The Wind Dancer (44 page)

"Why should I do that?"

Luigi shrugged. "It occurred to me you might be one of Borgia's assassins tying up loose
ends." "But still you spoke to me."

"I have no great fondness for life anymore. I have no wife and my son is dead." He
rubbed his neck. "I work, I come home, I sleep. There's little reason to fight to hold on to
such a life."

"I have no intention of killing you."

A spark of interest flickered in Luigi's dark eyes at Lorenzo's slight emphasis on the last
word. "Borgia? Truly?"

"Both Borgias." Lorenzo smiled. "With your help. Do you not think this project could stir
a bit of interest in you?"

"Possibly," Luigi said cautiously. "But how can they be murdered? Both go about with
guards."

"I wasn't thinking about a knife between the ribs."

"Poison? There's no taster at the Vatican, but that's because none is needed. One of the
guards is in the kitchen the entire time the meal is prepared and accompanies the servants
to the dining hall."

"Hmm, I didn't know that. It's a circumstance that may present difficulties."

"Difficulties?" Luigi laughed shortly. "The guard never takes his eyes off us. It will be
impossible."

"The Borgias will be dead within a month's time."

Luigi started to argue, then stopped and studied Lorenzo's face. "I... I believe you."

"But will you help me?"

Luigi hesitated. "You want me to go back to work at the kitchen of His Holiness?"

Lorenzo nodded. "And help me to get work as a cook's helper there also. I understand the
duke has been dining with his Holiness at almost every meal since his return from the
Romagna."

"They say his pox has flared up again and he won't be seen abroad." Luigi shook his
head. "You don't look the part of a kitchen lackey."

"Then you must help me to change my appearance so that I do."

Luigi regarded him critically. "Perhaps if you don't gaze at anyone directly. Your eyes--"

"I'll be as shifty-eyed as you could want me to be."

"And you're too clean. You must have clean hands, but a bit of grease and dirt on your
face and hair would help." He smiled maliciously. "And no more baths for you. You
smell too sweet."

Lorenzo flinched as he glanced at Luigi's unkempt gray hair. "I'm sure no one is a greater
authority on the subject of dirt. I place myself entirely at your disposal." Lorenzo paused.
"Agreed?"

Luigi nodded slowly. "Agreed."

"Bellissima,"Lion said as Sanchia opened the door at his knock.

Sanchia made a face. "At least I no longer smell of horse."

"I thought you would like to visit Elizabet and Bartolomeo this evening. Then we could
sup at the tavern on the piazza. It will be more pleasant than eating here."

Sanchia brightened. "Could we? I was going to visit them tomorrow, but I would like to
see them right away."

"And they will want to see you."

Her smile faded. "I'll have to tell them about Piero."

"I've already paid them a short visit to advise them you were coming. I informed them of
Piero's death."

Sanchia felt a surge of warmth at his thoughtfulness. Then Lion gently took her arm in a
protective clasp and escorted her down the hall. "You've suffered enough. Now it's time
to lean on me and let me take the burdens."

He was doing it again, she thought worriedly, treating her as if she were the helpless
child Bianca had been. She must do something to put a stop to it.

Yet after they had paid their visit to Elizabet and Bartolomeo she was passionately
grateful to have his strength to lean on again.

"What's wrong?" Lion's gaze was fixed anxiously on her face as he led her toward the
piazza. "You seemed happy enough when you were with the newlyweds, but now you
look... " He seemed to search for a word. "Melancholy."

"It's nothing." She felt the foolish tears brimming and determinedly blinked them back.
"It's stupid of me, but I suddenly feel... alone. Elizabet and Bartolomeo are so happy and
busy with their own lives. They don't need me anymore, do they?"

"Didn't you want it so?"

"Oh, yes. I told you I was being foolish." She walked faster, not looking at him. "I
suppose it's because I feel they're now as lost to me as Piero."

"Sanchia." Lion's hand grasped her arm. "You're not alone while you have me."

She swallowed. He was showing her that exquisite gentleness and sweetness again, as if
she were a frail invalid who needed great care or she would slip away from him. Perhaps
that was the way he did view her, she thought with sudden panic. What if he felt no
passion for her, only guilt and responsibility?

Suddenly, she saw where she must lead them.

"You're right. I'm not alone. I have you and Lorenzo." She walked faster. "No, I don't
really have Lorenzo. No one has Lorenzo now. Except perhaps you. Do you think he
does well in Rome? I did not like--"

"It's not only Elizabet and Bartolomeo, you've been acting strangely since we arrived at
Giulia's casa. If you wish to withdraw from the plan, only tell me and I will go another
way."

"I don't wish to withdraw. Why do you persist in thinking I'm afraid? I'm not afraid of
Damari."

"Then what do you fear?"

"Nothing." She broke away from him and hurried on ahead. "And I'm not hungry. I think
I'll go back to the casaand go to bed. You go to the tavern without me."

"You should eat. You've had nothing since--"

"I'm not hungry." She was running, dodging through the crowds of people as she had
when she was a thief in these very same streets.

"Sanchia!"

She ignored Lion's shout and kept on running. She heard his steps pounding behind her
on the flagstones but he did not overtake her until she was running up the stairs to the
second floor of Giulia's casa.

His hand was rough on her shoulder as he spun her around. "What in God's name is
wrong with you? Are you ill?"

"No, I'm not ill." She pulled away from him and finished climbing the stairs. "I'm not
weak or afraid." She hurried down the corridor toward her chamber. "And I'm not going
to shatter if you say a harsh word to me."

He had caught up with her again and his hand on her arm brought her to a halt. "That's
fortunate, for I'm about to say a number of harsh words." His eyes were glittering with
anger as he dragged her down the hall, threw open the door to his own chamber, and
pulled her inside. "I do not deserve this, Sanchia." He slammed the door. "I know your
state is delicate but--"

"My state is not delicate," she said through her teeth. "How many times must I tell you?
But perhaps you wish to think me delicate so you have the excuse not to touch me. Then
you will feel free to summon Giulia Marzo here and--"

"I don't want Giulia in my bed," he shouted.

"Why not? You told me once that you would not touch me if she was near."

"I lied. I was angry that you stirred me so."

"But now I do not stir you with anything but pity. So why should you not take Giulia to
your bed?"

His hands hovered around her throat as if he'd like to strangle her. "Cristo, is this my
reward for patience? You do not stir me?
Madre di Dio
, I even wanted to take you in the
winery when you were helpless and grieving and balanced on the edge of madness. I, too,
was grieving but my body did not recognize or respect that grief." He dragged her into
his arms, and her hands slid to his tight, muscular buttocks. "I'm so angry with you I want
to beat you, but still I want you." He pulled her into the hollow of his hips and she felt the
hardness of his arousal against her. "Tell me, am I stirred, Sanchia?" He did not wait for
her answer but lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. "I do not want Giulia. I
want you!"

He tossed her on the bed and flipped up the skirt of her gown and undershift. He untied
his points and his manhood sprang boldly free. He moved quickly between her thighs.
"Does this feel as if I'm stirred, Sanchia?"

He plunged deep, wildly grinding his hips to reach the quick of her.

She cried out, her hands reaching out blindly to clutch at his shoulders.

He froze. "Did I hurt you?" His fingers moved between them, petting her, arousing her.
"It's your own fault. Did I hurt you, dammit?"

"No," she whispered. "It's only--"

"Then takeme."

The rhythm was wild, hard, almost brutal in its hunger and passion. Her head thrashed
back and forth on the pillow as she attempted to keep from screaming with the intensity
of the lust shuddering through every muscle and nerve in her body. She tried to help him
but she was shaking too badly to do anything but hold him. He was trembling, too, she
realized dimly, his breathing harsh, his chest moving in and out as if he were running.

He cried out and threw his head back, his strong neck arching, his body going rigid as if
he had been struck by an arrow. "Sanchia, I can't hold--"

"Don't!" Her own pleasure exploded in a fiery release that left her stunned and weak.

Minutes later she felt him leave her and carefully pull down her skirts but she was still
too dazed to open her eyes. Something cold and metallic pressed against her lips. "Drink
this; it will restore you."

She opened her eyes to see his set face above her. He was still angry with her, she
realized dazedly. She raised herself on one elbow and took the silver goblet. "I have need
of restoration."

He flinched. "You made me angry."

"I believe it. You weren't gentle."

"It was your own fault," he said fiercely. "What manner of man do you think I am? You
could expect nothing else."

She took another sip of wine. "I remember you told me I must take you into me whenever
you had need. At least, you didn't push me up against a tree this time."

He scowled. "I suppose you're going to try to leave me again. Well, I won't permit it. If
you want me to tear up your bondage papers, you must wed me." He glanced away from
her. "It will not be a bad life. If you do not anger me, I'll try to be gentle with you."

"Wed you?"

"Why are you surprised? I told you I would give you marriage if I could. Dio, we even
spoke of children."

She shook her head. "I never thought of marriage for me. It seems strange... "

"Then think on it now. For I will not let you go."

She nodded solemnly, her lashes lowering to veil her eyes. "I shall think of it."

He frowned. "You've thought long enough. What say you? I'm no longer as wealthy
as--"

"Yes."

"You agree?" He gazed at her uncertainly. "You're not angry with me?"

She tried to smother a smile. "What would be the use? You would not change." She
paused. "Thank the saints."

His gaze narrowed on her face. "You do not mind my roughness?"

She shook her head. "It is a part of you. I cannot separate the roughness from the
gentleness. I cannot say 'Yes, I will love this side of Lion Andreas, but no, I will not love
the other side.' I love the entire man."

A slow smile lit his face. "Truly?"

"Truly," she said softly. "I love the lust and the gentleness and the stubbornness and
the--What are you doing?"

"Undressing you." His laughter was joyous. "I wish to give you more lust to love. We
will deal with the rest later." He met her gaze and said softly, "But this time we will take
our time and I will also show you gentleness." He grimaced. "If I can."

And Sanchia's laughter joined Lion's as she fell back on the bed and welcomed him once
more into her arms and into her body.

"Why did you do it?" Lion's fingers were gently stroking the shining white lock at her
temple. "I'm not a fool. I know you deliberately forced me to anger when I only wanted
to show you I could give you honor and sweet words."

"I wanted to bring you back to me and it was the only way I could think to do it. I
realized I was coming back to life and I wished you to travel the same road with me." She
paused. "And perhaps I was a little afraid. You were so different... "

"Most women would have applauded the difference. Why would you be fearful of it?"

She laughed shakily, and brushed her lips against his bare shoulder. "I am a slave. Slaves
are not treated with gentleness and sweet words. It made me uneasy." She paused. "For a
while I even wondered if perhaps you felt it your duty to care for me because of the
service I did at Mandara."

"Not duty--love. I honor you for what you did at Mandara, but I loved you long before."
He was silent a moment. "Will you wed me?"

She raised her head to look at him in surprise. "Of course. I told you I--"

"Now. We have time before Damari comes. We will go to the priest tomorrow and make
the arrangements."

She gazed searchingly at him. His expression was taut, strained. "Why do you feel the
need for such haste?"

"I want you to be mine. Is that not reason enough?"

And he wanted her to be protected by his name if by chance they were not successful in
killing Damari, she realized, chilled. He wanted her safe, if death took him from her. Her
cheek lowered to nestle in the hollow of his shoulder. "It is reason enough. I would like
to feel you are mine also," she whispered. "Yes, let us go to see the priest tomorrow."

"What do we do here?" Luigi asked testily. "The sun is too hot for strolling in the woods.
I have no liking for all this greenery and fresh air."

"You have no liking for anything that you cannot brew in a pot or cauldron." Lorenzo's
reply was absent as his gaze searched the trees and shrubbery on either side of the path.
"I wonder how you ever came to beget a son. You like neither man, woman, nor beast."

"I concocted a fine mulled cider one night and imbibed so much the scullery maid
appeared as appetizing to me as a glazed piglet with an apple in its mouth. She birthed
Mario nine months later and left him in a basket in the kitchen when she ran away with a
sailor. A father at my age!" Luigi mournfully shook his head. "I was so angry when I saw
the babe that I burned the goose I was roasting."