Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  Disbelief widened her eyes. “Permission? I knew not that I had to ask.”

  He clamped his teeth together, causing a sharp pain along his jaw. How was he supposed to handle an insubordinate wife in front of so many witnesses? He took his time unfolding his six-foot-one frame and moved to loom over her. For the briefest moment, uncertainty slipped into her eyes—not fear, as he had hoped.

  “I shall accompany you home.” His calm, controlled voice conflicted with the turmoil in his gut. “And do not oppose me else I will carry you out over my shoulder. Do I make myself clear?”

  She stared at him without uttering one word. Damn her for contemplating his threat. He sighed with relief when she whirled around. As he followed close behind her, he glared at the soldiers. Not one dared to speak a lewd remark. Once outside, Dante yanked her to a stop and gave her the same murderous glare.

  “You are a married woman now, Alessandra. With the title comes obligations.”

  “Must you talk about consummating our marriage in public?” she admonished.

  Dante saw red as his patience rapidly dwindled. “I assure you, signora, you misunderstood. Had you let me continued…” He inhaled deeply to bolster his self-control. “Fabroni said his wife tutored you in woman’s work. I expect you to take over the running of the castle in areas suited to a woman.”

  “What of Agata? What will her role be?”

  “She has seen to my meals and laundry, as well as keeping the castle clean and tidy. But now she has you to help her, and I expect you to do so without complaining.”

  “Mayhap you should hire more servants? Are you—” She leaned in close, rose to her tip toes and whispered, “—poor?”

  Poor? What led her to believe he lacked wealth? That he was a man of means was obvious, he thought. Then it dawned on him. Alessandra had no idea whom she married. For that matter, neither did most in Naples. Only the elderly residents remembered his family.

  “Enea and Agata are all I need. Now that you live in the castle...”

  She pulled back, affronted. “You consider me a servant?”

  He couldn’t stop a slow-building grin. The way she spoke, full of disbelief and insult, made him want to teach her about life more now than ever before. Until he hired a maidservant to manage her needs, he’d let her go on believing her responsibility in his home lay deep. Much deeper than a wife’s role of overseeing the vast number of staff normally associated with running a castle. Granted, his castle was more modest than most. Still, he did need at least a dozen more men to properly work the land and an additional five women to help Agata with the chores.

  He intertwined her fingers with his and held her hand at her back, forcing her body against his. “You will obey my every command. No matter what it is, you will not question my authority.” He dipped his head, his lips drifting closer to hers. Her quickened breaths gently pelted his face. “Capisce?”

  “Sì, I understand.”

  Dante pulled reign over his passion even though he kissed her until her body melted into his. She welcomed his invasion, guilelessly sucking on his tongue. He retreated then thrust again and again into her warm, sweet-tasting mouth. As her desire grew, he tamped down his own. He’d not lose control around Alessandra. Whatever it took, he’d bend her to his wishes without breaking the spirit he so admired.

  ****

  In Dante’s bedchamber, Alessa flung her clothes out of a trunk, searching for her journal. Remembering she had placed it in the second, larger trunk, she attacked it with the same madness, throwing chemises, gowns, stockings, tunics, and most everything she had brought from Venice across the floor. Where were her private journal and writing tools?

  Incensed, she popped up when Dante entered the chamber and balked. He blinked hard, as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. “Have you lost your senses?”

  “Only my journal and writing tools. Did you take them?” she asked bluntly.

  “No, signora, I did not. Think you I have naught to do but read wanton tales written by a virgin?”

  She gave him an indignant pout before resuming her search. “I cannot believe they are not here. I set them in this trunk myself. Think you Fabroni stole them?”

  At the far side of the chamber, Dante shrugged. He remained just inside the door, his attention wandering to her belongings strewn far and wide. Alessa turned her mouth askew.

  “I have made quite a mess,”

  “Sì, signora. Agata has our meal prepared and will bring it up soon. I expect this mess to be cleared away before then.”

  “Why are we not taking our meal downstairs?”

  “The great hall is much too large for just the two of us. I thought we would be more comfortable to eat at the table in this chamber.”

  After which he could ravish her upon his huge bed. For now, she’d pacify him. “A splendid idea. But I would ask a favor once the meal is over.”

  Wariness crept up his features.

  “I shall like to return to my cousins’ home and retrieve my journal and other belongings that appear to be missing.”

  His wariness shifted into astonishment. “Are you daft? The gates will close soon, and I’ll not have us caught within the city and be forced to sleep in the French camp.”

  “Mayhap Fabroni will allow us to use my relinquished chamber.”

  She couldn’t begin to comprehend the strange expressions crowding his features. They were akin to horror.

  “No.” He responded in a flat tone then pivoted on a boot heel and left the chamber.

  Undeterred, Alessa gathered up her mess, tossing armfuls into the trunks, and slammed the lids down. She marched over to the window but saw no viable way to climb down. She hurried to the other window and found herself in the same dilemma. There was only one other way out of Dante’s castle.

  She tossed off her clothes in exchange for a simple dark tunic and her heavy velvet cloak. Pray Fabroni handed over her journal without argument so she could return to the castle before the gatekeeper secured the gates.

  Outside the bedchamber, she paused to make certain Agata or Dante loitered nowhere. She hurried to the stairs, ever vigilant. Her heart pounded with excitement. On the last step, the tall castle doors were in sight.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Alessa gasped and clutched her chest to still her heart’s heavy beating.

  Dante stepped out from beneath the staircase, his mouth set with disapproval and his features darker than a midnight sky.

  “You’ll not sneak away, Alessandra. I am on to your habit of escaping, and I’ll not allow you to continue your dangerous adventures. On the morrow, I will escort you to Fabroni’s shop. Until then, I am confining you to my bedchamber.”

  She huffed in displeasure. “Am I to be treated like a prisoner?”

  “That is up to you. If you cannot restrain yourself from seeking that which you should not, then sì, you will be locked in my chamber until you come to your senses.”

  “But I must retrieve my journal.” Some of her writings wouldn’t sit well with Fabroni. Faith, her entries might set off Benito’s rage.

  “On the morrow.” His arm snapped out, and he pointed a stern finger in the direction of their bedchamber. “Get yourself upstairs and await your meal.”

  Alessa raced up the stairs. She pivoted and glared down at him from the top step. “No matter what you say or do, when my mind is set, I will endeavor to get what I want.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the tavern, Dante kicked aside a hapless chair in his determination to get to his corner. Pity the man who dared occupy his chair at his table. A soldier tried once, but he and his comrades learned a quick lesson in the meaning of territory. Not one of the French soldiers dared again to go near the very back of the tavern where the lone table stood in perpetual darkness.

  Gloria approached as Dante plopped heavily onto the seat, the wood creaking from the force. “My usual,” he grumbled.

  He stretched out his legs and slouched. He could not settle th
e antsy feeling crawling through his body, which keenly absorbed the tumult raining down from his mind. All because of Alessandra—impetuous, defiant and fearless. Traits no man desired in a wife. Married to the wench barely a full day and his hands already itched to throttle her, but not more so than the strong urge to bed her.

  “Were you not in the same mood this morn,” Gloria asked as she set three tankards on the table. “Losing yourself in one mug of ale after another will not cure what ails you, boy.”

  There was naught to cure what ailed him, he was beginning to think. Caught in the middle of moral rightness and nature’s nagging persistence to be with a woman, he feared he’d lose more than his mind the longer he continued living a lie. But it was not just any woman he craved, and that was what brutally troubled him.

  “I fear I may never climb out of this infernal mood.” He’d not burden Gloria with his problems. “Your pardon, signora, but my foul mood begs solitude.”

  “As you wish, Dante. But know you this. Whatever is gnawing at you will not go away on its own.”

  No, it wouldn’t. The only way to eradicate his self-imposed turmoil was to expose the Valente family posthaste and annul his marriage. Political loyalty and marriage to the opposition made for a delicate situation.

  Dante tossed back each of the tankards and left the tavern for his quarters. Fearing the weakened control over his lust, he could not return to his castle. He knew his will would dissipate the moment his gaze rested on his headstrong but beautiful wife. Pray Agata and Enea possessed the fortitude to keep Alessandra out of trouble this one night.

  The best laid plans had a way of going awry, however. Once in his room, emptiness enveloped him. Lying abed was lonely. Whether his eyes were opened or closed, Alessandra appeared, her lips pursed, waiting to be kissed. His gaze wandered to the journal and writing tools on the table. He had gone to the Valente home to fetch them. Fabroni’s reluctance to part with her writings troubled Dante and led him to wonder if she had entered damaging information against her cousins.

  Tapping the tips of his fingers on the mattress, he contemplated a serious move. All for naught, though. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to peek into her private journal. Truth be told, he feared he’d read something he wouldn’t like, something about other men she had kissed, or the enemy with whom she had cavorted.

  “Blasted wench.”

  Dante sprang from the bed, flew down the stairs and leaped onto his horse. He wheeled the animal around and spurred him into a gallop. His change of heart might be his undoing, but he couldn’t spend his wedding night away from his bride. She’d never forgive his insensitive behavior.

  ****

  If Dante had planned to imprison her at his castle for safe keeping, he’d have to devise a better plan. The poor souls in his employ could not outwit her. Alessa prayed he’d not go hard on Agata and Enea.

  The streets in the city were quiet, save for a strong wind whistling through the alleys. She cinched the hood of her cloak tighter and shielded her face from the garbage that had been tossed out the windows and left for animals and the homeless to fight over. The lamplighter lit the street lamps, signaling the coming night. She must hurry and retrieve her journal or she’d not make it out of the gates before they were locked.

  Up ahead she noticed Benito leaving the church. An odd sight, to be sure. He had little use for church affairs. He worshiped not God but Satan, she truly believed. Ducking into an alley, she stole a look down the street. When Benito disappeared around a corner, Alessa made haste in the same direction.

  ****

  Dante shivered from the blustering winds. In his outrage with Alessandra, he had left his home without his cape.

  The gates were in sight, the keeper preparing to close them for the night. Dante urged his horse onward, praying he’d make it home before the rains fell. He cast a dubious glance up at the turbulent sky and quickly noted how it reflected his mood. But he’d soon change his present disposition, if for no other reason than to avoid turning Alessandra’s wedding night unpleasant. The last he saw her, he was angry, and he’d not let that image be her pillow.

  Just as he approached the gates, something snagged his outer vision. Cutting through the ever darkening street, his eyes adjusted in time to see a petite woman sneaking out of an alley. His intestines knotted in an instant. “That damned wench will be the death of me.”

  The horse protested Dante’s sudden change in direction. It reared up, and by God’s invisible hand, Dante kept his seat. He encouraged the animal forward, the rhythmic clopping over the cobblestone echoing through the air.

  Alessandra had stopped in the middle of the street, her cloak billowing back and her loose hair floating like a halo around her head. Something was terribly wrong. Her posture rigid, she stared straight ahead.

  “Bedamned!” Dante growled, dreadfully aware of what had captured her attention. His sudden fear passed on to the horse, and it darted ahead. By God, he’d not let her give in to the musician’s legend.

  He reached her just as her hand floated out to the imp only she could see. Trance-like, she didn’t know Dante road up to her, couldn’t sense his horse’s agitated prancing.

  “Alessandra!” he roared above the forceful wind.

  Beneath him, his horse behaved oddly, as if frightened. The animal’s keen sense of danger impelled Dante to move swiftly. He jumped down and scooped his wife into his arms. In one smooth motion, he mounted again. Covering her head against the wind, he cradled her to his body. The horse needed little persuasion to retrace their path. Dante glanced back over his shoulder just as an eerie calm ascended upon the city. He looked about, then up at the sky. Gone were the ominous clouds.

  Dante shuddered. How much longer could he protect Alessandra from the angel of death?

  ****

  Alessandra’s eyelids twitched. Her silky long lashes intertwined, creating shadows on her pale skin. How sweet and innocent she appeared in slumber. But Dante knew better. His lower belly constricted with the reminder of the trouble she caused, the danger she continually found. Her chest rose and fell delicately. He watched in fascination, unable to tear his gaze away from the angel sleeping upon his bed. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs.

  The door opened, and Dante glanced back at the grim expression on Etienne’s features.

  “I am thankful another of my soldiers was not involved,” the captain remarked.

  “I found her on the other side of town.”

  “Near the Valente home?”

  Dante leaned back in contemplative silence. Aware of how it appeared to Etienne, he, too, questioned her reason for seeking out her cousins at dusk. Had they planned this rendezvous before the ceremony this morn? None of it sat well. The roiling deep in his stomach over her possible duplicity made him sick.

  Her duplicity? The irony of it was, she wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t done himself.

  “She encountered the elusive musician again.”

  Etienne believed the lore was a fishwife’s gossip. “How know you?”

  “I cannot say, but there is some truth to the imp…I think. I will know what she was about soon enough. She cannot sleep into eternity.”

  ****

  Alessa bolted upright. Through her blurry vision, she found the shape of a man. She blinked, then blinked again, slowly losing the haze of sleep. Of a sudden, she began to shiver like a lone leaf on a bare tree. Her cloak rested upon her legs, and she pulled it up around her shoulders, closing the edges securely at her chest. Before long, warmth seeped back into her bones.

  Near the hearth, Dante wore the visage of a man contemplating harm. Perhaps it was her slim neck he thought to circle his fingers around. She didn’t blame him. But neither did she want to further provoke his discontent.

  “You are no doubt wondering why I was in the city as night approached.”

  His eyes narrowed to mere slits.

  “Truth be told, I was searching for you.”

&
nbsp; His lips pressed to a bloodless line.

  “You are my husband.”

  His fingers curled on his lap.

  Clearly she wasn’t winning his approval. “All right, the truth. I wanted my journal so I may write at first light about my wedding night.”

  He sprang out of his seat. Was he enraged over something she said? She sought to soothe his ire.

  “I know you would have fetched my journal as you said. But I simply could not wait. I must write while the memory is real.”

  He gripped the worn footboard of the bed. The skin over his knuckles pulled taught and turned white, and he locked his elbows. When threads of hair fell over his forehead, he looked every bit as fierce as the devil.

  “Your memory forgets naught, Alessandra. The fact remains, you left my castle against my orders.”

  “You left me alone on our wedding night. What was I supposed to do?”

  She conveniently tossed the burden of guilt onto him. Pray he wouldn’t think she was goading him into bedding her, for it was far from her intent. She simply wanted him to feel like a cretin for abandoning her on one of the most important nights of a woman’s life. So, too, it was a far stronger, and safer, issue than her inability to take orders.

  Dante inhaled deeply. He eased up on his tense posture, yet he maintained a staunch stare, forcing her to meet his blustery eyes.

  “All is not lost,” he said in a quiet tone. “Our wedding night is not yet over.”

  Gooseflesh broke out along her arms at the images he invoked. She scanned the unattractive room, searching for an excuse to delay her journey into womanhood. “This is not the proper place.”

  He straightened. “It is if I choose it to be.”

  Coyly, she averted her eyes. By no means was she bending to his will. More was she appealing to his softer side. “Sì, I am aware of that.”

  He grunted a well-measured response. Observing him from beneath the cover of her lashes, she found his state of agitation exciting. He was dark, mysterious, his animalistic nature causing a flurry of sensations to spread like a blustery wind through her lower body.