“Take special care of your little mammetta. Bathe it with wine, dress it, carry it with you everywhere. Do not let anyone touch it or give it to anyone else. It is meant for you and no one else,” Cosma warned. “Otherwise it will bring you ill luck.”
“Grazie.” Felicia reached for her lantern. “You have been most kind.”
“Buona notte, good night, Signora. Try not to tire yourselves out.” Cosma let out a bawdy laugh.
Felicia departed, but felt the heat of the old woman’s eyes on her back until she walked beyond sight from the cottage.
With every step toward her home, increasing desire overcame her. Her body began to burn for Enrico’s touch. She walked faster, the vision of his taut flesh at the forefront of her thoughts. In fact, it was her sole thought.
When Casa di Fiore came into sight, she broke into a run. Quietly, she entered the kitchen, her chest heaving with exertion and anticipation. She rushed up the stairs to their bedchamber and swung open the door. Inside, Enrico slept soundly on his side, facing the window.
Felicia approached the bed. With quavering hands, she propped the doll carefully against the pitcher of water on the small night table then strode to the window and opened the shutters. Moonlight spilled into the room and she inhaled a deep breath of the cool night air. Her heart raced as she studied her sleeping husband. A powerful wantonness controlled her. Never had he looked as handsome as he did this very moment. Despite the horrific scar on his face, the delicate cleft in his chin, his square jaw, and patrician nose astounded her.
She began to hum, the sound deep and sensual.
Enrico stirred a little.
Felicia hummed a little louder, lustier, her hips undulating ever so slightly.
Enrico’s eyes opened groggily. “Felicia? What is it?” He rolled onto his back and fixed his eyes on her.
“I want you,” she said, her voice husky.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
She gave him a languid smile and ran her tongue across her upper lip. Her mouth parted slightly as she untied her bodice, her movements deliberate, her body swaying to the gentle tune that resounded from deep within her chest. Breasts free, she slid her gown over one shoulder and then the next to expose her naked upper torso to him.
Enrico sucked in a sharp breath of desire and raised himself higher on the pillow. His eyes never left hers as she guided the garments down to the floor. Naked, she stepped out of the pool of clothes at her feet. Hips swaying to the song she hummed, Felicia stroked her breasts then lifted and pressed them together, her nipples erect. A sudden moan of desire halted her tune.
Felicia ran her hands down her flat stomach, over her hips, and atop her mound, spreading her legs to allow herself free access.
Enrico threw off the bed covers, rose, and came to her naked, his breath heavy with desire. He kissed her hard as he reached down and replaced her hand with his at the crest of her thighs. The heat of his touch forced yet another moan from her lips as she knelt and pulled him down to her.
Without hesitation, he took her, driving himself into her. She wrapped her legs around his back, locking him to her, meeting each of his thrusts with ardent vigor, their bodies fused together. Faster and harder, she ground her hips against his. Mere moments passed before intense waves of pleasure swept through her. Her liberation forced Enrico’s own release as he shuddered and moaned and gave one final savage thrust.
Beads of sweat glistened on their bodies, made bright by the moon’s gentle rays. They lay still, languid in the aftermath of their joining.
“Ti amo, I love you,” he whispered as he ran his hands over her hair.
“I love you too, my husband.” Felicia kissed him, long and hard. She kept him sheathed within herself, her desire yet unquenched, but she must wait and give him time to recover. When his breathing returned to normal, she gyrated, a little at first, but with increasing regularity. With tiny pulses of her womanhood, she coaxed him, tightening, and releasing herself, her movements steady and determined until she felt him fill her once more. She smiled.
Enrico grinned and responded with small thrusts of his own that gradually increased. This time, their lovemaking followed at a more leisurely pace, but with equal ardor and abandon.
As he thrust into her, Felicia’s groans grew louder, longer, her arousal beyond that which she had ever known.
Enrico shuddered, his seed spilling into the refuge of her womanhood. She screamed his name as her body exploded in a rush of powerful waves that shook her to the core.
At that moment, she raised her head. Her eye caught sight of the mammetta, which stood poised in silent witness on the bedside table. In the moonlight, Felicia swore she could see a grin appear on the face of the little doll.
5
The sun embraced Felicia like a long-lost lover, warming her shoulders as she knelt in the dirt pulling weeds from her carefully tended vegetable garden. She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow. Ever since she had brought the mammetta home a few days ago, sensual thoughts possessed her mind and controlled her every act. She longed for Enrico with every breath. Flesh to flesh, limbs, and hearts entwined, she made love with him at every opportunity. Now, once more, a fire burned in her loins and desire for her husband scorched her until she could deny it no longer. She tossed aside the trowel, and wiping her hands on her apron, went to find him in the stable.
A warm breeze drifted up her skirt as she hurried to her destination.
She found Enrico mucking out a stall. His eyes widened and he smiled at her sudden appearance. Her eyes steady on his, with deliberate slowness, she raised her skirt, revealing her nakedness. He threw down his pitchfork and took her swiftly on a bed of sweet-smelling hay.
Later that day, after setting his evening meal before him in the kitchen, she rubbed her breasts against his back and whispered words of lust into his ear. He turned swiftly, embraced her, guiding her to the wall where he raised her skirts and made love to her.
When darkness fell, in bed, with words of passion and caresses, she kept his desires awake and made love to him long into the night.
In the days that followed, she pulled him onto her beneath grape vines and in olive groves, on the shores of the creek, and even upon the cool earth of their wine cellar. With the mammetta in her possession, lust commanded her. Of course, Enrico delighted in her wantonness and eagerly responded to her adventurous spirit and insatiable desires.
Finally, one morning, as Felicia made the bed long after Enrico had risen, she realized the passion and desire that had driven her for so many weeks had disappeared. Tranquility had replaced her lust. She reached for the mammetta and held it in her palm. It had shriveled somewhat and softened like an old carrot. The color, too, had faded. Felicia could not explain it, but she sensed the charm no longer mattered. Its power seemed diminished. Without its powers, how would she conceive? She chewed on a bothersome fingernail, her foot tapping against the floor. After straightening the doll’s clothing, she set it back down on the night table and went downstairs into the kitchen to prepare Enrico’s morning meal.
As she worked, another thought took hold. Could she be pregnant? She counted the days since her most recent courses. To her astonishment, it had been more than forty days ago.
Her breasts felt swollen and were tender to the touch. Only yesterday morning, Enrico had commented on her light pallor as she fought back a touch of nausea.
She had been so consumed with trying to conceive that she had missed these clear signs of pregnancy.
A baby! She ran her hand over her belly. She tilted her head back, threw the cloth she held in her hand into the air, and let out a whoop as she twirled, tears of elation streaming down her face. The doll’s magic had worked! Felicia had no doubt would soon present her husband with a son.
6
Felicia hummed a merry tune as she crossed over the bridge to Villa Bianca. The fragrance of ripening fruit floated on the breeze. Because of her pregnancy, she craved lemons and wanted to pic
k some that hung ripe and hearty on the tree next to Prudenza’s villa. After picking enough to fill a small basket, she sat to visit with Prudenza beneath the shade of a fig tree at the perimeter of a small courtyard. She had brought her embroidery.
Felicia wanted to keep her good news a secret, but her delight was too profound and she felt as if she would burst if she did not share it. Prudenza would have to know eventually. She might as well tell her now. “I have some wonderful news, Prudenza. I am with child.” She felt herself blush at the memory of her carnal escapades and could not help but smile as she pulled another thread from her sewing box.
Prudenza’s eyes widened. A glint of surprise sparked in her eyes, and then quickly vanished. “I am pleased for you. When will the little puttino be born?”
“In March or April, after the flowers first bloom, I think.”
Prudenza stabbed her needle through the linen in the hoop she gripped.
Felicia covered her burning cheeks with her hands before she removed the now shriveled mammetta from her pocket, and straightened its silk and velvet gown. “Enrico does not believe in superstitions, but I know he is wrong. This helped me to conceive.” Felicia caressed the doll then laid it on her lap. She ran her hands over her belly that had yet to reveal the new life it contained.
“Have you told Enrico yet?” Prudenza asked casually, her face void of expression.
“No, but tonight I will roast a capon and serve him our finest wine. He will be thrilled. We have yearned for a child for so long that I want to ensure our evening meal turns into a happy celebration.”
Prudenza did not make any response. Instead, she embroidered with zest, making stitches one right after the other without pause, her lips pinched tightly together.
Felicia studied her neighbor, who seemed to have taken the news strangely. Blessed with almost perfect bone structure, everyone who met Prudenza could not help but stare at her beautiful features, statuesque figure, creamy complexion, and wealth of black curls. Yet, a perplexing coldness lurked beneath her great beauty. Her undisguised need to be better than others and to own beautiful possessions had always disturbed Felicia. Such desires invited greed and jealousy into one’s heart. Poor Prudenza, nothing ever seemed to satisfy her. She filled her home with expensive vases and intricate tapestries, and wore gowns cut from the best quality cloth. Talented stonemasons had even carved the bench they sat on. Yet despite all her lavish possessions, she never seemed satisfied, never seemed happy.
Prudenza looked up from her work. Envy glittered from her dark brown eyes as she locked her unwavering gaze upon Felicia. With chin jutted forward, the corners of her mouth formed into an odd smirk that appeared to be more of a sneer than a smile. “You are radiant and beautiful in your delight, Felicia. I am glad you and Enrico will soon be blessed with a child. May you and your new family enjoy a future filled with profound love, good fortune, and much happiness.” Prudenza enunciated every word slowly, clearly.
A cold shiver ran down Felicia’s back. The kind words her neighbor spoke contrasted with her stiff posture and false expression. Felicia forced herself to smile at what she sensed was a contrived compliment. “Grazie, Prudenza. I hope you and Carlo will soon undergo the same joy.” Unable to stand the intensity of Prudenza’s stare a moment longer, Felicia glanced away.
They sat in tense silence for a while longer. A strange uneasiness settled over Felicia as she watched Prudenza now ply her needle with an unusual calmness, a slight smile curving her lips as if she harbored a secret. Whatever had just transpired signaled their visit was over.
Felicia rose from her chair. “I must be getting back to start Enrico’s supper. Thank you for the lemons and your hospitality.”
Puzzled, Felicia’s uneasiness grew with every step as she crossed over the little footbridge on her way back home.
7
Prudenza gripped the embroidery hoop on her lap as she watched Felicia cross the bridge back to her own villa. She had never witnessed such absolute ecstasy on anyone’s face before, and she deeply resented it.
Felicia Ventura, who lacked beauty in every regard, now radiated bliss as lovely as the roses that bloomed at Casa di Fiore. Prudenza noted with irritation that although Felicia’s brown hair did not curl - it shimmered with amber and gold highlights. Warm, hazel eyes with dainty arched eyebrows gave Felicia’s plain face a caring, sensible appearance that endeared her to everyone. Her clothes were new and of the latest fashion, but not as fancy or of the same quality as her own. Felicia’s neatness and grace, however, transformed her mediocrity into elegance.
Prudenza despised Felicia because of her humble beginnings as the only child of a poor shoemaker. Felicia’s parents had died, and she had brought no dowry to her marriage, yet Enrico seemed happy with her. Prudenza would never understand men!
Much to her dismay, her own stupid husband’s face always lit up whenever Felicia entered a room. Although she had no reason to doubt Carlo’s fidelity, the easy rapport between Felicia and Carlo infuriated her. Try as she might, she could not overcome her own ambivalent feelings for Carlo. How could a woman like Felicia, born in the dregs of poverty, marry a man far above her in rank, and so easily charm every man that came near her? If it were not for Carlo’s fondness for Enrico, she would never tolerate the woman.
Felicia seemed to excel at everything she did. Even the rarest of plants bloomed beneath her careful attention. Now, she was radiant with impending motherhood, and it ignited an abiding envy deep inside Prudenza’s soul.
Lately, Carlo persisted in his desires to sire a child. He demanded his marital rights more often than she liked, but so far, God had seen fit to keep her barren. Prudenza sighed and massaged her temples. Carlo annoyed her. Over the years, it had become unbearable – whenever she set eyes on him, she wanted to clout his asinine face, goad some emotion from him, for he was so boring, so unappealing, and characterless. Carlo’s only interest lay in his vineyards and orchards; a stubborn peasant with little ambition, rarely able to participate in intelligent discourse.
She thought back to what had united them in the beginning. Her wealthy father had foolishly gambled away her dowry, and because the only asset that remained was her beauty, he had brought her from Sicily to this God-forsaken village to arrange a marriage. Attracted by the Benevento family’s lucrative land holdings, he had entered into a marriage agreement with Carlo’s late father.
As all new brides did, Prudenza hoped her marriage would blossom into one of harmony, companionship, and even fondness for each other, but in this, she had been sorrowfully disappointed. She failed to warm to his frugal ways, having to fight for, and then account for every coin she spent.
Because she did not find Carlo remotely attractive, she could barely abide his attentions in the marriage bed. She recalled with distaste his awkward groping in the darkness of their stifling bedchamber. His calloused, clumsy fingers always made matters worse. Prudenza hoped that if she bore him a child, she would no longer have to tolerate his advances in bed, and that he would seek the company of other women instead.
That vacca, that cow, who lived next door, had somehow acquired a mammetta. Now that Felicia was pregnant, what use was the mammetta to her? Yet, Felicia had kept it. A better woman would have passed the charm to a close friend or family member who needed it. Felicia should have passed it to her.
Half-mad with spite, Prudenza tightened her jaw. “I’ll make you pay for your selfishness, Felicia.” She felt the tension in her face slacken and she grinned. Immersed in thoughts of pregnancy, that idiot Felicia had failed to notice the evil eye Prudenza had so effortlessly cast upon her.
Satisfaction filled Prudenza. No one knew she was a jettatura, able to cast the evil eye. Her Sicilian grandmother had been a jettatura too, with a rare and feared ability she had passed on to Prudenza. It was all so easy. A few words of praise uttered while thoughts of envy churned deep inside her heart. In such a simple way, she cast the evil eye. Now all that remained was to wait. Bad luck wo
uld soon do the rest.
Prudenza emitted a satisfied sigh. Felicia would suffer many years to come. Of that, she was certain.
8
Felicia turned away from the rain-spattered shutters of her window. Summer and autumn had given way to a dreary winter. Now, early spring rains fell to turn the world a vivid shade of emerald. Felicia had spent the last eight months preparing for the birth of her child. One more month and she could hold her baby in her arms.
It had not been an easy pregnancy. Plagued by nausea, her midsection seemed to grow alarmingly larger with each passing day. In fact, Felicia swore she had never seen any other pregnant woman with so large a belly. She could do little to ease her aching back from having to support so great a load. Dio mio, she must be carrying a giant.
She peered into the brass mirror, which hung on the back of the kitchen door. It reflected her swollen, ruddy cheeks. Dear Enrico brought her a never-ending supply of goat milk, breads, sweets, and a selection of meat and vegetables, but she barely touched any of it. Her legs and fingers had swollen and doubled in size. Most days, she lay in bed, distressed by her corpulence. The skin around her jaw disappeared beneath rolls of fat. Insufferable aches in her legs and back made sleep a treasure beyond her grasp. In a constant state of exhaustion, her emotions burst forth frequently and unpredictably.
She ambled over to the stove to stir a pot of stew, bracing her sore back with her other hand. Nothing seemed to please her. Worry and frustration always beleaguered her. Time seemed to pass sluggishly. She hated the way she waddled across the floor of her chamber or strolled in the garden behind their villa.
Focused on her discomfort, a jolt of fear coursed through her when a set of burly arms came from behind and encircled her large waist. She spun around to pummel the intruder.
Laughing, Enrico pulled her into his arms and embraced her heartily. Her shock faded into tears of laughter. Enrico bore her tantrums and tears, laughter and anger calmly. Many men would not have endured the tumult of pregnancy as patiently as her Enrico did.
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 4