Rose Red (27 page)

“Thanks to your kindness,” he said. “Vanni
and I can never hope to repay you for your generosity to two
strangers.”

“I am certain I will think of a way for you
to express your gratitude,” Eleonora told him.

“If you expect more from me than words of
thanks,” Francesco said quietly, “then, Madonna Eleonora, you must
reveal your family name.”

Rosalinda stared at him. He knew her family
name, as his remarks to her proved. Why, then, did he want to hear
it from her mother’s lips?

“Such a revelation might prove dangerous to
you and Vanni as well as to me and my daughters,” Eleonora
said.

“If you prefer to remain unrecognized by
those who come to your home, madonna, then you ought not to leave
that portrait hanging on your sitting room wall,” Francesco said
with a gesture toward the painting.

“In fifteen years, no one has come here whom
I did not invite,” said Eleonora.

“Until now.” Still Francesco spoke in that
same quiet voice, laden with hints of knowledge and humor.

“Until last winter,” Eleonora corrected him,
“when Andrea appeared in the middle of a snowstorm, looking like a
giant bear, all covered with ice. He terrified us.”

“
Andrea
always did appreciate the value of a grand entrance,” Francesco
said. He took a deep breath and went on, “And so, with a brave and
intelligent – and no doubt a very grateful – young man at hand, you
sent him forth to raise an army of
condottieri
and use it to take back
Monteferro for you. Don’t look so surprised at my accurate guess,
Madonna Eleonora. It’s what I would have done in your place. We are
much alike, you and I. Both honest souls, forced to deal each day
with deceit and intrigue. I would wager there were moments when you
hated it as much as I always did.”

“I would wager that you dealt with it very
well, indeed, signore.” Eleonora’s voice was sharp.

“And I have heard that you did, too,”
Francesco said. “So well, in fact, that when disaster struck, you
and your children were able to disappear, leaving all who knew you
to wonder where you had gone. Especially those who wanted you and
your daughters dead. I learned a valuable lesson from your example,
Madonna Eleonora, and recently put that lesson into practice,
though I do confess I am too straightforward a man to remain
devious for more than an hour or two at a time.”

“Sometimes, an hour is long enough,” Eleonora
said. “For myself, I always despised the manipulations and the lack
of trust that inevitably accompanies such activities amongst
courtiers and their rulers.”

“And yet, you have not refrained from those
same activities,” Francesco noted quietly. “You are manipulating
Andrea even now.”

“Is Andrea also skilled in deceit?” Eleonora
asked.

“When necessary, he will resort to it. But if
Andrea has given you his word, he will not cheat or betray you,
madonna. You may depend upon him.” Francesco glanced toward the
portrait. “Girolamo Farisi has been dead for more than fifteen
years.”

“I think of him every day,” Eleonora said in
a wistful voice. “I will never forget him.”

“Nor should you. But you were a young woman
when he was killed. Even after all these years, you are still a
young woman.”

“I do not regret what I have done by hiding
here,” she said. “Should the safety of my daughters require it, I
would disappear again and stay hidden with them for another fifteen
years.”

“Let us hope that will never happen. A mother
so loving deserves an end to hiding. And a fair reward for her
devotion.”

“You will understand, signore, that I can
think of nothing for myself until my final duty to Girolamo is
accomplished, until Monteferro is restored to the Farisi, and
Bianca is its duchess.”

“I honor your loyalty, Madonna Eleonora. But
when your duty is finished, then what will you do?”

“Until yesterday, I had not thought beyond
the day when Bianca will ride into Monteferro in triumph.”
Eleonora’s face was lifted so she could look directly into
Francesco’s eyes, and he was gazing back at her with an intensity
that Rosalinda could feel across the room.

“Perhaps you ought to consider the
possibilities that will open to you on that happy day,” Francesco
said softly.

“Perhaps I should,” Eleonora murmured.

Rosalinda knew they did not notice when she
left the sitting room for the terrace. She had not understood half
of what Francesco and her mother were saying, but she was
absolutely certain that they understood each other perfectly.

A crescent moon was rising over the
mountains. Rosalinda picked a bloom from the red rose bush and
stood alone in the silvery twilight, inhaling the flower’s sweet
perfume and thinking of Andrea. Behind her, in the sitting room,
Francesco and her mother talked on, using hints and obscure
references to convey what they wanted to say. At the other end of
the garden, Bianca and Vanni walked. Rosalinda could just make out
their figures in the shadowy evening light.

“And I am alone,” she said to the red rose in
her hand. “Where is Andrea? Why doesn’t he come to me? Is it
because he cannot come? Or because he does not want to?”

* * * * *

In a clearing beside a lake set in the
foothills north of Monteferro, Andrea was meeting with the captains
of the army of mercenaries he had raised.

“Some of you were formerly in service to my
family,” he said, “and some in service to the Farisi family.”

“We are all of us ready to follow you,” said
Domenico Ricci, one of the captains. “Just tell us where we are to
go and who we are to fight.”

This bold sentiment was immediately seconded
by all of Domenico Ricci’s companions.

“There are still a few captains coming to
join us with their men,” Andrea said. “At dawn we are going to move
up into the mountains, to wait for them where we won’t be
discovered before we are strong enough to make our assault.”

“Where is that assault to be?” asked Domenico
Ricci.

“On Monteferro,” Andrea said. “And after
that, on Aullia.”

“Two nice prizes,” said Domenico, nodding his
approval. Several of the others whistled at the thought of the
riches the two cities held. All of the captains looked happy.

“What will you be doing while we wait?” asked
Domenico, who seemed to be the spokesman for his fellow
captains.

“I shall renew the search for my brother. I
received information earlier today that suggests he may still be
alive and hiding in the mountains.”

“Now, there’s a fine hope for you,” said
Domenico with a broad grin.

“I heard more.” Andrea decided to give them
all of his news. It could only lift their spirits higher and keep
them waiting in good order until he returned. “There is a rumor
that Vanni is with Francesco Bastiani.”

“
Bastiani?” The captains had been talking among themselves,
but at the mention of that magical name among
condottieri
they were
all eager anticipation.

“That’s the kind of good news we need to keep
our men loyal,” said one of them. “No offense to you, my lord, and
we all know what a fine leader and brave man you are, but Bastiani
has years of experience on you. If he joins us, we can’t lose.”

“It’s my hope, too,” Andrea said. “All I have
to do is find him. If he lives, I will bring him back with me. And
bring my brother, too.”

And
, he thought, but did not speak his
other hope aloud,
if this new search takes me near enough to
Villa Serenita, I may be able to steal a day or two with Rosalinda
before I have to go into battle.

Once again Rosalinda rode out alone, this
time after obtaining her mother’s permission. For the last week,
normal routine at the villa had been in disarray. Lessons for the
sisters had been suspended. Bianca and Vanni were spending their
afternoons whispering together in the sitting room or the garden,
while Eleonora, Francesco, and Bartolomeo regularly disappeared
into Bartolomeo’s office for long discussions. When her mother
somewhat distractedly agreed that Rosalinda might ride and when,
moreover, she put no limits on where Rosalinda was to go or when
she was to return, Eleonora’s daughter knew there were new schemes
being hatched behind that closed office door.

The men-at-arms assigned to sentry duty were
taking double watches to patrol the boundaries of the land. Perhaps
this arrangement gave Eleonora the impression that her daughter
would be safe. But with Rosalinda’s knowledge of the various
pathways and tracks gained from years of riding in the hills, she
had no difficulty in eluding the sentries and escaping into the
higher mountains. Rosalinda did not worry about Niccolo Stregone
finding her. She did not think he would push so far in his search
for Francesco and Vanni, and she was sure she knew the mountain
paths better than Stregone did.

She made her way along the familiar path to
the old rock-fall. No attempt had been made to repair the path, and
during the spring thaw more rocks and earth had fallen away,
leaving a wide gap. Rosalinda turned aside, taking another route,
urging her horse even higher.

She knew exactly what she was seeking and,
with an unerring sense of direction, she found it. In a wide gap
between two mountains, a narrow path wound, with steep meadows on
either side of the path. At the edge of the meadows, clumps of fir
trees grew. During these summer days, which were the longest of the
year, the meadow was abloom with delicate wildflowers. Yellow and
blue petals fluttered in the gentle breeze beside other blossoms of
orange or white or several shades of pink. This was one of
Rosalinda’s favorite spots.

She drew a happy breath and prepared to
dismount, intending to sit for a time among the flowers while she
sorted out recent events. Her plans were abruptly changed when she
saw that she was not alone in the meadow. A single rider spurred
his horse along the path. By his large size, the man was not
Niccolo Stregone, nor was he wearing clothing like that of anyone
who lived at Villa Serenita. He was obviously a stranger to the
area. Fearing the rider might choose the way that led to the
rock-fall and the dangerous gap, for that path was the quickest
route to the next populated valley, Rosalinda remained on her horse
and began to ride toward him, to warn him.

He saw her coming and slowed his pace. Then,
with a joyous shout, he increased his speed and rode straight for
her. Before she realized what he was going to do, before she had
time to react, Rosalinda was snatched out of her saddle and pulled
onto the other horse. Strong arms enclosed her, and a firm mouth
fastened itself over hers.

“Andrea!” She could barely breathe, so
tightly did he hold her.

“I knew it was you. No other woman in these
mountains rides astride.”

She could not get close enough to him. She
clasped her hands behind his neck, pressed her breasts against his
chest, and tried to wriggle herself into a nearer position, but it
was a useless attempt.

“We should both get down before you frighten
the horses into bolting and we have to limp home after being
thrown,” Andrea cautioned. He slid Rosalinda off his mount and onto
her feet. An instant later he was standing beside her. “This is a
good place to talk privately, unless someone comes along the
path.”

Rosalinda did not think talk was what he had
in mind, not when his fingers lightly traced the side of her face,
not with his hand tangling into the long braid at the back of her
neck to move her face nearer to his so he could kiss her
forehead.

“We could sit in the shade of those trees
over there,” she suggested demurely.

“So we could.” He caught the reins of both
horses in one hand, put an arm across Rosalinda’s shoulders, and
walked with her to the spot she had indicated. He looked around,
nodding his approval of her selection. “I have so much to tell
you.”

“I have a lot to tell you, too. And many
questions to ask.” While Andrea secured the horses, Rosalinda moved
out of the sunshine into deep shade. She was trying to decide what
to ask him first, and whether to reveal to him her belief that she
was with child, when Andrea forestalled any remarks she might have
made. He came toward her with his arms open, inviting her to enter
his embrace. The loneliness of recent months receded, and all the
questions crowding her mind suddenly seemed unimportant. She went
to him gladly, lifting her face for his kiss.

Andrea’s mouth seared across hers, his tongue
forcing her lips apart. Rosalinda made no protest at this
treatment; she only held him tighter. He could not stop kissing
her. He covered her face, her throat, her hands with kisses, and
after he had kissed and nibbled on each finger, he pulled her
sleeves higher so he could press his lips to her wrists and elbows
as well.

“Rosalinda, it has been too long since last I
saw you. During all that time, I have not so much as looked at
another woman, and now I want you so badly that I cannot think of
anything but you.”

She caught his face between her hands to look
at him, to recall each beloved feature and realize that she had
forgotten nothing about this man during his absence. He was a bit
thinner than he had been in March, his muscles were harder, and
there was a new, steely air of assurance about him, but basically
he was the same. Her Andrea. Her love.

She pulled at the fastenings of his doublet,
loosening the garment and pushing it off his shoulders. She pulled
up his linen shirt to lay her cheek against his bare chest. When,
in response to his soft urging, she let her hands stray downward,
she discovered that he was already huge, and she could feel his
heat through the cloth that barely contained his eagerness. At this
physical evidence of his desire for her, her own passionate needs
overcame her.