The Wind Dancer (17 page)

Rodrigo grinned. "Two is better than one."

Maria flowed toward him, her breasts jiggling as she moved. She stopped before him.
"You're wrong. I'm more than enough woman for you." She smiled as she deliberately
reached a hand between his legs and squeezed.

He inhaled sharply, his hand releasing Sanchia's wrist.

"You keep telling me what a bull you are. Now show me your
coglios
." Maria backed
away teasingly.

"Wait here." Rodrigo tossed over his shoulder as he quickly moved after Maria. "Later
I'll have..." The rest of the sentence was lost as he followed Maria back into the maze.

Sanchia ran!

The cool wind whipped at her face as she fled across the grass, her lips forming prayers
of thankfulness. Only a few yards more.

Lion was opening the gate, his gaze searching her face. Then she was outside the gates,
thrusting the key into Lion's hand. "Here," she gasped. "Here is what you wanted."

"No trouble?" Marco asked.

Sanchia drew her cloak more closely around her to hide her torn gown. "No trouble."

Lion's gaze mercilessly raked her features until she felt he must see the imprint of the
foul violation she still felt on her flesh. Then, to her relief, he turned away and strode
toward the grove where Lorenzo was guarding the horses. "Let's get back to the
farmhouse."

During the journey back to the farmhouse, Marco was jubilant and Lorenzo his usual
mocking and remote self.

Only Lion was grimly silent.

He knew, Sanchia thought miserably. Somehow he knew she had broken her promise and
let herself be touched by another man. She could see it in the way he looked at her, in the
tension of his hand grasping the reins, in the tightness of his lips.

When they reached the barnyard Lion dismounted, came around and lifted Sanchia from
her horse. His gaze held her own with compelling force. "Who?" he asked softly.

She felt the panic rise within her. "Rodrigo. I couldn't help--"

He was turning away, his hand grasping her wrist with bruising force as he pulled her
toward the barn. "Leave the horses in the barnyard," he said in a fierce rasp over his
shoulder to Lorenzo and Marco. "I'll tend to them later."

The interior of the barn was dark and frighteningly alive with strange, scurrying sounds.
Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

His powerful body was silhouetted for an instant against the paler darkness of the night
sky before he shut the doors. Then there was only blackness.

"Rodrigo?" The harshness of his voice vibrated in the silence. "No other men?"

"No one else." She rushed on frantically, "I couldn't help it. I had to get the keys back and
Maria wasn't there and there was no other way to--"

"So you spread your legs and took him into you." His hands fell heavily on her shoulders
and he shook her hard. "You let him mount you and--"

"No, he only touched me with his mouth and his hands. He didn't--Maria came and he
let me go."

Lion went still. "You're telling me the truth?"

Sanchia nodded frantically, then realized he couldn't see her in the darkness. "I swear, my
lord."

"
Cristo!
Then why in hell did you look so guilty?"

"I
was
guilty. You told me I was never to be touched. And he touched me." She
shuddered. "I felt befouled. Unclean."

He was silent, his hands still heavy on her shoulders. Abruptly he released her and she
heard him moving away.

"My lord?"

"I'm lighting the lantern."

The candle suddenly flared, revealing the grim harshness of his features. He set the
lantern on the earthen floor. "Where did he touch you?"

She gestured to her breasts.

He crossed back to her and pushed back her cloak to reveal the ripped bodice of her
gown. His face was hard. "Did he hurt you?"

"Only a little. I'm sorry, my lord."

"My God, why should you beg my pardon? It was by my will you went where that
whoreson could get to you." He glanced up and smiled crookedly. "Why are you so
surprised? I have my rare moments of fairness. Unfortunately, since I've made your
acquaintance my sense of justice appears to have been obscured by my appetites." His
palms gently cupped her breasts. "Poor Sanchia, you haven't had an easy time of it since
you left Giovanni, have you?"

His voice was almost tender. She held her breath, waiting for more.

There was no more. His hands dropped away from her and he stepped back. "You're not
unclean," he said quietly. "You're a clear, sweet river wandering through very muddy
banks. But you've reached the sea now and that mud will never touch you again." He
gazed gravely into her eyes. "Just as danger will never touch you again. You've done
your part to help us and done it well. I'll not ask you to do more."

"You're not angry with me any longer?"

"No." He gazed at her a moment unsmilingly before turning away. "I'm not angry with
you." He opened the doors of the barn. "I must get back to the house. Now that we have
the key, plans must be made for tomorrow night." He frowned. "I'll have to study the map
again. Vittorio's scrawling gave me no idea of the size of the maze. There may be
problems." He stepped out into the barnyard. "Tidy yourself and then come to the house.
I have no desire to have Marco and Lorenzo gasping at those pretty breasts."

"Lorenzo has seen me unclothed before."

"That's no reason he should do so again. He gets enough enjoyment from tormenting me
without your giving him any additional rewards. Things are going to be different."

"Different?"

But he was gone, striding swiftly across the barnyard toward the house.

Sanchia made a futile attempt to adjust the torn gown before finally giving up and
drawing her cloak over it. She could do nothing to mend the rip since neither needle nor
thread was at hand. Perhaps she could find both when she returned to the farmhouse. Her
gaze fixed dreamily on the glowing windows of the house. Different. What had he meant
by saying things would be different? Nothing could be more different from her previous
life than the hours and days since Lion had purchased her. Yet he must mean there would
be still other changes on the horizon.

She had never been afraid of changes before, but now she felt a queer stirring within her
that could be fear... or the first fragile beginnings of hope.

"Is all well with you?"

Sanchia turned to see Marco standing a few feet away from the door of the barn. "Did
Lord Andreas send you to fetch me? There was no need. I was just coming."

Marco shook his head. "Lion is studying the map of the maze. I thought to seize this
opportunity to--" He broke off and then added, "I knew he was angry with you."

"No more."

He looked relieved. "I wasn't sure. I cannot always read Lion."

So Marco had come out to the barn to make sure she had met with no harm, Sanchia
thought with a rush of warm gratitude. "Yet it's obvious there is a deep affection between
you."

"We are brothers." He smiled and shook his head. "No, it's more than that. We don't think
alike and seldom act for the same reasons, but the bond is still there."

"It doesn't surprise me that he mystifies you at times. I have no understanding of the way
he thinks," Sanchia said. "He has so much. Why should he risk his life for a statue? He
says the Wind Dancer is of his family but I cannot see how anyone can think of a piece of
metal as if it were flesh and blood." Her gaze lifted to meet his. "As if it were alive."

"But then you've never seen the Wind Dancer," Marco said softly. "The first time I saw it
when I was a child I thought it
was
alive. It took away my breath and filled me with
wonder." He bent and picked up the lantern from the earthen floor. "Come, we will go
back to the house. Lion may need me."

"What does it look like?"

"The Wind Dancer?" Marco took Sanchia's elbow and steered her through the doorway
of the barn. "It's not easy to describe it. Let's see, it's a bejeweled golden statue of
Pegasus, the winged horse of the gods. It stands only eighteen inches high and is no more
than fourteen inches in width. And the wings... " His slender left hand made a graceful
motion as if caressing the statue. "The clouds on which the Pegasus is running are--"

"Running, not flying?"

Marco nodded. "The horse is running, his wings folded back against his body, the wind
braiding his mane. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are huge almond shaped
emeralds. Only his left hind hoof is touching the cloud on the base of the statue so that,
unless you look closely, it appears the Wind Dancer is truly sailing through the air."

"It sounds very beautiful."

"Too beautiful. It hurts to look at it."

That was a strange thing to say, and the sadness in his expression was even more strange.
"Lion said the statue was very ancient and that there were many legends told of it. How
old is it?"

Marco shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Well, how long has your family possessed it?"

The sadness was suddenly gone from Marco's expression and his hazel eyes twinkled
with amusement. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. We're a
very
old family."

Sanchia chuckled. "You go back to Adam and Eve in the garden?"

"Don't we all?"

"No, tell me. You must have some idea when--"

"Back to the ancients of Greece, near the beginning of time. Have you heard of Troy?"

She frowned. "Oh, yes. From a storyteller in the piazza... and once in a manuscript
brought to Giov--" She stopped. He could have no interest in her former life. "Troy?"

Marco smiled down at her. "According to the stories passed down from generation to
generation in my family, it was in Troy where Andros was first given the Wind Dancer."

"Andros." Sanchia repeated thoughtfully. "Andreas."

"Names change through the centuries. We're not sure whether Andros was our ancestor's
true name. It is said he was of the Shardana and consequently very tight-lipped about
himself."

"I've never heard of a people called the Shardana." She gazed at him uncertainly. "You're
jesting with me, are you not? Is this a story you've concocted to punish me for being too
curious?"

He shook his head. "I only tell you what I've been told."

"Troy never existed. I have heard of the Iliad, but thought it was a myth, a fiction."

"Alexander the Great thought Troy existed, and so did Julius Caesar. Many scholars
believe Homer merely repeated what centuries of storytellers before him had handed
down through the ages."

"You think the Iliadis true?"

"I have no idea. Stories, like names, become twisted through the centuries. The tale I was
told certainly didn't agree with Homer's."

"What story were you told?"

"You won't believe that either." He turned to gaze out over the mirrored stillness of the
lake. "But I'll tell you anyway, if you like. Andros was a Shardana, one of the sea people.
They were great raiders and warriors and very secretive about where they came from.
They had reason to be discreet. For centuries they had raided the cities of Greece, Persia,
and Egypt, and there had sprung up tales of the splendid city which had been founded
from the wealth of their raids. All the cities of that time raided and pillaged but the
Shardana were the most successful."

"Corsairs."

Marco nodded. "Andros's ship was storm-wrecked on an island off the coast of Troy, and
Andros and his crew were captured. His crew was sacrificed to the god Poseidon, but the
Trojans saved Andros to be tortured to try to get him to reveal the location of his
homeland." Marco grimaced. "Evidently Troy was quite a raiding power itself and
wished to bring home even more treasure and slaves. Andros refused to reveal the
location of his city and would have died under the lash if Agamemnon hadn't chosen that
time to launch his attack on Troy. The Trojans became distracted."

She frowned. "But the Trojan war went on for years and years, didn't it?"

"That is Homer's story. Our version has it that less than a year passed until Troy fell.
Andros was given to Paradignes, the king's brother, to recover his strength until they
could once more direct their full attention toward getting the information they wanted
from him. The two men became friends over the months of the siege and after Traynor
opened the gates they--"

"Wait." Sanchia held up her hand. "Who's Traynor and why would he open the gates?"

"Traynor was a Trojan warrior, and he opened the gates for the oldest reason in the
world. He was bribed. He was captured outside the gates in a foray and kept in the Greek
encampment for over a week before he supposedly escaped and returned to Troy.

"One night, a few days after he returned, he opened the west gate and the Greeks rushed
into the city. They were finally beaten back, but the Trojans lost many warriors and the
Greeks managed to set fire to the gate as they left Troy. Traynor had been seen opening
the gates and the king ordered that he be hacked to pieces, his remains burned in the
square of the city." He paused. "In Traynor's lodgings the king's guards found the Wind
Dancer."

"The bribe."

Marco nodded. "The king gave the statue to Paradignes and ordered him to burn it until
there was nothing left of the Wind Dancer but molten rubble."

"But he didn't do it."

"He was a lover of beauty and couldn't bring himself to destroy the statue. He didn't want
the Greeks to have it either and knew it was only a matter of time until they conquered
the city." He smiled at Sanchia. "Can you guess what he did?"

"He gave the statue to Andros?"

"And showed him a way to get out of the city. It seems Troy had been destroyed and
rebuilt many times and there was an underground passage that led to a hill far beyond the
city. Paradignes showed Andros the entrance to the tunnel and wished both him and
Jacinthe well before--"