Rose Red (21 page)

“Perhaps it is my fault.” Valeria offered her
own excuse. “I have kept Bianca occupied for long hours every day
recently.”

“I trust you are not unwell?” Bartolomeo was
watching her closely. Bianca was sure he was wondering if her
encounter with the strange man whom she and Rosalinda had rescued
might have stirred old, unhappy memories.

“I am in perfect health, thank you,
Bartolomeo.” Wanting to prevent any further questioning, Bianca
went on, “Nor have my cleaning chores tired me. I think the sudden
advent of warmer weather has produced this lassitude. In fact, I am
so sleepy that, if you will excuse me, Mother, I will seek my
bed.”

“If it is what you wish, then go to bed,”
Eleonora responded. “However, if a good night’s sleep does not
refresh you, Valeria and I will prepare a tonic for you to
take.”

“Thank you, Mother. Good night.” Bianca had
to grit her teeth to keep herself from declaring that she was a
grown woman, with her own needs and wants, and not a child to be
fussed over or fed tonics whenever she lapsed into a bad mood.

It did not take long for Bianca to realize
that retreating to her bedroom was the wrong thing to do. With no
one else present to take her mind off the tormenting subject, all
she could think of was Andrea. She went over every word he had said
to her, every touch, every kiss. She could even recall the funny
little tune he had been whistling when first she saw him perched
above the waterfall. Remembering Andrea’s embrace, Bianca ached, as
if a hollow place inside her must be filled or she would go mad
with longing.

She drew back the curtains, opened the
shutters, and leaned out of her window to see the stars and the
faint gleam of white on the mountaintops. There was no moon. The
night was still and dark, save for the dim starlight.

As if in response to the quietness, still
more questions crowded her mind, giving her no peace. Why had
Andrea returned to the mountains? What drew him there? Why did he
not come to the villa? What would happen if he did?

Bianca wished there were someone to whom she
could talk, but Rosalinda, the one person in whom she had always
before been able to confide, was also the one person who must never
learn what wicked Bianca had done with her sister’s lover.

* * * * *

“I am surprised at you, Bianca,” her mother
said. “Whence comes this sudden lack of interest in your household
duties? It is usually Rosalinda who forsakes Valeria and me when we
require her presence.”

“Oh, let her go and I will stay to help you,”
Rosalinda said. “My stomach is upset from eating too much freshly
baked bread and I am out of sorts today. I don’t feel like riding.
Go on, Bianca. Enjoy the fine weather.” Rosalinda kissed her sister
and patted her shoulder, sending her off to the stable with a smile
that only made Bianca feel more guilty than she already did.

Guilty or not, Bianca intended to ride for
the third day in a row. On the previous day she had waited beside
the waterfall for several hours, but Andrea had not appeared.
Perhaps he would be there today. Bianca had smuggled food out of
the kitchen, along with a small skin of wine. The old cloak she
rolled up and strapped to her saddle would serve as a cloth on
which to spread the al fresco meal she planned to serve to
Andrea.

To her delight, when she reached the woodland
glade, she found him walking atop the rocks just beside the spot
where the waterfall spilled over the edge. While watching him for a
few moments before making her presence known, Bianca had the
impression that he was searching for something up there.

“Hello,” she called, and he stopped what he
was doing to look down at her.

“I was hoping you would be here today,” he
shouted over the noise of the waterfall.

“If you would care to come down,” she called
back, “I have bread and cheese and some good wine that I am willing
to share with you.”

“You really ought to climb up here,” he
responded. ‘“The view is quite remarkable.”

“I could not possibly climb so high,” Bianca
protested.

“If you wanted to, sweet Bianca, I believe
you could ascend as high as the stars.” Grabbing a tree branch, he
swung down to her in the same way he had done at their first
meeting. “Of course, the view from this height has its own
advantages.” He smiled at her, looking directly into her eyes, and
Bianca smiled back at him.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, making a motion
with one hand to indicate the packets of food wrapped in napkins
that she had piled by the pool.

“Sweet Bianca, I am ravenous.”

From the way he said it, she did not think he
was talking about the food. With her heart pounding, Bianca tore
her gaze from his to pick up her cloak. He helped her to spread it
on the ground and then to set out the light meal she had brought.
She was a little surprised to see that he ate as if he really was
hungry, as if he had not eaten for some time. While he lounged on
one elbow on her cloak, she knelt to slice the loaf of bread.

“I have never tasted cheese like this
before,” he said, reaching to take the knife out of her hand so he
could cut off another piece from the wedge.

“Don’t be silly,” Bianca said. “Of course you
have.”

“Have I?” He went very still, his eyes on her
face.

“Last winter.” Bianca retrieved the knife
from his unresisting fingers and went on slicing the bread. “Don’t
you remember? You were surprised to learn that we make it
ourselves. Or, rather, that Valeria makes it. She is the one who
knows how.”

“Actually,” he said with a slight tremor in
his voice, “my memory of last winter is more than a bit hazy. I was
unwell for a long time.”

“I know that, and I am not at all surprised
if the early months are lost to you.”

“The early months,” he repeated, as if he was
unsure of her meaning.

“What I don’t understand is why, after your
terrible experience, you wanted to come back to the mountains and
why, having returned to this area, you did not go directly to the
villa. Surely you know you would be welcome there. Why are you
hiding in the hills again?”

“I am searching for an evil dwarf, who has
bewitched me, stolen my treasure, and killed the one person who
shared my heart,” he said in an odd, joking manner.

“A dwarf has bewitched you?” She stared at
him, unsure whether he was teasing her or not. For an instant the
image of a little man capering on a rock in the midst of a swiftly
flowing river popped into her mind, only to disappear when she
thought about his other claims. “What treasure? Who has been
killed?”

“I would like a bit more wine, if you
please.”

Behind his enchanting smile, he was looking
at her as if he was trying to learn everything there was to know
about her without asking any questions, as if he feared the
questions he wanted to ask would prove to be the very ones she
would not answer. Wondering if his peculiar remarks were meant to
prod her into an ill-considered response, and feeling very much as
if she had stumbled into the wrong time and place, Bianca handed
him the wineskin. His fingers covered hers on the neck of the skin.
He lifted it to his lips, drank, and then stoppered the skin with
its wooden plug, all with his hand still over hers.

Then the wineskin was gone and he was kissing
her fingers. Bianca sighed at the touch of his warm mouth on her
skin. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her cloak with
Andrea stretched out beside her. Searching for something to say,
she spoke the first words that drifted into her mind.

“Have you eaten enough?” She heard him
chuckle, low in his throat.

“
After
the cheese and bread and olives,” he said, “after the wine and the
raisins from last year’s grapes, it is time for the sweet.
Dolce
Bianca, the sweet
is you.”

She did not close her eyes when he kissed
her. She kept them open so she could see his dark curls at close
range, see his smooth skin and his thick, black eyelashes.

The neckline of her dress was too high for
him to slide it down and put his hands on her breasts. The neck of
her chemise was higher still, adding another layer of protection.
But nothing could stop the heat of his palms through those layers
of fabric, or the instantaneous reaction of Bianca’s flesh. Her
breasts hardened and tightened, the stiff nipples rubbing against
the linen of her chemise in a way that heightened her awareness of
what he was doing and of her own growing excitement. Warmth began
to build far inside her, like embers glowing in the very depths of
her body. Then she did close her eyes, to blot out all distractions
to her rising emotions.

She longed to cry out his name, to beg him to
tear off her dress so he could put his hands on her skin. Before
she could utter a word, his mouth was devouring hers again, his
tongue was plunging into her, and Bianca was burning with a wild
desire. The empty place inside her screamed to be filled, by this
man and no other.

With his mouth still on hers, his hands roved
over her, moving ever downward toward the hem of her gown. Slowly,
he drew up her skirt, his fingers tracing patterns of desire on her
legs at every inch of the way. When he reached the place between
her thighs, Bianca’s moan of erotic discovery was caught in his
mouth. As was her cry when he slid one finger inside her a little
way, slid it out, and slowly slid it in again.

Bianca was melting, dying happily as he
caressed her. She opened her eyes again to see his free hand at his
codpiece. She had never seen a man’s private parts before, but she
would, in just a moment more. He would release the part of himself
that strained so boldly against the fabric and he would plunge it
into her. She shuddered in anticipation, scarcely able to hide her
eagerness for him to fill her. She had been waiting for him all of
her life, and only when this man took full possession of her would
she be complete.

He went still, frowning a little. Perhaps
some slight change in her expression had given him pause, or
perhaps his sudden hesitation was because his probing finger had
slipped deeper into her overheated warmth to reach a spot where the
intrusion began to be slightly painful. He withdrew his hand, then
pressed into her again. Bianca winced.

“You are a virgin,” he said.

“I don’t care. Don’t stop. Oh, please, I want
you to do this.” She was not sure he heard her frantic plea, for
her face was pressed into his doublet as he gathered her close
against him.

“I have never yet despoiled a virgin.” His
whisper was harsh in her ear. “I will not start now, not with a
girl as sweet and innocent as you.”

“Please, please.” Bianca began to cry. “I’ll
die if you stop. I know I will.”

“Hush, sweet Bianca. You won’t die of the
longing for love, that much I can promise you. Look at me,
Bianca.”

When she obeyed him and lifted her face from
his shoulder to meet his eyes, he kissed her hard. Again his hand
stroked between her thighs, not entering now, not filling the empty
part of her, but still a pleasant sensation. The stroking
continued. Bianca caught her breath, quivering, and he pressed a
bit more firmly, touching an exquisitely sensitive spot that Bianca
had not known existed. She dissolved into sweet, pulsating bliss.
He kept his hand where it was until her body was at peace once
more.

“But you?” she whispered when she could speak
again. “What of you?”

“I will survive. I have lived through worse
discomfort.” He smiled at her, that warm, enticing smile that made
all the ills of the world seem to disappear. “I rather enjoyed
watching you take your first pleasure as a woman without the
distraction of seeking my own release. It was a new experience for
me.”

“I want you to have your release. I want
everything, every experience you can show me,” she said, not caring
that his words were an admission that he had been with other
women.

“One day, I promise you, my sweet Bianca, I
will give you the everything you so desire. We will enjoy it
together.” His smile warmed her again. “For now, I must beg your
pardon. I know it is ungallant of me to desert you so quickly, but
I think I will feel calmer for a splash or two of cold water.”

He left
her arms to kneel by the pool. Sensing that he would leave her
soon, Bianca straightened her gown and then began to collect the
leftover food. She would give it to him. She knew he had been
hungry earlier. He could eat it later that night, or the following
day.

She did not see the man come out of the
trees. He moved silently, his booted feet not crackling a single
leaf. He was almost upon her before she noticed him and froze. Her
gasp made Andrea turn around, his face dripping, to ask what was
wrong.

“My lord,*’ said the man to Andrea, “you
should not be here. You know you should not.”

“Francesco, what took you so long? I have
been waiting two days for you to reappear and I nearly starved in
the meantime.”

“I see you were not waiting alone.” Francesco
turned his cool gaze on Bianca. He was a tall, big-boned man, with
reddish blond hair, clean-shaven, with an old scar on his jaw. The
way he stood, poised for immediate action with one hand close to
his sword, together with the way he assessed Bianca, told her he
was a soldier before Andrea’s introduction confirmed the fact.

“
Madonna
Bianca, may I present my dearest, indeed, my only friend and my
personal
condottiere
, Francesco Bastiani?”

“Signore.” Bianca gave her hand into
Francesco Bastiani’s grasp. He bowed over it with a grace that
spoke of intimate acquaintance with courtly life.

“Madonna Bianca,” he murmured. “I did not
expect to discover a gentlewoman in this desolate place.”