Borgia Fever (5 page)

Chapter Five

Bella woke to a knocking at the door, and sat up with a start, for a moment forgetting where she was and wondering who could possibly at her chamber at this hour. Then she saw Marco's broad back as he opened the door, clad only in his tight leggings, and wondered how long he had been awake.

A manservant entered the room, bowing his head to Marco, but looking at Bella with undisguised curiosity. She drew the blanket farther up her chest to cover her nakedness, and glared at the man, who only smirked and turned back to pouring a jug of weak ale into Marco's own, smaller jug. Then he was gone, with another insolent glance at her.

‘Do you always drink that in the mornings?' She grimaced. It was more usual for men of his stature to drink the fine Spanish wine the Pope laid on so freely.

Marco shook his head. ‘Not always, but I have a thirst this morning.' Desire flickered in his eyes for a brief moment as he considered the reasons for his thirst. ‘And our breweries here produce good ale, very fortifying. Fresh water is a precious commodity in Rome, after all, and wine clouds the mind.'

Bella nodded. Indeed, one of the things she missed most about home was water from the spring. Although the Pope was in the process of restoring Rome's aqueduct system so that everyone, even the poorest, had access to fresh water, it was proving to be a slow process. And no one in their right mind would drink water from the River Tiber.

She watched Marco as he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to pull his boots on, admiring the way the strong muscles in his back and shoulders rippled as he moved. She felt a sharp stab of desire at the memory of how they had moved together only a few hours before, then the pang of loss as she remembered his words
forget me.
Could he really dismiss as her so easily, as if last night had meant nothing? Perhaps she was being foolish, but from the way he had held her, the look in his eyes when his body was deep in hers, and his concern for her safety, she couldn't believe this had been nothing more than a romp.

Yet when he stood and handed her her dress, courteous as ever, but noticeably distant, his face closed, Bella felt her heart sinking. Whatever last night may have meant to him, she knew he would never admit it. She couldn't hide the disappointment she felt when she rose from the bed to dress, and he averted his eyes from her nakedness, as if he hadn't explored every inch of her body in this very bed only a few hours before with his hands and his mouth and his sex.

Dressed, she regained enough of her composure to clear her throat and say coolly, ‘Am I in danger still, do you think?'

Marco looked at her seriously. ‘I hope not, not if you do as I say and claim you found no antidote at all for the poison. I will make it clear you had nothing to do with its theft. The Pope and his sons will be too busy dealing with Cardinal Baglioni to care about a country girl, and if the Lady Lucrezia believes you found nothing and know no secrets, she may just let you go, now that there are other matters to attend to.'

Bella nodded, but felt desolate, as if she hardly cared whether she was allowed to leave or not. What was there to go back to, really? She had been happy enough before with her plants and her shop and her simpler way of life, but now it felt tainted with all that she had seen and heard here at court. She would not return the same, and even if life could truly get back to normalcy in time, she knew she would be thinking about this man every day. How could she return to her solitary life after knowing such passion?

But it seemed he would give her little choice. He watched her impassively as she coiled her hair into a braid and put on her slippers, then held open the door for her. She stared at him, horrified to feel tears stinging her eyes, but he did not look at her as she passed him.

‘I will keep you informed as to what is happening, and do what I can for your maid,' he said in stiff tones, still without looking at her. Bella nodded, ducking her head so that he could not see the tears now threatening to spill over onto her cheeks, and hurried past him. She turned to look back, her mouth open to say she knew not what, but he had already closed the door.

Inside, Marco sat down heavily on the chair next to the table, poured himself a cup of the ale and gave a sigh that was almost a groan. Letting her go like that, seeing the distress in her face, had wounded him more than he cared to realise. But it was better that she feel the sting of rejection now, a pain that he was sure would quickly fade when she returned to her old life, rather than stay with him and be dragged into a life of danger. He tried to ignore the pang of conscience that told him he was no better than the idiot who had been betrothed to her. This was different. Marco couldn't offer her a traditional life; indeed, he was no in position to offer her any kind of life. For a fleeting moment last night, when he had suggested that she escape to Naples, he had thought of going with her. Although the memories of his family's deaths were still raw, he missed his homeland. He had more than repaid his debt to Cesare, but doubted the man would let him go. And how would Marco provide for them? It was a dream, and that was all it could ever be. Bella, for all her independence, needed someone who could give her security. In truth, he was angry at himself for allowing this night of weakness, for becoming involved as a man when he should have remained the cold and callous interrogator. It would not happen again, he resolved. He had allowed himself to become distracted by Bella, and although he had done what he could to foil the plot—and would have more work ahead of him today—still the thought that there was something he had missed nagged at him.

Marco lifted the cup to his lips, and just as the first drops of the liquid swilled into his mouth, two things occurred to him. One, that though the wine for the party had been recalled and checked, no one had thought to check the brewery, being as it was mostly the servants who drank ale. Secondly, that there was a faint bitter odour coming from the jug.

Bella was nearly back to her room, and could see the guard that had been posted at her door yawn, when the gnawing anxiety in her stomach that had been growing since she'd left Marco intensified. Something was wrong, she knew it, something more than her own upset at his dismissal of her. A wave of nausea hit her, so strong that she had to steady herself against the wall, her head whirling with fragments of memory from the night before. The vial of poison, Marco's pride when he'd admitted the strength of his spy network, the mention of the ‘dark lord' by Baglioni's manservant. A fitting name for Cesare, certainly, but perhaps also for his spymaster and assassin... The truth hit her with a horror that made her cry out loud. The Borgia family had not been the only target. It was whispered that a large part of their power was due to the fact that they seemed to know everything about everyone before it even happened. Marco was integral to that. And in the rush to ensure the Borgia family members were safe, would anyone have thought to ensure the safety of their bodyguard? One who preferred ale to wine? Bella broke into a run, and the yawning guard stood to attention immediately as she ran up to him.

‘Get a physician!' she screamed. ‘And tell him to go to Don Corelli's room at once! Quickly,' she begged, when the guard just gaped at her. ‘He's been poisoned!'

The guard went white and broke into a run himself, while Bella rushed into her room and rummaged through the still disordered contents of her chest until she found what she was looking for. Then she picked up her skirts and raced as if a pack of wolves were at her heels, her thoughts all for Marco, praying that she was wrong, that she would reach his room to find him still sitting there, drinking his ale, looking up in bemusement at her sudden arrival.

Her prayers were in vain. She ran into the room to find Marco collapsed against the table, bellowing like an animal in pain. Even in his obvious agony he fought to keep himself upright and not collapse to the floor. Bella rushed to him, grabbing him by the waist and helping him to the bed, staggering under his weight. She pushed him back on the mattress and he arched his spine and groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. Sobbing, but moving as quickly as possible, Bella put the lump of charcoal she had with her on the table and banged at it with the plate to crush it, then grabbed a handful and pushed it into Marco's mouth. He retched and turned his head, gasping through his pain. ‘Bella, no.'

For a second she didn't understand, then remembered his warnings about revealing her knowledge. Even now, he thought of her.

‘I'm not going to let you die,' she said firmly, pushing more charcoal into his mouth. ‘Now swallow.' He heaved on the chalky substance, but fought to do as she bid, while Bella prayed to every saint she had ever heard of that her theory would work.

Behind her the guard, the palace physician and a young cardinal rushed into the room. The doctor came to Marco's side, looking at Bella in horror as he saw her pushing the charcoal into his mouth.

‘Are you mad? You'll choke him.'

‘It will bind the poison,' she said, with a confidence she didn't feel.

‘What has he been given?' the doctor asked, rummaging in his bag.

‘Cantarella, the ‘fever'.' Bella said grimly. Next to her the cardinal crossed himself and murmured a prayer, while the physician looked at her in horror.

‘If it is cantarella then there is nothing we can do,' he said, stepping away from Marco as if his suffering might somehow be transmitted to him also.

‘We have to try!' she yelled at him. The physician seemed to come to his senses, and held Marco's now thrashing head, lifting it so he didn't choke while Bella administered the last of the charcoal. Marco seemed to quiet, his thrashing stopping, but he was sweating and panting, eyes closed, oblivious now to his surroundings. All she could do now was watch and wait.

Bella stayed by his side all day, mopping his brow when the fever hit him, giving him the specially prepared herbal tincture when his parched throat cried for water. She thought he wasn't aware of what was happening, until he clutched her hand, saying her name in a raspy voice.

‘Bella.'

‘I'm here,' she said, clasping his hand in hers, hot tears stinging her eyes, ‘I'm here.'

The cardinal came in and out, praying, and the physician hovered, more interested in Bella's ‘cure' than he was concerned whether Marco lived or died. A maid brought her food and drink, and the Pope himself briefly came by and said a blessing, his face white. Bella was hardly aware of any of them. She kept her eyes on Marco, her lips moving in silent prayer, willing him to live. Finally, when his breathing had slowed and his fever seemed to be cooling, she gave in to her exhaustion and fell asleep, leaning over him with her head on her chest. Just before sleep overtook her she felt his hand rest weakly on her hair.

When she woke it was the next morning, the dawn light dim through the one tiny window. She sat up with a start, looking down at Marco, her heart leaping at the sight of him. He was breathing regularly, and when she pressed her hand to his forehead there was no sign of fever. His eyelids fluttered at her touch. He opened his eyes and smiled at her weakly. His face was deathly pale, but he was alive. He was alive. She grinned at him, feeling as if her heart would burst.

‘Bella,' he said, lifting his hand as if to touch her, then dropping it again as the effort proved too much. ‘God's teeth, I feel rotten.'

‘You need to rest. For at least a few days,' she said softly, suppressing a smile at the look of horror on his face.

‘I have things to do,' he protested. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth. She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips.

‘Even you are not invincible,' she pointed out as she sat back up. ‘Although that poison would have killed a lesser man.'

‘It might, if you hadn't been here. But you've put yourself in danger.' He looked agitated and she stroked his face.

‘We'll find a way around it. My lady isn't completely heartless. Have I not just saved the life of her brother's favourite? That must count for something.'

‘But now you will never get away from them.' Marco looked haunted.

Bella took a deep breath. ‘Then there is no reason for us to be parted. I can stay here, with you, if of course you want me to.'

Marco closed his eyes briefly, and fear that he would still profess to not want her gripped her like a vise. But when he opened them they were soft.

‘I would have pushed you away to keep you from this, Bella. I wanted you to go home, forget me.'

‘I would never have forgotten you.'

Marco looked deep into her eyes, his near brush with death making him want to be honest with her, to drop his mask. He had been given a second chance at life, and he intended to take it with both hands.

‘Nor I you. I never thought to feel like this about a woman. In just one night, you have bewitched me.'

‘It was quite a night,' she agreed, a mischievous smile on her lips, and bent over to kiss him again. He responded weakly at first, then grew stronger, sucking on her lower lip in a way that made other parts of her throb. A small cough behind them made her straighten up in surprise.

At the bottom of the bed stood Cesare Borgia, looking the picture of health and not at all as if he had just spent the last two days drinking and cavorting. He gazed at Marco with concern. Even so, Bella could sense the menace that hung around him, and she shuddered.

‘You're alive then. Thank God. When I heard, I thought I had lost you.' She was surprised to see his face was full of a genuine concern. He bowed to Bella. She went to stand and curtsey, but he waved a hand at her.

‘Sit down. You saved Marco's life, and I am in your debt. How can I repay you?'

Bella smiled ruefully. ‘I would ask the one thing you cannot give me, my lord. Marco himself.'

Cesare gaped at her, and for a terrifying moment Bella wondered if she had gone too far. Then he let out a bellow of laughter.