Rose Red

by Speer, Flora

  “Oh, let her go and I will stay to help you,” Rosalinda said. “My stomach is upset from eating too much freshly baked bread and I am out of sorts today. I don’t feel like riding. Go on, Bianca. Enjoy the fine weather.” Rosalinda kissed her sister and patted her shoulder, sending her off to the stable with a smile that only made Bianca feel more guilty than she already did.

  Guilty or not, Bianca intended to ride for the third day in a row. On the previous day she had waited beside the waterfall for several hours, but Andrea had not appeared. Perhaps he would be there today. Bianca had smuggled food out of the kitchen, along with a small skin of wine. The old cloak she rolled up and strapped to her saddle would serve as a cloth on which to spread the al fresco meal she planned to serve to Andrea.

  To her delight, when she reached the woodland glade, she found him walking atop the rocks just beside the spot where the waterfall spilled over the edge. While watching him for a few moments before making her presence known, Bianca had the impression that he was searching for something up there.

  “Hello,” she called, and he stopped what he was doing to look down at her.

  “I was hoping you would be here today,” he shouted over the noise of the waterfall.

  “If you would care to come down,” she called back, “I have bread and cheese and some good wine that I am willing to share with you.”

  “You really ought to climb up here,” he responded. ‘“The view is quite remarkable.”

  “I could not possibly climb so high,” Bianca protested.

  “If you wanted to, sweet Bianca, I believe you could ascend as high as the stars.” Grabbing a tree branch, he swung down to her in the same way he had done at their first meeting. “Of course, the view from this height has its own advantages.” He smiled at her, looking directly into her eyes, and Bianca smiled back at him.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, making a motion with one hand to indicate the packets of food wrapped in napkins that she had piled by the pool.

  “Sweet Bianca, I am ravenous.”

  From the way he said it, she did not think he was talking about the food. With her heart pounding, Bianca tore her gaze from his to pick up her cloak. He helped her to spread it on the ground and then to set out the light meal she had brought. She was a little surprised to see that he ate as if he really was hungry, as if he had not eaten for some time. While he lounged on one elbow on her cloak, she knelt to slice the loaf of bread.

  “I have never tasted cheese like this before,” he said, reaching to take the knife out of her hand so he could cut off another piece from the wedge.

  “Don’t be silly,” Bianca said. “Of course you have.”

  “Have I?” He went very still, his eyes on her face.

  “Last winter.” Bianca retrieved the knife from his unresisting fingers and went on slicing the bread. “Don’t you remember? You were surprised to learn that we make it ourselves. Or, rather, that Valeria makes it. She is the one who knows how.”

  “Actually,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice, “my memory of last winter is more than a bit hazy. I was unwell for a long time.”

  “I know that, and I am not at all surprised if the early months are lost to you.”

  “The early months,” he repeated, as if he was unsure of her meaning.

  “What I don’t understand is why, after your terrible experience, you wanted to come back to the mountains and why, having returned to this area, you did not go directly to the villa. Surely you know you would be welcome there. Why are you hiding in the hills again?”

  “I am searching for an evil dwarf, who has bewitched me, stolen my treasure, and killed the one person who shared my heart,” he said in an odd, joking manner.

  “A dwarf has bewitched you?” She stared at him, unsure whether he was teasing her or not. For an instant the image of a little man capering on a rock in the midst of a swiftly flowing river popped into her mind, only to disappear when she thought about his other claims. “What treasure? Who has been killed?”

  “I would like a bit more wine, if you please.”

  Behind his enchanting smile, he was looking at her as if he was trying to learn everything there was to know about her without asking any questions, as if he feared the questions he wanted to ask would prove to be the very ones she would not answer. Wondering if his peculiar remarks were meant to prod her into an ill-considered response, and feeling very much as if she had stumbled into the wrong time and place, Bianca handed him the wineskin. His fingers covered hers on the neck of the skin. He lifted it to his lips, drank, and then stoppered the skin with its wooden plug, all with his hand still over hers.

  Then the wineskin was gone and he was kissing her fingers. Bianca sighed at the touch of his warm mouth on her skin. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her cloak with Andrea stretched out beside her. Searching for something to say, she spoke the first words that drifted into her mind.

  “Have you eaten enough?” She heard him chuckle, low in his throat.

  “After the cheese and bread and olives,” he said, “after the wine and the raisins from last year’s grapes, it is time for the sweet. Dolce Bianca, the sweet is you.”

  She did not close her eyes when he kissed her. She kept them open so she could see his dark curls at close range, see his smooth skin and his thick, black eyelashes.

  The neckline of her dress was too high for him to slide it down and put his hands on her breasts. The neck of her chemise was higher still, adding another layer of protection. But nothing could stop the heat of his palms through those layers of fabric, or the instantaneous reaction of Bianca’s flesh. Her breasts hardened and tightened, the stiff nipples rubbing against the linen of her chemise in a way that heightened her awareness of what he was doing and of her own growing excitement. Warmth began to build far inside her, like embers glowing in the very depths of her body. Then she did close her eyes, to blot out all distractions to her rising emotions.

  She longed to cry out his name, to beg him to tear off her dress so he could put his hands on her skin. Before she could utter a word, his mouth was devouring hers again, his tongue was plunging into her, and Bianca was burning with a wild desire. The empty place inside her screamed to be filled, by this man and no other.

  With his mouth still on hers, his hands roved over her, moving ever downward toward the hem of her gown. Slowly, he drew up her skirt, his fingers tracing patterns of desire on her legs at every inch of the way. When he reached the place between her thighs, Bianca’s moan of erotic discovery was caught in his mouth. As was her cry when he slid one finger inside her a little way, slid it out, and slowly slid it in again.

  Bianca was melting, dying happily as he caressed her. She opened her eyes again to see his free hand at his codpiece. She had never seen a man’s private parts before, but she would, in just a moment more. He would release the part of himself that strained so boldly against the fabric and he would plunge it into her. She shuddered in anticipation, scarcely able to hide her eagerness for him to fill her. She had been waiting for him all of her life, and only when this man took full possession of her would she be complete.

  He went still, frowning a little. Perhaps some slight change in her expression had given him pause, or perhaps his sudden hesitation was because his probing finger had slipped deeper into her overheated warmth to reach a spot where the intrusion began to be slightly painful. He withdrew his hand, then pressed into her again. Bianca winced.

  “You are a virgin,” he said.

  “I don’t care. Don’t stop. Oh, please, I want you to do this.” She was not sure he heard her frantic plea, for her face was pressed into his doublet as he gathered her close against him.

  “I have never yet despoiled a virgin.” His whisper was harsh in her ear. “I will not start now, not with a girl as sweet and innocent as you.”

  “Please, please.” Bianca began to cry. “I’ll die if you stop. I know I will.”

  “Hush, sweet Bianca. You won’t die of t
he longing for love, that much I can promise you. Look at me, Bianca.”

  When she obeyed him and lifted her face from his shoulder to meet his eyes, he kissed her hard. Again his hand stroked between her thighs, not entering now, not filling the empty part of her, but still a pleasant sensation. The stroking continued. Bianca caught her breath, quivering, and he pressed a bit more firmly, touching an exquisitely sensitive spot that Bianca had not known existed. She dissolved into sweet, pulsating bliss. He kept his hand where it was until her body was at peace once more.

  “But you?” she whispered when she could speak again. “What of you?”

  “I will survive. I have lived through worse discomfort.” He smiled at her, that warm, enticing smile that made all the ills of the world seem to disappear. “I rather enjoyed watching you take your first pleasure as a woman without the distraction of seeking my own release. It was a new experience for me.”

  “I want you to have your release. I want everything, every experience you can show me,” she said, not caring that his words were an admission that he had been with other women.

  “One day, I promise you, my sweet Bianca, I will give you the everything you so desire. We will enjoy it together.” His smile warmed her again. “For now, I must beg your pardon. I know it is ungallant of me to desert you so quickly, but I think I will feel calmer for a splash or two of cold water.”

  He left her arms to kneel by the pool. Sensing that he would leave her soon, Bianca straightened her gown and then began to collect the leftover food. She would give it to him. She knew he had been hungry earlier. He could eat it later that night, or the following day.

  She did not see the man come out of the trees. He moved silently, his booted feet not crackling a single leaf. He was almost upon her before she noticed him and froze. Her gasp made Andrea turn around, his face dripping, to ask what was wrong.

  “My lord,*’ said the man to Andrea, “you should not be here. You know you should not.”

  “Francesco, what took you so long? I have been waiting two days for you to reappear and I nearly starved in the meantime.”

  “I see you were not waiting alone.” Francesco turned his cool gaze on Bianca. He was a tall, big-boned man, with reddish blond hair, clean-shaven, with an old scar on his jaw. The way he stood, poised for immediate action with one hand close to his sword, together with the way he assessed Bianca, told her he was a soldier before Andrea’s introduction confirmed the fact.

  “Madonna Bianca, may I present my dearest, indeed, my only friend and my personal condottiere, Francesco Bastiani?”

  “Signore.” Bianca gave her hand into Francesco Bastiani’s grasp. He bowed over it with a grace that spoke of intimate acquaintance with courtly life.

  “Madonna Bianca,” he murmured. “I did not expect to discover a gentlewoman in this desolate place.”

  “I live in retirement,” she explained.

  “A great loss to the world.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, signore.” Bianca did not know what to make of this man. She looked to Andrea, who showed no sign of embarrassment at being found in a deserted spot, alone with a young woman. Bianca blushed to think of what Francesco Bastiani would have seen had he appeared just a short time earlier.

  “My lord, we must go at once,” the condottiere said to Andrea, a note of caution in his tone.

  “I understand,” Andrea replied. “Fare you well, Madonna Bianca.”

  “Here.” She thrust the food into his hands. “In case you have nothing to eat later. You were so hungry when we first met today.”

  “So I was. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” Once more his smile suggested an interest in something other than food. He bent to kiss her on each cheek, murmuring to her as he did, “I will return the day after tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” By the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he had heard her whispered response.

  “Madonna.” Francesco Bastiani nodded to her before walking off through the woods with Andrea at his side.

  Bianca gazed after them, her thoughts in turmoil. It was clear to her that Andrea was a more important man than she, or anyone else at Villa Serenita, had guessed. Francesco Bastiani had addressed him as “my lord,” and though insistent that they must leave at once, he had been respectful.

  A delightful idea seized her. It was just possible that Andrea would prove to be important enough for her to marry him. If he had wealth and fighting men, as his designation of Bastiani as his condottiere indicated, then he might be willing to help Bianca regain her lost patrimony. The idea would certainly appeal to her mother.

  And Andrea did appeal to Bianca. She had enjoyed his every caress, had relished the way he made her feel emotions she knew were most improper for an unwed young woman. If they were married, he could do the same and more with her, whenever he liked. He could do that everything they both had wanted so much, yet had denied themselves. The fact that he had stopped upon discovering her virginity proved he was an honorable man. Alone though she was, the memory of what he had done instead of possessing her as a man takes a woman made Bianca’s face flame and made her press her hands to her hot cheeks. Before she set off on the path leading out of the woods, Bianca dipped her hand into the cold pool and splashed the cooling wetness to her face as her would-be lover had done.

  She was more than halfway across the meadow, heading back to the villa, before her selfish dreams came crashing down like a castle built of playing cards, and the guilt set in. She and Andrea could never be happy together. Their marriage, or even the suggestion that they might marry, would break Rosalinda’s heart.

  Worse, Bianca was sure that Rosalinda and Andrea had lain together and had done many of the same things that Bianca and Andrea had done. Perhaps they had done more. This was undoubtedly the secret Rosalinda was keeping, for it explained her presence in the servants’ quarters on the night when Andrea was secretly there, and it also explained why the two of them had been all but undressed when Bianca had seen them together.

  Grief for what could not be, jealousy, her life-long love for her sister, and her new-found passion for Andrea – all these emotions collided in Bianca’ s heart, reducing her to bitter tears. Bianca Farisi was the most treacherous of sisters, the most unworthy of daughters, a worthless, cowardly, scandalously lascivious female.

  There was only one way for her to redeem herself and that was by allowing her own heart to be broken instead of her sister’s.

  Bianca could easily arrange matters so the right man and woman would be joined. On the day after tomorrow, when Andrea planned to meet her by the waterfall again, Bianca would take Rosalinda with her. Once the lovers had met, Bianca would give them her blessing, and then she would leave them alone together.

  After that, the matter would be up to the Duchess Eleonora, who had the right to choose her daughters’ husbands. If Andrea proved to be the nobleman that Bianca suspected he was, and if he had succeeded in carrying out his mysterious mission to Eleonora’s satisfaction, then there could be no impediment to Rosalinda’s marriage to him.

  Though Bianca might come near to dying of unhappiness to see the man she wanted married to her own sister, still she would have the comfort of knowing she had done what was right. In time, wed to Rosalinda, Andrea would forget his brief interlude with Bianca and all would be as it should be.

  As she thought about this future, Bianca discovered within her heart an aura of peace, almost of happiness. She now began to understand, as she had never understood before, the strength her mother derived from always doing her duty. Bianca knew Eleonora had loved her husband, yet as soon as he was dead, she had taken command of her remaining family and had never ceased to consider the welfare of her daughters and of the friends and retainers who were dependent upon her. With Eleonora’s example before her, Bianca believed she, like her mother, could attain the serenity that came from obeying a higher duty than the demands of earthly passion.

  She reached the villa in a state of emotional and spiritual exu
ltation.

  Chapter 12

  “It’s just a little farther. I know you are going to like this spot.” Bianca brushed aside the overgrown leaves of a tall bush, holding the branches back until Rosalinda passed by. “I feel quite proud of my discovery.”

  “This is most unlike you.” Rosalinda waved a hand at a swarm of tiny insects buzzing around her face. “What has come over you, Bianca? I have always been the sister who explores, the one who rides too far on dangerous paths.” Rosalinda’s voice trailed off as the two of them left the undergrowth and stepped into an open area.

  “Here we are.” Bianca moved toward the waterfall and the pool. “What do you think of my special place?”

  “It’s very nice,” Rosalinda said, looking around.

  “Is that all you have to say? I think it is a beautiful spot.”

  “Who is that up there on the rocks?” Rosalinda tilted her head back, squinting to see better.

  “Where?” Bianca’s heart missed a beat or two. This was the moment for which she had longed for two days, since her parting from Andrea. The moment of her redemption, which she both dreaded and embraced, was at hand. She looked upward, following the line of Rosalinda’s pointing finger, expecting to see Andrea reaching for the tree branch he used to swing down to her.

  “That isn’t -” At first Bianca did not recognize the wiry figure prowling along the edge of the rocks from which the water fell. She knew only that it was not Andrea she saw.

  “What do you think you’re doing up there?” Rosalinda cupped her hands and shouted the question. “We warned you the last time we discovered you trespassing.”

  The figure jerked, spinning around. A few stones sprayed out from beneath his feet to bounce off the edge and splash into the pool below the waterfall.

  “We told you before, these are private lands,” Rosalinda yelled. “Be gone, you rogue, or I’ll call the guards.”