The Silver Devil (12 page)

If
I had not been resisting so hard, it might have been easier to bear. As it was,
he took me by brute force; I felt his greedy touch exploring every inch of me,
and the next moment I cried out, uncontrollably and in agony. It was
intolerable, outrageous; it was like being ripped apart; and as his passion smashed
over me like a tidal wave, I lay imprisoned in his arms and wept.

I
do not know how long it was before I realized he had left me. A white hand
touched my cheek, and I opened my eyes and saw the blood thick under his
fingernails.

"Felicia."
There was no inquiry in his voice; only a command I obeyed instinctively,
looking up at him through a mist of tears. "You fight like ten devils,
sweet, but I can have soldiers in my bed for that. Come now, gently."

But
when he bent his head there was no gentleness in the touch of his lips but
expert sensuality, vicious appetite. He knew how to gain a response and did so
with a merciless science which left me gasping. When his head lifted, his eyes
were blazing black lightning, but he smiled and touched my lips again, very
lightly, with his own.

"Is
it so hard to love me, Felicia?"

In
that instant I knew how easy it could be. This happens to every one of his
women, I thought wildly—and his men, too—he bewitches all of them. I tensed
myself against him. "This is not love."

"I
will let the name go for the deed." His voice was frighteningly soft.

"Let
me go!" My voice almost broke.

His
head moved slightly in negation. "I will listen when you beg me to stay
with you."

My
answer was smothered against his mouth. Every movement was pain, pain that he
had inflicted; the coverlet underneath me was slimy with blood, and between my
thighs was burning agony. Yet when he touched me again, I could not fight him,
and my hands came up and stroked his moonlight hair. He still hurt me, but his
lovemaking was full of an infinitely more subtle, sensuous brutality, and his
hands coaxed and clung, erasing the horror. Little sounds of anguish came from
my throat as he held me, exploring my body unhurriedly with eyes and lips and delicately
seeking fingertips; then when his body slid smoothly to cover mine, the warm
silken weight of him became my whole world.

I
lay on my back at last, staring up at the pale shadows moving in the mirror
above the bed, long past weeping.

"I
told you that your heart would soften a little."

He
bent over me, shaken with laughter, and I gazed up at him in bitter wonder.
"Now that you have shamed me, must you mock me, too?"

"Where
is the shame?" His lips touched my throat. "You will have nothing but
honor for this night's work. When I have done, you will wonder why your fears
ever made you unkind."

"I
can never go home." I spoke unthinkingly to my reflection. "My
brother would not have me in the house."

"Do
not think of seeking his charity yet," he said sharply. "You will go
when I bid you, and not till then." I turned my head away tiredly, and his
voice changed. "What, stubborn still?"

I
knew the mockery in his eyes was malice, sardonic satisfaction in my body's
betrayal of my protestations, but it made no difference. My defiance was
slackening into lassitude through sheer physical exhaustion, yet he would not
let me rest—long after I was half-dead with tiredness, his desire kept me
waking, so I wondered if by very will he could cheat sleep.

When
he fell asleep at last, I had lost all count of the hours. The candles had
burned out long ago, and I lay listening to his quiet breathing and watching a
sliver of moonlight that had crept through the hangings; minute by minute it
moved, creeping across the pillow to touch his sleeping face, and I stared down
at him with an intentness I did not understand.

His
head was pillowed on my hair, trapping me even in sleep; the haughty patrician
mask was still there, but the long dark lashes fanned his cheeks like a
child's, and the sensual mouth had relaxed in a queerly vulnerable curve. He
looked almost like a boy, but there was nothing adolescent in the sprawled
beauty of his naked body. Then, as I watched, a crease of tension marred his
smooth brow. His head moved restlessly, and he began to shift and murmur in the
grip of some nightmare. Sweat started out on his forehead and little animal
sounds began to come from his throat; then he began to talk, and I realized he
was talking to his dream.

"You
will say I did not mean it." The urgent whisper was a travesty of his old
autocratic command. "You must tell them you consented—it was your
blasphemy as much as mine. Is this your merciful God, who lets you burn in
hell? Or is it the devil who sends you to me so often?"

There
was a breathless silence. His body arched and his head moved in panic-stricken
denial, back and forth, back and forth on the black, silken pillow.

"You
lie.... You are damned for what you did after. I only meant to silence you, to
stop your eternal preaching. You said you loved me—why haunt me, then? It was a
boy's trick, I tell you.... I did not mean you to be dead.... Let me alone....
Tell them.... For God's love, close your eyes!"

It
was the scream of an animal, and the sheet ripped under his clawing fingers as
he shuddered into wakefulness. His eyes stared up into the darkness, wide and
blank with terror—then slowly their glare faded, and his hand groped across the
bed as though to assure himself that this and not his dream was the reality.

"Felicia..."

He
spoke without looking at me. I remember feeling astonished that he should still
remember my name.

"Yes,
I am here."

His
hand caught mine convulsively, dragging me close to him. In that moment I felt
no fear; I had no thought for myself as he clung to me, his bright head buried
in my breast.

"The
same dream." It was the voice of a frightened child. "Always the same
— the chapel and her body, and the stink of blood. She lies there staring at
me, blaming me — I swear I did not mean it. It is her fault, but she will not
leave me alone. She says her God will have His vengeance on me, too. But He
cannot touch me. Now I am duke I can buy absolution for a thousand such sins,
and then the dreams will leave coming."

He
was shivering, and I drew the bedcovers around his shoulders and listened. He
talked of blood he could not escape, a lake which spread towards him and would
drown him if it reached him; and I cradled him, wondering what he had done that
such a dream should haunt him. Whose was the blood, and who was the woman who
had said she loved him; it was better not to ask.

I
waited until I thought he was asleep and then cautiously tried to free myself
to relight one of the candles. But as soon as I moved, his grip tightened
again, feverishly.

"I
was going to bring you a light," I said gently. "It will fright the
dreams away."

He
shook his head violently. "No, you must stay with me.... While you hold me
I cannot see her eyes. I will make you the richest woman in the state if you do
not leave me...."

In
a spasm of pity I took him and rocked him, soothing him with a string of soft
inanities until the bated breath went out of him, and his body lay in a curve
of unfolding grace like a falcon relaxed into captivity.

There
was a silence; then I felt the brush of wet lashes against my skin as he opened
his eyes. His head lifted a little, and he said in a harsh whisper, "You
will talk of this. You will say I am brainsick and turn this folly to court
gossip."

I
said no, but he did not seem to hear me. His arms closed around me, his strength
hurting my back, his cheek against my hair.

"I
do not want to have you killed, Felicia. Swear you will not speak."

"I
have said I will not...."

"Swear
it! Come." There was a note in his voice that shocked me. "Swear for
my humor's sake."

I
said unsteadily, "I will not, in faith."

He
drew a long breath. "Precious wench!" His cheek rubbed my temple in a
gesture that was close to tenderness, and then my gasp died under his lips, and
the comfort he sought was not a child's comfort.

I
woke slowly to darkness and a warm, imprisoning weight. For one drowsy moment I
lay unremembering; then I stirred to stretch my limbs against what hampered
them and let out a soft, sharp cry. Every muscle seemed to be on fire, and my
flesh felt as though it had been scraped raw. Between my thighs pain was raging
like a bonfire and I shrank, outraged, from the touch of arms that closed
around me.

"You
must rouse, my sweet." Domenico's voice in my ear was low and teasing.
"My knaves will be in upon us shortly, and I would not have them see this
sight."

His
fingers ran the length of my back, idle and possessive, and as his hold
slackened, I pulled myself away and sat up, biting my lips when the motion
triggered little flames of pain. He was watching my every movement with terrifying
attention, and then suddenly he laughed.

"Do
not regret your chastity—it is sweeter to lose it than to keep it."

"I
could not choose." Suddenly I felt cold: cold and very calm. "Am I
free to go now?"

The
laughter left his face. "Where?"

"Back
to the city. You can want no more of me now you have done your pleasure."

"That
is for me to decide—I said you shall stay until I bid you go, and it is treason
to disobey."

"Stay
where?" I demanded stupidly.

"Here
in the palace, to supply the office that you did last night. A prisoner is not
ransomed so easily." The mockery in his voice did not touch his eyes; they
were watchful beneath the heavy lids. I stared back at him uncomprehendingly.

"But
why?"

His
hps curved cynically. "You will learn soon enough."

"But
Your Grace..."

"Your
Grace!" he mimicked. "So ceremonious!"

"I
am no greater now than I was yesterday."

"Not
many will think so." He lay back, watching me with a sort of lazy
curiosity. "To be the Duke of Cabria's mistress is no slight honor."

"Not
slight," I retorted recklessly, "but something common."

"You
shall be no common mistress." His face was unreadable. "But I shall
not let you go before I choose. And you shall swear to be true to me."

I
said in simple astonishment, "You cannot command that! Your fancy will
sicken speedily enough—you will have change, and then my constancy will be as
irksome as Madonna Maddalena's!"

"Yet
I command it." His eyes were slitted and angry.

"Why?
To satisfy your tyranny?"

His
hand, vicelike in my hair, pulled me stooping over him. "I do not trust
any man—or woman either—to stand by what he says unless he swears to it."

"I
owe you no faith. I will not swear."

"Why,
do you not love me?"

The
sudden, silken question nearly made my heart stop beating; I would not meet
Domenico's eyes, for somehow I dared not. At last he said, "Do you not,
indeed?" He spoke in an odd, stifled tone, his fingertips stroking my
neck. "Take heed you love no one else, then, or the man you choose shall
pay for it—his hand if it touches you, his eyes if he looks too long—or if his
speech charms you, I shall take his tongue. There are other forfeits." His
hand slid from my throat to my breast. "But beware my jealousy if I spare
your oath, Felicia."

"There
is no such man," I said, and remembered Piero della Quercia.

"Then
the court will be so much more populous. You are a niggard with your vows,
lady"—he was drawing my head down to his—"but more generous with your
deeds; I think I will take my sureties the silent way."

Before
I could answer, a pounding broke out some where beyond the confines of the
bed-curtains; the sound of someone hammering at the door. Domenico looked
around sharply, all the amusement drained from his expression.

"Who's
there?"

"Piero,
Your Grace, and Ippolito."

"Attend
me, then."

I
flinched and buried my face in the pillow as their footsteps crossed the floor
and the bed-curtains rattled back; then as a single fierce blade of sunlight
invaded the gloom, Domenico stirred and stretched luxuriously.

"What
hour is it, Ippolito?"

"Past
nine, Your Grace. You are after your usual time."

"Go
call my men." It was a relaxed and drowsy purr, and through the concealing
veil of my hair, I saw the two men exchange quick, startled glances. It was
Piero who answered.

"They
attend Your Grace in the next room."

Domenico
nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. "We
will ride this morning. Order the horses."

Piero
bowed and went to the door. I thought he would have spoken, but then he gave an
almost imperceptible shrug and went away with his quick, trotting step.
Domenico yawned, looking up at Ippolito with narrowed eyes.