Rose Red (11 page)

“Then you are bent on revenge.”

“Wouldn’t you be, too, under the same
circumstances?”

“You have not told me what those
circumstances are.” Bartolomeo paused, as if considering a serious
decision, then asked, “Will you take a glass of wine with me? My
throat grows dry after an hour or so of writing.”

“What are you writing?” At a wave of the
older man’s hand, Andrea pulled the second chair in the room up to
the desk.

“A history of the dukes of Monteferro.”
Bartolomeo handed a parchment page across the desk to Andrea. “You
may read it if you like.”

“The Farisi dukes of Monteferro,” Andrea
amended Bartolomeo’s remark. His eyes on the other man, Andrea took
the page but did not look at it at once. Bartolomeo nodded his
comprehension of the meaning behind Andrea’s alteration of his
statement.

“I have seen you looking at the portrait in
the sitting room.” Bartolomeo sat back in his chair, a goblet of
wine in his hand. “The painting is a fine likeness. You have
recognized my old friend, Girolamo Farisi.”

“If I did not recognize his face, I should
have known him by the eagle that accompanies him in that picture.
All of Italy remembers the Farisi eagle, and how that symbol once
represented an honest ruler. Having recognized the late duke, it
was but a small step further for me to identify the ladies of Villa
Serenita. You need have no fear for them on my account, Bartolomeo.
After everything the duchess Eleonora and her daughters have done
for me, I would give up my life before I allowed any harm to come
to them. I will never tell anyone where they are hiding.”

“It is my hope, and also the hope of Madonna
Eleonora, that you will do more than keep the secret of their
whereabouts. Read the page I gave you.”

Andrea lowered his eyes to the parchment and
began to read. A minute or two later, he clenched his jaw and he
could tell by the warmth in his cheeks that his face was flushing
with anger.

“Stregone,” he said through gritted
teeth.

“What do you know of Niccolo Stregone?”
Bartolomeo asked.

“He is an evil person, who has caused the
deaths of many who are far better men than he.”

“I agree with you. While Madonna Eleonora is
convinced that the late Duke of Aullia was responsible for the
assassination of her husband, I believe Stregone, acting on behalf
of the Guidi family, was behind the deed. I also think Stregone
created a situation at the court of Monteferro before the
assassination occurred that led Madonna Eleonora to look toward
Aullia to discover the instigator of murder.”

Andrea sat very still, absorbing what
Bartolomeo had just said, accepting some of it, rejecting part. And
aware all the time of Bartolomeo’s searching gaze on him.

“Is something wrong?” Bartolomeo asked when
Andrea kept silent too long.

“Why are you telling me this?” Andrea put the
parchment page down on the desk.

“Perhaps to see what your reaction will
be.”

“
Then I
trust my reaction pleases you.” Deliberately, Andrea drawled the
words as he sat back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed. He was
sure there was more to Bartolomeo’s revelations than mere interest
in his reaction to them. When Bartolomeo slid a goblet of wine
across the desk to him, Andrea raised it to his lips and pretended
to swallow, but he did not drink. He wanted to keep his wits clear.
Beyond the natural effects of wine, he had known men – and women,
too – who would think nothing of putting certain herbs into the
drinks they offered. He did not class Bartolomeo in that devious
group, but it usually paid a man to be careful. He was still alive
because he had been careful at the right time. While
Vanni...

“Tell me about your brother,” Bartolomeo
said. “When did he die?”

“In the autumn. He was with a dear friend of
ours, a man we trusted.”

“Do you think this friend caused your
brother’s death?”

“Never. More likely, he died defending my
brother.” Andrea looked straight into Bartolomeo’s eyes. “You will
understand that I prefer not to talk about this.”

“I beg your pardon. I assure you, I do not
ask these painful questions without forethought.”

“Then why are you asking them?”

“For several reasons. I have learned to know
you fairly well during your stay with us. I judge you to be an
honest man, though, clearly, you have your own secrets. It is no
crime; most men prefer to keep parts of their lives to themselves.”
Bartolomeo paused to take another sip of wine, then said, “Allow me
to ask just one more question. Have you experience in leading men
into battle?”

“
I am
no
condottiere,”
Andrea said.

“I did not think you were. But you are a
daring and courageous man. Your survival under terrible conditions
proves as much. If, in addition to courage and daring, you have the
necessary military experience, then I may have an offer to make to
you.”

“You?” asked Andrea. “Or the duchess
Eleonora?”

“Since such matters are best discussed
between men, I am acting on her behalf. I am also, I do confess,
acting before she might have done. However, when you spoke of your
brother’s death, the moment seemed propitious, for it occurred to
me that you might be able to combine repayment of Madonna
Eleonora’s hospitality with your search for your brother’s killer.
If, of course, you are interested in what I propose.”

“Suppose you tell me what this offer is,”
Andrea said bluntly. “Then I will tell you whether I am interested
in it.”

“
The
duchess Eleonora has long hoped for an opportunity to restore the
Farisi family to Monteferro,” Bartolomeo said. “She has the funds
to hire a mercenary army, but has never dared to trust a
condottiere
to lead such an army, fearing the
condottiere
would only
use her money to put himself in power.”

“That is often the way of things,” Andrea
observed dryly.

“Therefore, she has waited for an honest man
to appear. The duchess Eleonora believes you may be that man. I
agree with her.”

“You want me to conquer Monteferro for you?”
Andrea repeated.

“And see to the disposition of the Guidi
family,” Bartolomeo added. “All of them, every last child, every
ancient grandmother, must go into permanent exile, with no hope of
ever returning.”

“To accomplish that particular feat, it will
be necessary to prove the Guidi guilty of a terrible treachery,”
Andrea said, “and, probably, to kill any male member of the family
who is capable of bearing arms, or who will be capable in the
future.”

“It might be simpler to see that they are all
left bankrupt,” Bartolomeo suggested.

“Now, that is an interesting idea, and one
far more to my liking than the thought of shedding the blood of an
entire family.” Andrea smiled. “Tell me, Bartolomeo, what is the
duchess Eleonora offering me in return for this great favor she
expects of me?”

“Great favor?” Bartolomeo repeated. With a
dry chuckle, he said, “It is only thanks to the efforts of Madonna
Eleonora’s household that you are still alive.”

“
If I
accept this offer, I will be putting my life in danger once more,”
Andrea countered Bartolomeo’s remarks with the negotiating skill he
had been taught in what now seemed like another lifetime.
“Any
condottiere
would expect some reward for winning a city.”

“Two cities,” said Bartolomeo. “You will have
to conquer Aullia, too, for the Guidi control it as well as
Monteferro. Marco Guidi’s younger brother is the new ruler of
Aullia.”

“Is he, indeed? Well, in that case, my reward
should be all the greater,” Andrea responded. “How, may I ask, do
you imagine the accomplishment of this enormous task will help me
in the discovery of my brother’s murderer? The conquest of two
city-states can only present a distraction from my primary
quest.”

“A man as clever as you should have no
difficulty at all in achieving everything he desires,” Bartolomeo
said in a smooth tone that made his companion look sharply at him.
“Once you hold both cities securely, the duchess Eleonora is
prepared to offer you a position of responsibility in Aullia.”

“
Really?”
Andrea’s smile made Bartolomeo frown. “Is that the best for which I
can hope? Is there to be no daughter’s hand in marriage? It is the
usual reward for a successful
condottiere,
especially when there is no son
to inherit.”

“Madonna Bianca is the legitimate heiress to
Monteferro,” Bartolomeo said. “She will be expected to make a grand
marriage of state.”

“To consolidate her family’s power.” Andrea
nodded and smiled again.

“Naturally.” Bartolomeo was looking a bit
annoyed by the course the discussion was taking. “Of course,
Madonna Rosalinda, as the younger daughter, would have a bit more
freedom in her choice of husband.”

“
Her
choice of husband?”

“The duchess Eleonora would want her younger
child to marry well.”

“To a man in a position of responsibility in
Aullia?” Andrea suggested.

“That is a possibility.” Bartolomeo spoke
with diplomatic blandness, revealing nothing, yet hinting at
much.

“It had better be a certainty, or the duchess
Eleonora will have to look elsewhere for someone to lead her army,”
Andrea said.

“We can discuss the matter with the duchess
Eleonora,’’ Bartolomeo offered.

“Tell me,” said Andrea, “if, after our little
talk this evening, I decide to say no to this offer, will I leave
Villa Serenita alive?”

“If you refuse the offer,” said Bartolomeo
smoothly, “there will be no need for you to leave the villa at
all.”

“I thought so.” Andrea rose. “You may tell
the duchess that I will consider the proposition most seriously. I
will give her my answer on Christmas Day. In the meantime, she may
want to consider with equal seriousness my requirement that the
hand of Madonna Rosalinda be added to the reward she is offering. A
good night’s rest to you, Bartolomeo.”

Andrea was out of the room and well on his
way to his own chamber before he released his breath in a low
whistle. While he knew full well that it was the way marriage
negotiations were usually conducted, he did not like the idea of
bargaining over Rosalinda as if she were no more than a piece of
property to be disposed of at her mother’s whim. Rosalinda was far
more than that. Still, the offer just made to him presented an
honorable way to win the woman he so desired.

Furthermore, as the head of an army
responsible only to him, he would have the means to discover what
had happened to Vanni.

* * * * *

“Tell me truly, Bianca, when have you ever
had so much fun?” Rosalinda wrapped her arms around her knees. She
was sitting on Bianca’s bed, while Bianca sat before her mirror
brushing her long, golden hair. “Dearest sister, I have never heard
you laugh so hard before.”

“It was pleasant.” Bianca put down her
hairbrush and began to rub a rose-scented oil into fingers that
were slightly chapped from her unaccustomed outdoor exercise.

“Pleasant?” Rosalinda cried, laughing at her.
“You had a wonderful time. You know you did. You really ought to
leave your studies and your household chores more often and ride
with me. Or take a long walk. Just get out of the house and enjoy
yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Bianca said, “when the snow melts,
when spring comes.”

“No, now,” Rosalinda insisted. “Now, when the
cold air will put roses in your cheeks.”

“And chilblains in my hands and feet.” Bianca
sent a teasing look toward her sister. “Do you want me to act as
chaperone for you and Andrea? Is that why you are suddenly so
concerned with how much exercise I get?”

“I don’t need a chaperone. I haven’t seen
Andrea alone for more than a week.”

“And that troubles you?”

“I thought he liked me.”

“I am sure he does, my dearest. So far as I
can see, he likes all of us.” Bianca grew still, the oil shining on
her clasped hands. “What are you saying, Rosalinda? Has he made
improper advances to you?”

“I don’t think so. That is, I didn’t
mind.”

“What did he do?” Bianca asked, her eyes
going wide.

“He kissed me, and he put his hand on my
breast. Just for a moment, you understand. Then he told me to leave
him at once.”

“An order which indicates that he has a
strong sense of honor.” Bianca got onto the bed next to Rosalinda
and curled her legs up, sitting so she was facing her sister. Her
next words were an intimate whisper. “What was it like, to have a
man’s mouth on yours?”

“I was overwhelmed,” Rosalinda said. “But I
liked it. If Andrea had not sent me away, I am sure I could have
stayed there in his room all afternoon, letting him do whatever
else he wanted.”

“Oh, my.” Bianca moistened her lips. “And
when he touched you? Did it hurt?”

“It burned,” Rosalinda said. “But not exactly
where his hand was. I felt as if a fire had started somewhere deep
inside me. Now, every time I see him, the fire flames up anew. I
think of what he did, and I want him to do it again. But I never
see him alone anymore, and when we are together he will scarcely
look at me.” Rosalinda put her head down on her knees.

“From what I have seen of Andrea, he treats
you as he treats me,” Bianca said, “and as he treats Mother or
Valeria. I think he is trying to behave honorably toward you. He
can hardly kiss you on the mouth or touch your breast in the
presence of others.”

“Do you really think that’s it?” Rosalinda
turned her head to look at Bianca.

“Probably. Of course, you have more
experience in these matters than I have.” Bianca’s soft voice was
tinged with regret. “No man has ever kissed me.”