat saw an exquisitely dressed and very beautiful woman standing just ahead. Instinct and Francis’ slight pressure on her arm told her that this was her husband’s cast-off mistress.

Before he could speak, the familiar deep voice called, “So, Francisco! This is your new whore!”

The silence in the church piazza was instantaneous as heads turned to view the coming battle.

Cat froze. Bothwell’s eyes were blue ice, but his voice was steady and honied as he turned to Alfredo, Conte di LiCosa, and said, “Fredo, may I present
my wife,
Caterina Maria, the Contessa di Bothwell. Bishop Pasquale married us five nights ago.”

“And a more beauteous and radiant bride I have never seen,” injected the bishop, confirming the earl’s announcement

The Conte di LiCosa bowed over Cat’s extended hand. “Contessa, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” His dark eyes twinkled.

The corners of Cat’s mouth turned up for a moment, and she murmured a polite response. Then her leaf-green eyes slowly and coolly raked Angela di LiCosa, who stood looking furiously back at her with blazing black eyes. Finally Cat turned away. Looking up at her husband, she drawled clearly, “Really, darling, she’s hardly up to your usual standard.”

Angela di LiCosa stepped angrily forward, her hand raised threateningly. Cat, not flinching, grasped the hand in her own. “Do it, madame, and you will spend the rest of your life minus a hand,” she hissed. “And while we have this moment together, my dear, let me warn you to forget Francis. He will not come back to you.” She dropped the other woman’s hand.

Angela rubbed her wrist. “Then why do you warn me?”

“Because I can see you are that foolish type of woman who will persist because her pride is damaged. Remember that he left your house at the mere mention of my name. We were wed that same night. Do not embarrass us, or your family. There is more binding Francis and me than you can imagine.”

Cat turned her back on the other woman. Taking her husband’s arm, she moved away to accept the congratulations and good wishes of the neighboring nobility, all of whom were delighted to see the Contessa di LiCosa get her comeuppance.

Alfredo di LiCosa chuckled. “Well, my dear, I had never thought I should live to see the day when you were bested.”

“Be quiet, you snake!” she snarled furiously at him. “I will kill her! No! That would be too easy. I will make her suffer! I will do it slowly. Painfully! She will wish she were dead!”

The Conte di LiCosa, smiling at his friends and neighbors, hustled his angry wife into their coach. “You will do nothing, Angela! Do you understand me? Nothing! Your reputation already has the Inquisition looking in your direction.”

“Let them look,” she spat back at him. “They can prove nothing!”

“The Inquisition does not
have
to prove anything! Just a hint of suspicion is enough. Face the truth, my darling. Francisco amused himself with you as you amused yourself with
him.
It is obvious that the man is deeply in love with his wife. Let it be! I do not want Lord Bothwell for an enemy, and if I must choose between him or you, it will be him! He, at least, is trustworthy.”

But Angela di LiCosa could not forget the beautiful Cat. The Contessa di Bothwell had to be at least several years older than she was, and yet she did not look it. Nor did she use the heavy cosmetics of the day. Her skin was flawless, with its own lively natural coloring. Her body was young and firm. Angela imagined that beautiful face and body scarred, ruined. Would Francisco love her then? The answer sounded resoundingly in her head. Yes, he would!

Angela had seen how Bothwell had looked at his wife. He had never looked at Angela that way. Angela had never admitted the painful fact to herself before, and the reality outraged her: Francisco had never looked deeply at her at all.

During the next few weeks, Angela di LiCosa’s desire for vengeance grew. It seemed that every noble family in the area had to give a party for the newlyweds, and she and Alfredo were always invited. Refusal was unthinkable. The Countess of Bothwell quickly became a popular figure among the men and the women. She was lauded for her beauty, her charm, her wit Lord Bothwell—always the rover—barely left his wife’s side, and the looks of adoration that passed between them became legend.

It was this very devotion that gave Angela her idea for the perfect revenge. In these past weeks she had learned that Lord Bothwell and his bride had been in love for years, but had been separated for varied reasons until only recently. Together at last, they were gloriously happy. Angela di LiCosa decided to separate them—permanently. She had thought of having one of them assassinated—preferably Cat. But the finger of suspicion would have pointed directly at her, so she discarded that idea. Too, the pain of separation would be greater if they both lived. If the beautiful Countess of Bothwell were forced to submit to another man’s attentions and if her husband knew it and were powerless to rescue her, the anguish would be unbearable.

She believed her plan to be foolproof. No one was likely to consider her responsible. Angela’s oldest brother had been captured by the Turks at the age of eighteen. When he had gone off to sea, determined to fight the Ottoman corsairs who were constantly raiding their coast his Turkish mother had told him, “If you are captured, loudly proclaim your nobility. Tell them that you are the son of Ferhad Bey’s daughter, Fatima of Morea, who was captured twenty years ago. Submit to Islam as I have to Christianity and your fortune will be made!”

He had been captured, for to pursue the Turk in the Mediterranean was foolhardy. But he remembered his mother’s words and followed her advice. He was saved from the marble quarries and entered in the Princes’ School. Over the years he rose swiftly through the ranks until he had become one of the empire’s most skilled generals. Called Cicalazade Pasha, and trusted by his captors, he might have escaped back to his homeland.

But he chose not to go home. The best he could hope for in Italy was to succeed to his father’s title, conte, and inherit a moidering castle that grew more expensive to maintain as each year passed. He would be married off to the best dowry available and expected to father several sons. If he were lucky he would be able to afford one elegant mistress. If not, he would have to make do with the local peasant women.

As Cicalazade Pasha he owned a magnificent palace on the Bosporus, well staffed by an army of slaves. He was married to a granddaughter of Suleiman the Magnificent, and he had recently been appointed a grand vizier to Sultan Mohammed, his wife’s cousin. He maintained a large harem which catered to his sophisticated and varied sexual tastes. Cica Pasha’s hobby was beautiful women. All through the civilized world, his slave merchants were on the lookout for beautiful, exotic women to satisfy his appetite. Beauty and personality attracted him. Virginity mattered not. His harem was stocked with rare beauties, and fabled throughout the East.

Angela di LiCosa gave credit where credit was due. The Countess of Bothwell was an unusually beautiful woman, and Angela was quite sure that her rapacious brother would welcome the exquisite addition to his bed. There would be no problem in transporting her victim either, for a Turkish fleet lurked off the coast. Angela knew one of its captains.

He was called Khair-ad-Din after the famed admiral of the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. One of his duties was to carry messages between Cicalazade Pasha and his Italian family. Angela could get in touch with him easily. She would learn how soon he planned to sail home.

Several days later a peasant woman sat drinking wine with a sailor in a Neapolitan waterfront café. “You tell Khair-ad-Din that I don’t care how dangerous he thinks it is! I must meet with him personally. There is a small, crescent-shaped beach two miles to the southeast of Amalfi. I will be there tomorrow night an hour after sunset. The signal will be two lanterns burning on the beach.” The woman got up and hobbled out The sailor finished his mug. Cursing softly under his breath, he slapped some coins down on the table and left the café.

The following night a boat rowed by six sweating black slaves slid onto the sand of that beach. An enormous man dressed in bright-red pantaloons and a red-and-black-striped shirt, his large waist wrapped with a gold cloth sash from which protruded both a jeweled dagger and a scimitar, heaved himself out and walked up onto the beach. He had small feet for such a large man, and they wore elegant gold leather boots with red tassels.

A heavily masked and cloaked woman stepped from the shadows. “I am the Contessa di LiCosa,” she said.

“Take off the mask so I may see with whom I speak,” said Khair-ad-Din gruffly, and when she did he nodded. “You look nothing like your brother. Well, little girl, what can I do for you?”

“I want you to take a gift to my brother.”

“You got me off my ship to tell me you want me to carry some damned trinket to my lord Cicalazade? Women! Pah!”

“This is a very special gift, captain. It is a woman for my brother’s harem. She is a prize beyond compare, a noblewoman of beauty, breeding, and charm. Bring her safely to my brother. I will reward you in gold, and I am sure you will gain great favor with my brother.”

“Who is this woman, contessa?”

“Her identity is not your concern, but her villa is on the other side of this point. You probably know the house well, for it once belonged to Abdul Mehmet, the merchant. In a few days this woman’s husband will be called away. If you attack the house at dawn in his absence you will meet no resistance. There are only six houseservants, five of whom are women. I assume she also has a body servant. I don’t care what happens to the servants, but treat this woman gently. I want her delivered safely to my brother.”

Khair-ad-Din looked sharply at Angela di LiCosa. “Why do you do this, signora la contessa? It is not like you to seek slaves for your brother. Is this a plot between you and the woman’s husband, to rid him of her?”

Angela’s face reflected hate so virulent that Khair-ad-Din stepped back in surprise. “I hate them both,” she hissed. “ ‘Tis my vengeance on them. He will die a thousand times knowing that she is a slave, and that he is powerless to do anything about it!”

“What if the woman dies?”

“Not her,” laughed the Contessa di LiCosa cruelly. “She will survive, hoping to return to her beloved Francisco … but that will never happen!”

Khair-ad-Din considered a moment. Even if the woman were a gift from Cicalazade Pasha’s sister, he too would gain a certain measure of favor by conveying her safely to her new master. “How will I know when it is safe to kidnap the woman?”

“Watch the skies off this beach in the hours before and after midnight for the next few nights. A red rocket will be the signal that you may attack the following dawn.” She held out a bag to him. “A small token of my gratitude, captain.”

Feeling the weight of the bag, he smiled broadly. “Signora la contessa, it is a pleasure to do business with you. Is there any other message you wish to send your brother?”

She handed him a sealed packet and, without another word, turned and disappeared back into the shadows. Khair-ad-Din made a small grimace and, turning, walked back down the beach to his boat. She was a cruel one, was the Contessa di LiCosa. He wondered what her poor victim had done.

As his boat bobbed back over the waves to his ship, he thought that perhaps he should clear out the cabin next to his. It was a decent size and could be made comfortable for a woman and her servant. He had decided that he would instruct his men to bring along the lady’s woman to serve her. It had been his experience in dealing with women captives that those who had a friend did better than those who were all alone. If this poor woman did not reach the grand vizier in good condition, then he would be blamed.

Safely back aboard his ship, he called his officers together and told them of the planned raid on the Villa del Pesce d’Oro. “Other than the noblewoman and her servant, take no captives. We’re not a stinking slave carrier. Treat them gently, or by Allah, I’ll castrate the lot of you!
No rape.
The woman is for Cicalazade’s pleasure and his pleasure only.”

“What about the servantgirl?” asked the first officer.

“Well … perhaps when we’re safely under sail. But waste no time at the villa.”

“You can’t expect the men to pass up a group of young girls, captain. They rarely get ashore on this type of duty.”

“All right, all right” chuckled Khair-ad-Din indulgently. “Let the men who go with you have the servant girls, but bring me the lady and her personal servant
untouched.”

“About two dozen men should do it” said the first officer. “Now all we need do is sit and wait for the next few days.”

C
AT sat crosslegged in the center of a very tumbled bed watching her husband dress. She was naked and rosy from their recent lovemaking, and her pretty mouth pouted. “Why can’t I come wi ye, Francis?”