She scowled faintly and took another sip of coffee. She wished she had not told him about her philosophy of independence. What an oddball he must think her. Yet it had been important to remove the look of pity she had seen in his eyes, even if only to replace it with male bafflement.
Her thoughts drifted to his invitation to the ball. Knowing she would be busy breaking her friends out of jail, of course she had been forced to refuse. Last night, she had been too dazzled by his looks and charm and his kindness to Grandfather to be properly suspicious, but by the clear light of morning, his flattering desire that she join him for his birthday celebration struck her as odd, indeed.
Offering to send a carriage for her? He’d made no mention of chaperonage. Had he really suggested that he would hand her over to one of his glamorous women to dress her for the party? Good Lord! With his reputation, one had to question the motive behind his seeming generosity.
But then she shrugged off her suspicions as ludicrous. He was used to the fairest flowers of the ton, diamonds of the first water. A man like that would not want a red-headed, tomboy misfit like her—thank God. Such a smooth-talking devil with his angel face and smoky green eyes would be nigh impossible to resist.
Just then, the door that led to the kitchen garden outside opened and Grandfather walked in. Dani looked up, surprised to find him up and about so early.
“Good morning, my dear!” he said cheerfully.
She smiled at him, overjoyed to see he was lucid today, at least for now. “How are you feeling, Grandfather?”
“Capital, my dear, capital!” he said, his lined face etched with a smile, his raspy voice stronger than usual. “I was just strolling a bit in the morning air and thinking about Prince Rafael. What a fine young man, eh, Dani?”
She glanced skeptically at him, then decided not to contradict him. He looked happy, and if Prince Rafael was responsible for the smile on Grandfather’s face, she would not be the one to break his illusions. They had so few visitors.
“Why don’t you get him to court you?” he teased.
“Grandfather.”
He chuckled, patting her on the head. “And why not? You are cross with him because he’s not a man you can boss around like you do the rest of us. But that doesn’t mean he would not take good care of you.”
“I can take care of myself, as you well know.” She sent him a reproachful look and sipped her coffee. “And I’m sure I don’t boss anyone around.”
He chuckled and wandered back outside.
When he was gone, Dani took her coffee up to her bedroom and finished it as she dressed for her trip into the city in her nicest frock, a demure round gown of flower-printed white cotton. Its short puff sleeves did not cover the fresh bandages that she had wrapped around her injured right arm above her elbow. So, groaning because of the heat, she reluctantly donned a rather frayed and faded long-sleeved spencer of figured blue silk. After Maria helped her plait her hair and coil it on the crown of her head, she was ready to go, but for her bonnet and gloves.
She spent a few minutes stowing all the equipment she would need for tonight’s rescue in a large sack, when she heard Mrs. Gabbiano arrive in her cart. Quickly, Dani checked the contents of the sack one more time. Cradled securely in her black riding breeches and shirt were the three clay-mortar bombs she had made last night, each as big as her fist. There was a flint to light them with, a large coil of hemp rope, her rapier wrapped in old rags, and her spurred riding boots. Finally, she placed the infamous black satin mask in the sack and closed it.
She put on her bonnet, stood before the mirror tying the ribbons under her chin, then slipped on her gloves and went downstairs, carrying the sack with her.
She greeted the tough old peasant woman, Mrs. Gabbiano; Maria walked outside with them. The two older women exchanged worried murmurs while Dani placed the sack in Mrs. Gabbiano’s heavy-wheeled wagon. She loaded her horse’s saddle in next to it and finally tied her skittish, liver-bay gelding to the back of the cart.
After all her efforts, her wounded arm was pounding by the time she climbed up onto the driver’s seat beside the stout, black-veiled widow. She felt a little light-headed with pain.
“Mateo’s friend, Paolo, will have his fishing boat ready and waiting to take the boys and me to the mainland tonight,” Mrs. Gabbiano grunted the moment they were off.
Dani nodded, aching to think that she must part with them, especially the rascally little Gianni, and Mateo, who had been her closest friend for a decade. She did not speak of her sorrow. “I have the explosives ready. As long as the wardens will let me into the jail to visit the boys with you, then I can smuggle these bombs in to them. They’ll be out in no time.”
“I hope you’re right, my lady,” the woman muttered as she slapped the reins over the dapple-gray draft horse’s back. Dani fell silent, knowing that Mrs. Gabbiano blamed her for her sons’ arrest, though she would never say so.
Traveling north on the King’s Road toward the city, they had not gone far when they met a rider coming the opposite way.
Dani’s heart sank as she recognized the fat body of Count Bulbati bulging over both sides of the horse’s back. The poor animal labored to trot under the man’s bulk. Bulbati looked ridiculous as usual in his frilly finery.
“Should we stop?” Mrs. Gabbiano asked under her breath.
“Drive on. Maybe he’s in a hurry somewhere and won’t have time to chat.”
“More than likely he’s on his way to see you,” she grumbled.
“Lady Daniela! Well met, my fair neighbor!” the unctuous count called, bouncing dangerously astride his horse as he pulled the animal to a halt.
“Good morning, my lord. As you can see, I am in a great hurry—”
“I shall ride alongside you, then, my lady, for I have come to assure myself of your security!” True to his word, Count Bulbati yanked his horse’s head around, cursing and bullying the long-suffering chestnut into walking beside their cart. He patted the greasy sweat from his round face. He had small brown eyes with a shrewd, mean-spirited expression and thick, rubbery lips that Dani could not bear to look at, for he was always licking them when he was around her, as though anticipating a dainty feast.
“My security?” she asked, trying heroically to keep the tedium from her expression and her voice.
“Lady Daniela, I heard that there were soldiers searching your property last night and that at last those vile highwaymen who have been plaguing us these six months were arrested!” He paused, peering over at Mrs. Gabbiano in distaste. “Oh, it’s the mother of that wolf pack. My good woman, you certainly went wrong somewhere raising those sons of yours. Their thieving has embarrassed the whole county!”
And what of your thieving, you corrupt swine? Dani nearly blurted out, but she refrained, knowing he would only make her life miserable if she provoked him. “On the contrary, my lord,” she said in a stinging tone, “bandits or no, those boys—if they are guilty, which has yet to be proven in a court of law—have brought honor to our county. Everyone knows that they only take from the rich and share the proceeds with the poor.”
“If you were one of the rich, my lady, I daresay you wouldn’t find them half so gallant. I heard the leader remains at large. I wonder who the Masked Rider really is,” he said, sending her a piercing sideward glance.
She shivered, a chill running down her spine. There had been moments in the past when she sensed that Count Bulbati had figured out her game and was merely toying with her, angling her into some unknown predicament until he had her right where he wanted her.
“Well,” she said stiffly, “I’m sure you are very kind to check on me, but Grandfather and I are fine—”
“I heard Prince Rafael was there,” he interrupted, leering at her in challenge.
She looked at him coolly, loathing him. She could feel the sordid innuendo in his words. “That is correct. His Highness commanded the unit.”
Bulbati leaned toward her, his saddle squeaking for mercy un
der the shift in weight. “Did that rogue make improper advances toward you, my lady?”
Dani stared icily down the road. “Of course not, and may I remind you, sir, you are speaking of Ascencion’s future king.” Archly she reminded herself that that fact had not stopped her from kicking Rafe the Rake where it counted.
Bulbati seemed satisfied with her answer. He straightened up in the saddle again with a smug look. “Actually, my dear, I have news from the city that may surprise you.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, yes, a morsel, indeed.”
She waited, but it pleased him to gloat with his secret.
“Aren’t you curious?” he goaded, glancing at her with an eager lick of his rubbery lips.
She looked away in disgust. “What is your news, my lord?” she asked irritably.
“Very well, I shall tell you. This morning, quite without notification, His Majesty sailed off on a leisure voyage with the queen and little Prince Leo. The royal rogue has been dubbed prince regent for the duration of the king’s absence!”
She turned and stared at him, feeling as though she had been kicked in the stomach by a mule. “Are you quite sure of this?” she forced out.
He preened. “The whole island talks of nothing else.”
Dani and Mrs. Gabbiano exchanged a glance of dread. The transfer of monarchal power to Prince Rafael boded ill indeed for the boys.
Then Dani noticed the greedy light burning in Count Bulbati’s eyes, and could fairly see the gold coins dancing in his head. He was staring off into the distance, no doubt musing that with that royal joker on the throne, he and his ilk could get away with anything they liked, and who would punish them?
Without King Lazar at the helm, Ascencion was going to be in chaos.
“Where did you say you were headed, my dear?” Bulbati asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“I did not say,” she replied rather sharply. Must the man know every detail of her business? They were not far from the count’s own driveway now.
“Oh, well, far be it from me to pry,” he said in bland reproach. “Who am I but your good Christian neighbor, come to look after your safety?”
“I’m going into town,” she growled.
“But whatever for?” he whined. “You hate the city, my dear.”
She glared at him. “Charity work. I am going to visit the poor. Do you wish to join me?”
His small, piglike eyes shot open. He yanked out his fob watch. “Oh, me, look at the time. I have to be getting back home. It’s nearly time for lunch. Perhaps next time, my dear. Oh, here’s home. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to join me for refreshments?”
“Thank you, sir, but we are in a rush. You may keep all your delightful cakes to yourself.”
“Oh, yes, yes!” His eyes lit up.
They bade him goodbye, laughing to themselves as he posted his way on his suffering horse up his own drive. Mrs. Gabbiano shook her head, flipped the reins over the gray’s back, and they picked up their pace.
Soon it was sweltering noon under a blaring blue sky, and Mrs. Gabbiano flailed the reins, hotly warning pedestrians out of her path as she negotiated the big, clumsy wagon through the bustling streets of Belfort. Dani wished the cart would stop lurching about, considering that just outside the city she had stopped and strapped the three homemade clay bombs to her thigh.
It was the only way she could think of to smuggle them into the jail. The fist-sized clay balls were packed with enough gunpowder to blow a three-foot hole in the wall of the boys’ cell.
Ahead, the piazza looked even busier than usual, while above them, laundry dried on lines, flapping in the sultry breeze that gusted down the narrow cobbled street.
Just as they reached the square, the cathedral bells began to toll for the noon Mass, but over the resounding knells, Dani heard a banging sound. She looked over at the middle of the square and saw men building a gallows. Chills ran down her spine in spite of the oppressive heat.
An enormous crowd mulled about in the square, abuzz with the news of the capture of the Masked Rider’s gang and Prince Rafael’s rise to power. The mood in the air was tense. Old men with closed, sun-hardened faces under slouch hats smoked cigars and muttered in groups. Women made their way toward the church for Mass. Children darted through the crowd, screeching and sword-fighting with sticks. There was a long line for water rations, three jars per household per day, doled out under the watchful eyes of soldiers.
Vendors hawked red peppers, zucchinis, oranges, apricots, and grapes from their temporary stalls. An old woman was selling flowers from a basket strapped to the back of a donkey. Carriages rumbled around the four streets that formed the square, the horses’ harnesses jangling, but all the while the rhythmic clapping of the hammers rang in the background as the prince’s men built the scaffold for her friends and—if she was caught—for her.
Mrs. Gabbiano and she exchanged a grim look, then continued on to the livery stable which the woman’s brother-in-law managed. They left the cart and Dani’s gelding there. Dani buried the sack containing her equipment under a pile of hay in her horse’s stall. Then she and the widow linked arms and marched resolutely toward the jail, hearing murmurs in the crowd here and there from clusters of people who claimed that the Masked Rider would surely come to rescue his gang. Others vowed they would wait in the square to catch a glimpse of the famed outlaw for themselves.
Dani trembled to hear these votes of confidence amid the crowd and did her best to ignore them, focusing on the task at hand.
Crossing one of the noisy streets, a huge, creaking, jangling wagon passed, nearly running them down. Dani jumped back, pulling Mrs. Gabbiano out of the way. As it rumbled by, she saw that it was carrying a bizarre assortment of huge, gaudy mummers’ masks. It was heading in the direction of the princes’ mysterious pleasure dome. The masks were probably part of the evening’s entertainment for his birthday ball, she supposed. The party would probably be the wildest the island had ever seen, considering that Rafael’s father had given him a country for his birthday.
Finally, at the edge of the square, the two women crossed the street and climbed the forbidding steps to the entrance of Belfort Gaol. They told the soldiers out front who they were and gained admittance into the dim antechamber, where they pleaded with the warden for a visit.
Mrs. Gabbiano did the talking while Dani stood beside her, her gaze downcast. She concentrated on looking timid and demure, acutely aware, meanwhile, of the bombs snugly secured to her limb. Her heart was pounding wildly, almost with giddy thrill. She couldn’t believe she was getting away with this—standing here in the heart of the jail while untold dozens of soldiers were out combing the countryside for the Masked Rider.
“All right, all right, I don’t want to hear no bawlin’. You can see ’em,” the scarred, surly hulk of a warden grumbled at last, waving off a fly that buzzed around him. He led them down a dank, dark hall. At the end of it, he opened a thick door with a small barred window. “Ten minutes,” he growled, banging the door shut behind them.
Dani stood out of the way while Mrs. Gabbiano tearfully embraced her sons one by one. Poor Alvi’s spectacles were cracked, and big, gentle Rocco looked the worse for wear. She could well imagine that the jailers had singled him out, for smaller men were always ganging up on Rocco and trying to bait him into a fight, though he scarcely owned a temper to lose. Mateo, on the other hand, seemed so incensed he could hardly bring himself to speak. Indeed, all the boys were strangely silent.
“But where is my Gianni?” Mrs. Gabbiano asked suddenly. “Where is my bambino? I want to see him.”
The older boys all looked away.
“What is going on here? Where is Gianni? Tell me what is going on!” the woman cried suddenly, her voice full of panicky maternal instinct. “What have they done with my baby?”
Then Dani and Mrs. Gabbiano listened in shocked, horrified silence as Mateo broke the news. “Last night a man came and took him away.”
“Who w
as it?” Dani breathed.
“I don’t know his name. I never saw him before. He was young and the warden called him ‘my lord.’ He told us he was here on the prince’s orders. I think he was one of Prince Rafael’s friends.”
“Was Gianni released?” she cried.
Mateo glared. “No. The man made it clear that if we didn’t tell the Masked Rider’s identity, we would never see Gianni again.”
With that, something inside of Dani snapped. The cell seemed to grow smaller, crowding her in. She stood there frozen while the unflappable Mrs. Gabbiano grew frantic, crying and wailing to see her child.
Dani barely heard, wrapped up in shocked dread. She had utterly failed to foresee this disaster.
She had asked Prince Rafael to help the child. She had certainly never imagined that he would separate Gianni from the others and use him as a pawn to root out the Masked Rider’s identity. He was more cunning than she’d realized—and more ruthless.
Mrs. Gabbiano brushed off big Rocco, who tried to comfort her.
Dani turned to Mateo. “Where have they taken him?”
“I don’t know for certain,” her friend said gravely. “There, I think.” He pointed to the window.
Her gaze followed the line of his finger. As though in a trance, she walked to the cell window and stared out it while the boys tried to calm their mother.
From the window, she could see the gallows in the square, the fiercely armed soldiers patrolling the crowd. And over the trees, she saw the spun-sugar spires of Prince Rafael’s pleasure dome.
As she half-listened to Mrs. Gabbiano’s angry crying and her sons’ attempts to soothe her, her will turned to steel.
Rafael di Fiore, she thought, this is war.
Stalking out of the line of sight of the small window in the cell door, she bade the boys look away, quickly lifting the hem of her petticoat over one knee to produce the bombs and the flint. Her hem fell again. Then she took Mateo aside, leaving the other two to comfort their mother.
Gaelen Foley Page 7